Not Goodbye

We said “see you soon” to two of our best friends last night. We’ve known them almost ten years. Our times together are marked by laughter. Our kids, despite the age difference, get along fabulously.

These are people we can text and just say, “Wanna hang out?” Most of our time together is spent talking, playing games, watching TV or a movie and laughing. A lot. Ours is a comfortable friendship — there is no competition or need to impress. They see me without makeup and without my prosthetic.

They were there for me through my first battle with cancer, and they have been here for me again this time. She, her daughter, and her mom celebrated my last chemo with me (remember the boob cupcakes?).

She was there for me when I lost my very best friend, offering support and wise advice. She’s younger than me, but I don’t notice. She’s dealt with so much in her life that she seems older. She’s comfortable in her own skin, unafraid of being herself — something I still struggle with at 40.

She’s an entrepreneur, a talented photographer, and recently added teacher to her titles when she started homeschooling her daughter. She’s not afraid of new things — hence the move.

I will miss her tremendously, but I don’t worry about staying in touch. I can be a good long-distance friend. There is texting and FaceTime. Instagram and Facebook. And there is always the opportunity to visit.

No goodbyes, my sweet friend. Only see you soon. Have fun on your new adventure. I love you.

xoxo

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This Time Around

Even though this is my second time with breast cancer, so many things are different about this experience. Aside from the obvious things — different parts of my body, a more serious stage, a different prognosis — I’m finding other differences as well.

I’m already experiencing low blood counts. I believe this is typical of Gemzar, but I have already had to postpone my third treatment because my blood counts are off. I’ve only had two treatments. I’m on a preventive antibiotic. Last time, it was months of chemo before my blood was affected.

My energy level is lower. This may be because of the Fentanyl patch I’m on, or it may be that this cancer is taking more out of me than last time. Most nights I am in bed before 9:00 and I’m asleep until around 7 or 8 the next morning. Some days I nap through the whole day.

I’m on pain medication. My original breast cancer had no pain associated with it. None. The pain of the mass in my pancreas was excruciating. Bad enough that I wear a Fentanyl patch 24 hours a day. Granted, I’ve come down to a lower dose, but the doctor isn’t in any hurry to wean me off of it.

My emotional state/outlook have changed. With an unclear and unsure prognosis, remaining positive is more difficult for me. I feel like I’m in limbo and I’m not sure what to do with myself. As a planner I prefer structure to my days, but with the gravity of this diagnosis my only job is to “take care of myself.” This leaves me kind of lost as to how to spend my time. My sense of humor has gotten darker, and I’ve become more reserved.

Not surprisingly, this last one has been most difficult to me. Last time I took on the role of fighter — I had something to beat, to get rid of. I had a concrete task. This time, it isn’t so clear, not so black and white. Instead of beating or getting rid of something, we’re trying to control the progression of it. It makes for a much more difficult fight song or cheer. Instead of “fight, fight, fight” it’s “control, control, control.” It doesn’t flow as easily.

I’m sure as time goes on, I will get used to my new normal. Taking it day by day. Appreciating the little things. Accepting that “taking care of myself” is my new full-time job. Already, I feel myself slipping into a bit of a routine, and that makes me feel a little more stable.

As with any life-changing event, this will take a period of adjustment. I know that; I just need to accept it. I need to remember that I have an abundance of support in my family and friends. I need to remember to rely on God and remind myself that He is holding onto my hand (Isa. 43:10, 13). That He will help me get through every step of this, no matter how difficult the steps might be.

Today was a rough day for me. But I talked to my husband and my mom and received reassurance, strengthening, and commiseration. Having someone acknowledge and assure me that my feelings are valid is extremely comforting. Having someone offer to help me in tangible ways is strengthening — both spiritually and emotionally. The amazing thing is that I get support like this on a daily basis from so many people. Some friends text me encouraging words. Some send cards. Some I get to speak to and/or see daily. And I thank God for all these ways that he’s giving me support. I may have a life-altering diagnosis, but I am blessed to have my support team standing with me.

xoxo

 

The Chemo Aftermath

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I got through my first chemo. Fortunately, I didn’t have to deal with the side effect mentioned above (side note: these cards are from the amazingly talented Emily McDowell. She created a line of Empathy cards specifically for cancer patients. Please check her out). In fact, I made out pretty well the first couple days. Tuesday and Wednesday were pretty good, thanks to Steroids in my pre-meds (pre-meds are medications given before the chemo that help to eliminate and/or reduce side effects of the chemo).

Thursday was a different story. I had the flu-like symptoms I was warned I might have. My fever topped out at somewhere 103.4, staying in the high 102s Thursday and most of Friday. By Saturday morning, my fever had broken, and while I was still experiencing chills, sweats, and body aches, I was able to attend a very special meeting via live stream.  I’m hugely relieved about that.

Hopefully this flu-type side effect will improve with each dose of chemo, but for this week, I expect Monday-Wednesday to be pretty good, and then to be down for the count from Thursday through Saturday. Knowing what to expect is more than half the battle. It helps me to schedule chores around the house early in the week with the Steroids kicked in, and then to be able to rest without feeling like I’ve accomplished nothing.

It may seem silly to read that I would be worried about chores or about accomplishing things, but trust me. Chemo makes a patient feel useless enough — she doesn’t need her self-imposed guilt to get out of control. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not steam cleaning my curtains or scrubbing my floors each week, but making sure the bathrooms get cleaned gives me some control over my out-of-control life.

I’d like to give a shout-out to one of my dearest friends — I’ve known her since I was about my son’s age. Our relationship grew out of writing and we now each have a blog. Stop on over at her blog Stand Up and Live Your Life. I am honored to be the subject of her most recent post, and I encourage you to read more.

I don’t know what this week will bring along with it, but if I can find humor in it, it will be shared. Thank you so much for the prayers, cards, flowers, texts, messages, and posts. I read each and every one, even if I don’t respond. I am making every effort to respond to each of you, so please bear with me.

xoxo

First Day of Chemo, Leggy Style

We went over the results of the scans this morning. The good news is there is no other organ involvement; however there is significant lymph node involvement, especially in the area around my lungs. The course of action remains the same: Gemzar treatment. I’ll go through about two rounds of treatment and then have scans to check the progress, if any. The primary goal is to get me as pain-free as possible and to slow the progression.

When we did “chemo teaching” last week, I mentioned to my social worker and nurse Oncologist that the name Gemzar makes me think that the chemo is like royal treatment and I’d sweat glitter or dazzle and sparkle or something. I may have suggested that I might dress up in some sparkly get up. However being as hopped up as I am right now I failed to follow through on my glitter outfit.

Alas, my social worker did NOT forget. She brought me a tiara, rings, a scepter and decorated my chemo bag with gems. Oh and a princess mask. Fortunately we got pictures!

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Overall, the chemo went well. No nausea. No extreme fatigue. So far this afternoon I’m holding together pretty well. We will see how I feel tomorrow.

Yesterday’s post was a long time coming together. I spent the entire day trying to write it, but I kept falling asleep. At one point I woke up to “fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff” on the screen. But I am trying to write as I feel motivated. Even if it takes me all day.

Love to you all. If there are any questions you have about cancer, side effects, prognosis, symptoms, or anything else, please ask me. I love to be given a task. You can ask me in the comments here.

Love you all!

xoxo

When Words Don’t Mean Enough

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These words seem so trivial to express what I wish to convey. The outpouring of love and compassion has been overwhelming, and all three of us are in awe of your caring spirit. Friends have offered practical help — such as setting up meals for us — but also emotional help. I’ve had several friends offer to listen if I want to scream or cry in my frustration. Be forewarned, I may accept both offers.

Some of you barely know me, but our worldwide brotherhood has allowed us to have strong bonds anyway. Some of you have the ability and talent to see feelings and emotions in me that I am just discovering for myself. Some of you know just which scriptures I need to hear.

You will continue to amaze me by your insights, and please know that each and every word — spoken or written — I treasure. I may not express my gratitude fully enough. Some words may hit me so sharply that I cannot respond without losing my composure. Some words may be so truthful, I’m not ready to hear them yet. And some may simply come while I’m medicated and unable to remember. What I won’t ever forget, though, is how your words have made me feel.

 

My friends have made the story of my life.
Helen Keller

With my first foray into breast cancer, I had virtually no pain, other than what was associated with surgeries or procedures. Nothing that couldn’t be treated with Percocet. This experience is totally different. This time around there was immediate discussion of pain management. I was given Morphine almost immediately, and then Dilaudid as I was admitted.

The hospital doctors were hesitant to give me anything too strong at my release; however my Oncologist is familiar with the pancreatic pain associated with these types of cancers. He has me on two 25 mcg patches of Fentanyl, and Dilaudid 2 mgs every six hours as needed. Unfortunately, I’ve needed all of these, and sometimes I still have pain after taking them all.

We had our circuit assembly with the Branch Representative this weekend. We’d hoped to stream it, but it wasn’t uploaded yet. I really did want to attend, but I also didn’t want to risk getting sick. Plus I’m still not feeling like myself. Instead, we stayed close to home, did some personal study, and spent time together the two of us (our son went to the assembly with Nana and Papa).

Your cards and notes have already started appearing and brightening my days. I’ve gotten funny memes and greeting cards; notes of support from those I barely know. I’m reading each card, each comment. I’m listening to your sympathetic tones of voices.  It may be through a a dazed mind, but I am listening and appreciating your love for me.

I’ll continue to keep you posted.

xoxo