Happy New Year

So my new year has started off strangely.  I am still hobbled with pins in both feet due to some surgery I had on the 19th of December.  I should be able to get those pins out in about 10 days or so and then maybe start driving.  Until then, I'm pretty house-bound.  Thankfully my job lets me work from home, so I don't have to take more time off of work.  I do, however, have to keep my foot elevated most of the time, which, even though I have it setup so I can, it does make me twist a little oddly and now the small of my back is aching some.  Ahh, old age.  Here it comes. I will say that James has been fabulous helping me out with my gimpy feet.  I don't know what I'd do without him.

My son and his wife are going to find out the gender of their new baby sometime this afternoon.  I am excited to hear what it will be.  I don't know if I have a preference or not, though I'm leaning towards a girl, only because they already have a sweet little boy, Judah.  Either way it will be VERY loved.  I can't wait to hold them in my arms.  It looks like the due date will be towards the end of May.

My first day back at work has been interesting.  From the get-go there have been many fires to put out.  I don't know that it could have gone any worse than it did.  Oh well.  It is just a job, I keep telling myself.

I am really looking forward to getting healthy.  I can hardly wait to get walking again (2+ miles a day) and then hopefully actually start to jog too.  I'd love to be able to do the June Susan G. Komen 5K.  I'm not sure if my feet with be OK with that, but it is a goal I have and hope to meet if my feet will let me.  I also am going to look into some kind of volunteering with terminal cancer patients.  My journey with cancer has really put them on my heart and I really need to see about doing something on that score.

So, I am really looking forward to 2010!

Happy New Year everyone! 

Happy To Be Alive

I may be kicking myself this time next week; of course, I won’t be able to kick anything given my feet will be in special hard-soled boots/shoes healing up from some much needed surgery. However, there was a method to my madness in scheduling my foot surgery so soon after the culmination of my radiation treatments. I figure that since I will not be very ambulatory, I will be forced to relax, sit on my tukas (yes, it’s a real word) and heal up, in every sense of the word. With two weeks off for the Christmas break, my natural tendency is to fill each day to the brim with post-Christmas shopping, chores, projects, and other things. I tend to return to work after the new year – exhausted. Well, not this year.



I haven’t written much these last several weeks mainly because I’m just trying to keep myself together by taking each day at a time. Wake up at 5:30 a.m., start work from my home office by 6:00 a.m. then take off at 7:30 for my radiation treatment session, then either head back home to work the remainder of the day or head in to the office (Tuesday’s and Thursday’s). James accompanies me about 2 days a week; for sure on Friday’s as that is/was the main doctor visit each week. I am so glad to have had his support for those visits, even though he would just sit in the lobby. He wanted to come every day, but I talked him out of it. So sweet to offer.



Most visits to the radiation oncology center are uneventful. I go in, change into my hospital gown and wait in the women’s waiting area with several others for my name to be called. I read magazines or occasionally stare at the puzzle table hoping to find the key piece before it’s my turn to burn. At some point, the technician comes and gets me, walking me into this vault-like room with a huge machine with a narrow table in the center. It takes several minutes to position me properly then proceed to take two x-rays (sometimes four). Then the technicians come back in to make some adjustments, then leave again. I lay there with my eyes closed and hear the slamming of the 2 foot thick door. Then comes the whine of the machine being moved into position, pause, and then the high-pitched sound that signifies the start of the radiation beam. After another pause, and the swoosh of the heavy door opening, the technicians enter again and switch a plate over the “eye” of the machine and then they march out again for another blast. I get two 30 second blasts of radiation each day. Once a week they take extra x-rays and a photo and I have a consult with the Radiation Oncologist (the doctor). The last five days were my “boost” days. They attach a special adapter onto the machine that gets the beam nearly right onto the scar area and concentrated right on that spot instead of the larger field of the previous weeks.



I’ve met some amazing women during my 6 ½ weeks there. Some are clearly dying, others, like me, going through a shorter and less invasive treatment plan. I feel very thankful every day that we caught this cancer in its early stages.



My last day of radiation treatment was Tuesday, December 15, 2009. It was to have been Monday the 14th, but on the previous Friday, the machine was broken and it meant I had to tack another day onto my treatment calendar. It was a bummer. I will say that I felt like a kid when I walked out of there on Tuesday. I almost danced a jig on my way out to the car. It felt like a huge weight had lifted off of my shoulders. The daily trips in were certainly a schedule nightmare, but the continual frying of the skin also took its toll. I’m happy to be done. I’m happy to finally be on the mend and hopefully getting my energy back. I’m happy to that my skin can finally heal and stop hurting. I’m happy to have finished before Christmas. I’m just plain happy to be alive.



A dear friend, Brenda Frank, gave me a helium-filled pink breast cancer balloon a few days before I started my treatments. I’ve had it flying from my upstairs banister from day 1. It had been my secret hope that it would remain aloft for the duration of my treatment, kind of like my secret hope to stay up and filled with hope throughout. I wasn’t so sure it would make it this last week as it began to sag and dip down lower and lower. But make it, it did. Even today, two days later, it still flies above my living room proudly. Now I’ve adjusted my goal to see if it will make it until Christmas. Hopeful, I know, but it just might make it; thank you Brenda, for the constant reminder to keep my head up, my hope up, and my chin up.

Yvonne

Yvonne's last day of radiation was Thursday.  I've gotten to know Yvonne a bit since we both sit and wait for our turn to burn each day.  We sit in our flimsy hospital gowns and chat a few minutes before the attendant comes to take us into the radiation vault.  We didn't talk the first few days, but eventually we loosened up and started to get to know each other.

I clearly am one of the lucky ones.

Yvonne is probably in her mid-sixties and it was obvious that she had chemotherapy as her hair was just starting to come back in.  I could see the bright red burn from her chest as it crept up past the neckline of her gown.  She says it has gotten quite painful of late; blistering and peeling.  I'm almost in week 3 and have had zero burning so far - again, lucky.  She has had a double mastectomy. 

The first conversation we had was when she giggled and bubbled about how her family surprised her with a trip to Maui a month or two back.  She had just finished her chemotherapy and was on the mend when a sister offerred to travel with her to visit another sister somewhere in Idaho. Yvonne met her sister at the airport for the quick hop to Idaho and both sisters were there and ushered her to a different flight - to Maui.  They spent a week there basking in the tropical breezes, experienced a luau, and generally had a wonderfully relaxing time.  Yvonne had never had a trip like that before in her life.  I heard Yvonne tell others of her trip time and time again.  Clearly it was a highlight of the last few years of her life.

On Tuesday Yvonne came in, clearly down.  Her doctor has ordered another round of chemotherapy.  She had been so looking forward to being "done" with cancer treatment.  Yvonne is still fighting for her life.  They don't know if she'll be successful.  The cancer has spread to her bones.  The day she told me that, I pulled her out of her chair and hugged her.  I immediately prayed for her asking God to bless her, comfort her, and heal her.  I only had a few seconds because I was being beckoned to my radiation chamber. 

I can't stop thinking about Yvonne.  She doesn't have anyone close by to help her through this.  I need to figure out a way to be there for her.  I don't know how yet.  But I'll figure something out.  I don't even know her last name.

I need to help Yvonne.

Quirks & Phobias

I do not have an obsessive compulsive disorder, at least that I know of. However, I have noticed that I have two strange habits that, should I submit myself to a therapist, might likely put me in a borderline category. What are yours?

1. Public Restrooms - Even in very familiar surroundings, I find I check, check, and re-check the WOMEN/MEN restroom signs. I think I have a deep rooted fear of going into the wrong bathroom. I got thinking about this yesterday and decided it was due to being dragged into the boys bathroom in 6th grade. Several "girlfriends" couldn't figure out why I never got mad at anyone and decided to step up their efforts by dragging me into the boys bathroom. Needless to say it didn't work. I didn't get mad. I was very exasperated at them and didn't call them friends anymore; that's for sure. It was a stupid prank that I think has me obsessed about checking, double-checking, and triple-checking each and every time I need to use the girls room.

2.  Typing - a job I had in college was for Sears.  I worked 3:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m. or so typing mail orders into the computer system: data entry.  We were "encouraged" to keep our keystrokes above 10,000 per hour (I think).  I remember each week we would crowd around the printout that showed our speed, errors, etc.  I remember feeling proud one week when I had really progressed and finally hit a 14K mark.  I literally typed in my sleep.  After that job, typing became second nature.  To this day I find myself mentally typing out things all day long: signs, things people speak to me, billboards, scriptures quoted in a sermon, you name it - I type it.  Thankfully I "type" pretty fast.  Things have gotten better over the years, but even now, almost 30 years later, I still "type".  It seems pretty stupid to be 50 years old and still typing out lots of the things I see and hear throughout a day. 

3.  Fear of heights - I cannot explain it.  But I literally have a panic attack when faced with things high up.  I'm OK if I drive over a bridge, but if I have to walk - ugh.  I panic.  I remember when James and I were in Germany by the Neuschwanstein castle, there was a hike and a bridge where one could get fabulous views of the valley and the famous castle.  The bridge was wide and very sturdy.  It could easily have held a car or three.  The problem was that it was steel girders with wooden boards.  The drop was easily several hundred feet down.  I could see between the tiny slats on the wooden boards.  No good.  I literally froze.  Knowing I'd kick myself for not traversing this famous bridge and likely miss the spectacular view, I walked.  I barely made it though.  I clung to James for dear life and couldn't even enjoy the view. Thankfully I did manage to get one or two camera shots when I made it to the other side. I remember that someone jostled me and I nearly climbed onto James in abject fear.  My heart was racing so fast I thought I'd have a heart attack.  Needless to say, I made it.  I survived.  Oh, and the picture turned out great.

What are your quirks?

Radiation Therapy

I've made it through 5 days of weekday radiation treatments so far.  Only 4 of them have actually been radiation treatments; the first being additional x-rays and positioning efforts.  I am going to be doing this every weekday for a minimum of six weeks.  My daily appointment is at 8:00 a.m. 

I see some of the same people here each day. I am feeling pretty lucky. The two ladies I see look like they have it much worse than I. One is probably doing chemotherapy in conjunction with the radiation therapy as she has very little hair. The other must be suffering from lung cancer as she is on heavy oxygen. Lung cancer is the #1 cancer killer for women. They are both quite a bit older than I. While this has been scary, seeing them has made me actually thankful for the situation I am in. It could have been so very much worse. But for the grace of God, go I.

The women's waiting room has lockers, three changing rooms and probably 3 dozen wall cubes for our gowns. I was assigned a cube and given a gown that will be mine for the next 6 weeks. Each day I come in and change into my gown and lock my belongings into a locker. The keys are on elasticized bracelets we wear around. I then wait until they call for me. There are magazines and a table with a puzzle. I suspect a new one will be there by Monday. There were only a few pieces remaining as of 8:00 a.m. Friday. Becuase I have the early morning appointment, I don't have a long enough wait to start working the puzzle. I would imagine that those who have late afternoon appointments get the accumulated schedule issues and have time to tinker with the puzzle.

Once I'm called into my radation room (there are several) they have me lay down and then position me on the table. Both arms go high above my head, where I grasp handles. They take 2 x-rays each day and then proceed with about 15 minutes of other positioning of the machine and actually zap me with the radiation. I swear I can feel it tingle and heat up a little. I don't know if that is just in my head or real. Hard to tell. I've already developed a pinched nerve in my left arm and it hurts like heck to put my arm up there for 20 minutes straight. It's a killer. Hopefully a chiropractic appointment or two can help set that straight.

The doctors and technicians have warned me about the burn my skin is likely to get, so I have armed myself with aloe vera and apply it regularly to help keep my skin intact as best I can. I've also been warned to expect fatigue within another week or two. They don't know what causes the fatigue, but nearly everyone who goes through radiation experiences it. That side affect does bother me. I am concerned about my job. How will I be able to keep working at the break neck speed my job requires? Thankfully my bosses are aware and say they will work with me, but it doesn't assuage my own expectations of myself. I'm prayerfully hoping I can give my own self a break. I need to just take each day at a time.

Each day I try to do something to stay active and not just sit on my butt. So far I've been walking the mall every week day. I manage about 2 miles or so each time. I'm hopeful I can keep that up forever. Once weather gets good again, I can go back to walking my neighborhood or trails here in Sumner. Doctors say that being active means I'll have a 60% better chance of NOT having a recurrance of cancer. That's better than any pill I could take. It makes it VERY worthwhile. I have to do this.

I need to be cancer free. I will survive.