"I consider that our present sufferings are not worthy comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us" Romans 8:18
I love words. Duh. I love the English language - at how expressive it can be with its many nuances and colorful colloquialisms. And I like big words and made up ones, too. But more than that, I have known that God gave me a gift of words and language.
Contrary to popular and comfortable belief, all but one of God's gifts come with strings attached. Big, tough strings that never break. God expects us to use each and eery one of the gifts he has given us - not just for whatever, but to grow His kingdom. Seems fair. I'm not going to even hint that I am good, or even mediocre, at using any of the gifts He has given me. On good days, I am probably a C-. Don't get me started about the bad days. But I still understand The Lord's expectations and I am blessed when I actually do what He asks.
I have been indescribably blessed by writing and the responses I have received during this journey of cancer and treatment and all the ins and outs of this unique time. But then...my words went away. I am not sure if it is the radiation that is derailing me, or the fact that I have enough contraband coursing through my veins to qualify me as a card-carrying drug mule, but either way....words....gone. It seemed to me sensible that God would be more clear as to the words and really give me a hand on this (I'm playing hurt, Coach! Gimme a break!!), but no...He just asks me to....wait....and (worse)...LISTEN!!
So. I did. I guess that's kind of the good news-bad news part of this leg of the journey: I find that I am not able to do much more than that. Oh, except for having some outrageously fun pity-parties, and anyone who knows me at all knows how much I love to entertain. At the beginning of this particular adventure, I had myself convinced that I would be spared the discomfort usually associated with pounding out of a monster like this. After all, I had Faith!! I loved JESUS!! And He would make treatment a piece of the proverbial cake!!!
ahem....not so fast....
Maybe I can blame the drugs again, but I seemed to have forgotten the Bible that I was reading. It is full of all kinds of promises for Believers. Yes, there is the promise of Eternal Life and abundance and blessings - in Heaven. Oh, yes, Jesus blesses us here on earth, also, and promises to NEVER leave us nor forsake us. But the same Savior also promises trials and pain and suffering. And I think it being sucky is a major component in the criteria that defines "Trial". oh, yeah.... now I remember...
So, this is what treatment - and this particular trial - looks like: it is a Monday-Friday gig, even though I have yet to do that. I had my first zappage on a Tuesday, so four days that week, and this week was mercifully broken up by Thanksgiving, thus making it a three day week followed by a one day week. But this week and next...five whole days in a row. Each session - all four sites - takes less time than it does for your dentist to go poking around your mouth, then say "rinse and spit"...and far, far less uncomfortable. In fact, I generally snooze a skosh, it's so kinda chill.
When I look back at my loopy first entry after my very first treatment, I think perhaps, just perhaps, I jumped to some erroneous conclusions. See above. The second treatment day, Greg and I met Don at our Wednesday evening Bible Study at church and I was still feeling pretty perky. Not so bad!! Yes, God is preserving from discomfort in this battle and trial and stuff!! Somewhere around the 2/3 mark of our Pastor's lesson, I noticed that the floor seem to be getting closer by a wee bit. Not only that, but lying on said floor seemed like a more and more viable option. I wasn't in pain at all, nor nauseous. I just had apparently run a marathon without remembering it. I know I had conversations with my wonderful CCW (Calvary Chapel Westside, for you newcomers....and old timers) family, but it's kinda hard to remember any of 'em. Sorry, my beloveds.....
As treatments and days moved on, I began to feel what the literature promised - both the Bible and the stuff about radiation. Now, before you start feeling too sorry for me (something which you will never be better than me at doing. There goes that control thing again), let me tell you that it isn't like I am being so nuked that I "ding" when done, nor do I have things glowing or falling off of me...or out of me. It just is very...unpleasant. I have an undercurrent of queasiness that most mommies can relate to as part of those first fun weeks of pregnancy - but no amount of little crackers help. Fortunately, they have some pretty decent anti-blewp medicine (yay... more DRUGS!!!), so it's tolerable.
My palate has also been effected, which, as a foodie and cook, bugs me endlessly!! It was very interesting on Thanksgiving as I did my usual self-indulgent cooking like a psycho Martha Stewart. No, that is NOT redundant. Anyway, we had a few of our friends over, and I had budgeted my time and energy so I could get as much done as I could without turning myself into a blob that Don would have to pour into bed while entertaining our guests. Food done, people here - it was time to enjoy! Except...everything, EVERYTHING tasted so bland and the same to me, I was just miserable. But how blessed am I to have such friends who love me so much they ate a ton! Obviously, things came out better than my mouth was telling me, but it was still a rough one for me. See, did I not just TELL you how gifted I am at feeling sorry for myself!?!? Anyway, I have figured out how to eat brighter tasting things when I have an appetite, so it's not so bad.
The fatigue is something that I find that hardest, I think, but even that we have figured out. If we have anything to do on the other side, we get it done before treatment, because the steamroller with my name emblazoned across the front finds me about the time we are rolling into our part of the island. Again, completely manageable. For a more patient person.
I am beginning to walk a little more normally...for me - so that bar is kinda low to begin with. I am still pretty weak, and I won't be able to get in the water for another couple weeks because these targets that they painstakingly placed with likely come off!! Frustrating - but I'll live. I'm just quite eager to get back in, visit my fishies, and start building my muscles back up.
The weakness has definitely led to a couple moments of embarrassment. No, that's not accurate. Utter humiliation - but in a very entertaining way. A few days before Thanksgiving, I dropped Greg off at the 24 Hour Fitness and did our Thanksgiving shopping before going to treatment. One of my stops was Whole Foods for their sesame sticks. I ran into CCW family members Erica and her son, Samuel. I shoulda held on to them. After chatting it up, smiling about our errands, we split up to our different parts of the store. Mine was right at the front in those bulk food bins. And there they were. At the bottom row. Before all this nonsense, I was a relatively flexible little old Grammy, and strong, to boot. Have I ever mentioned that I am a prideful person who likes control and barely has a grip on reality when it comes to my limitations!?!?!? Squatted down, got m'sticks.... Could. Not. Get. Up. I tried reaching for the bins behind me, but I had visions of pulling the whole array down and being drowned in a sea of dried beans and other miscilaneous legumes. Behind me was a sprout-chewing, protein-smoothie-guzzling, ginger-headed biking-type examining the bulk food bins that had become my prison walls. I had no pride because I had no chance. I asked him for help, which he politely gave - then while saying "no worries!", he nearly sprinted for the other side of the store. Yeah...better that way for both of us, I think....
The good news is that the pain is definitely beginning to go away!! Howz that for a big ol' Praise God!! To begin with, and as promised, the pain got worse before it got better. As they zap the oogies, healthy tissue gets nailed, as well. Not only that, but one of my radiologists (tell you about my nuclear entourage another time - but they R-O-C-K!!) described it as poking a hornet's nest. Oh, yes. Very good one. But since I have made friends with these things called pain pills, it was easily handled. This weekend I noticed a distinct easing in not only the site pain, but of the pain that plagued me to the point of seeing the doctor in the first place. To say I am grateful...I would be searching for the right words even if I had the full compliment at my mental disposal.
So, now I wrap this up. I want you all to know just how much your words of encouragement are part of this fight. I'm not always very brave or patient or cheerful or even very nice. But God is endlessly faithful, and He has surrounded me with people who continue to lift me up when it is hard. Ironically, and sadly, we found out this week that our brother-in-law (Don's sister's husband), Howard, has a recurrence of throat cancer - this time in his esophaegus. I now appreciate more the battle that he has, just as Don understands what Kathy is going through. It is part of the irony that Don and his two siblings are watching someone they care about fight this hideous enemy - Don and his sister, a spouse, and his sister, Carol, a grandchild. I ask your prayers for them as you pray for me.
This should be an interesting week. Somewhere, I need to start our annual manifesto known as the Dalton Christmas Letter. Not everyone on our list knows about this...adventure. Even Hallmark does not make a card for news such as this. But I trust in God to give me words. After all...He did give me a few zillion for this post...
Monday, November 26, 2012
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Opening Salvo
Today was a big day. No kidding, Sherlock.
It is now tomorrow - even here in Maui. We just got back from the airport after picking up Greg! Oh, yeah - did I mention that Gregory is back!?!? No!?!? Well, he is! It seems that the Lord really wants this guy around to help us out, and we could not be more happy! It's kinda tough on the guy though, since he is able to be here because he is still unemployed - and he has not had twelve minutes of true unemployment since he started working when he was in High School. So, a crazy cheap fare from San Diego appeared ($150.00!! Can you believe it!?!?), and we all knew that he was meant to be back here. Thank you, God!!
All this followed a few hours of time-killing at dinner, Walmart and Starbucks, which of course, came after my first encounter with the Weapon of "Mass" Destruction. get it?!!?? Mass?!!? As in tumor!?!?!? Oh, man, I crack myself up!!! And even at this hour...dang, I'm funny.... So, the Lord is not only by my side, he brought Star Trek along, too!! It blows my puny mind to think of the crazy smart minds that God created to invent this ginormous beautiful zapper.
Anyway, it was awesome and painless and a little weird as the radiologist kept coming over and drawing pictures on me. It may not be permanent like the tiny tattoos, but these bright blue crosshairs are in semi-indelible ink. They are gonna be a part of me for a while. I feel kind of like an urban wall if the NRA were doing the graffiti.
But God is very merciful. Totally painless - as in no sensation at all - and all I had to do is lay still. They kept saying I was doing great. I told them I studied Laying Down 101 as an undergrad.
But I'm tired. Did I mention a big day!?!? So, thus ends my shortest blog ever.
You're welcome.
It is now tomorrow - even here in Maui. We just got back from the airport after picking up Greg! Oh, yeah - did I mention that Gregory is back!?!? No!?!? Well, he is! It seems that the Lord really wants this guy around to help us out, and we could not be more happy! It's kinda tough on the guy though, since he is able to be here because he is still unemployed - and he has not had twelve minutes of true unemployment since he started working when he was in High School. So, a crazy cheap fare from San Diego appeared ($150.00!! Can you believe it!?!?), and we all knew that he was meant to be back here. Thank you, God!!
All this followed a few hours of time-killing at dinner, Walmart and Starbucks, which of course, came after my first encounter with the Weapon of "Mass" Destruction. get it?!!?? Mass?!!? As in tumor!?!?!? Oh, man, I crack myself up!!! And even at this hour...dang, I'm funny.... So, the Lord is not only by my side, he brought Star Trek along, too!! It blows my puny mind to think of the crazy smart minds that God created to invent this ginormous beautiful zapper.
Anyway, it was awesome and painless and a little weird as the radiologist kept coming over and drawing pictures on me. It may not be permanent like the tiny tattoos, but these bright blue crosshairs are in semi-indelible ink. They are gonna be a part of me for a while. I feel kind of like an urban wall if the NRA were doing the graffiti.
But God is very merciful. Totally painless - as in no sensation at all - and all I had to do is lay still. They kept saying I was doing great. I told them I studied Laying Down 101 as an undergrad.
But I'm tired. Did I mention a big day!?!? So, thus ends my shortest blog ever.
You're welcome.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Standing on the Ridge
"...today you are going into battle against your enemies. Do not be fainthearted or afraid; do not panic or be terrified by them. For the Lord your God is the one who goes with you to fight for you against your enemies to give you the victory." Deuteronomy 20:3-4
In almost every movie or tv show that has some kind of battle in it, there is a moment when the central character stands on a ridge top and looks down and across at the enemy with whom he will be engaged in combat. Often, it is the night before, and it is a moment of introspection, anticipation, and apprehension.
Tonight, I find myself on such a ridge - albeit, a metaphoric one. But the battle is real, even if there are no actual encampments with torches and singing soldiers around bonfires. I'm looking down and across at an ugly enemy who disguised itself as something benign for years until it was discovered almost too late. Almost.
It is three months since this particular enemy was discovered, and less than that since we found out the type of venom it was harboring in its fangs. In the time between then and now, I have had more mood swings than a fifteen-year-old girl with boy troubles. I have periods of great hope and near-excitement for what God is doing - and has already done. But then, I have moments where I think that I just simply cannot do it. In fact, I just won't do it. But, this is kind of like labor - once you start it, you pretty much to have to finish it, one way or the other. Mommy can't just suddenly decide that Junior is just fine where he is, any more than I can decide to change my mind and not have cancer.
There are already a few things that have been lessons and blessings (my head so wants to say blessons and lessings), that even if God healed my tomorrow, they are indelibly printed on my soul.
First is the consistent, loving, cheerful attitude of EVERY medical person we have met! I know that Maui Memorial has this reputation of being somehow less-than, and to my friends - and I love you all - who insist upon continuing to disparage, criticize, or otherwise say not-nice things about this very unique hospital, please rethink, or at the very least, refrain from doing so out loud. All hospitals are full of germs and things happen. I have a friend who is now a doctor in Dallas (HI, SHARON!!). She told me things about the two hospitals in which she did her internship and residencies that would make anybody rethink the medical system. That is because these places a run by humans, who are just as prone to mistakes and mishaps like the rest of us. They put in insanely long hours, work with people at their absolute worst, take the blame for things over which they have no control - but are still there on the front lines doing everything they can to save the lives of total strangers as though they were closest kin. As I stated before, I have had more experience with hospitals than I ever wanted, but it gives me a measuring stick. The two hospitals I have spent time in here in Hawaii have been filled with such loving and gracious spirits. My care has been exceptional. I have never been treated with anything but warmth and compassion and as an individual - never one of a herd. The education and training of these doctors is impressive - and they further demonstrate their smarts by escaping the rat races on the mainland and practicing their art in paradise. Sounds like the kind of medical entourage that I would have picked for myself - but God did it for me.
Another thing is the overwhelming love - and food - of the people in my church. And at my former home church in San Diego. And a group of prayer warriors who were part of a team that prayed for a missionary team in Rwanda. And family (but technically, I think think they're supposed to. It's the code...). But it has really brought into focus my fierce independent streak. okay. I will call it what it is: I am a sort of personal control freak - meaning, I don't want to control you, but I sure want to control me. In fact, that is the primary reason I stayed away from drugs (until now!) and more than a little alcohol. I wasn't that much of a goody-two-shoes, I just hated anything that messed with my head. But what kept me safe until I actually developed a better value system has matured into that fierce independence better known as pride. I hate when anyone has to take care of me - even my sweet husband. I am not overstating this. I hate it, despise it, loathe it. I have no problem being there in a pinch for someone. It doesn't make me better than others, but because I am in that position of control, I feel more comfortable. This has been a real humbler. I have had to accept help in the most basics of functions - physical and otherwise. I have had to let others drive me around. I have had to accept meals prepared when I so love to cook. Small tangent: Fortunately, this is the best cooking church we have EVER been a part of - which explains the TEN POUNDS I gained in about ten days!! Enchiladas, chimchangas, beef stroganoff, pasta with meatballs, creamy chicken & rice & broccoli, roasted chicken, desserts...and ONE salad!! and then there was the second night - AHAHAHA!!! Kidding, obviously - but you get my point. And each meal prepared with love, brought with love. For me and mine. I am blessed by a blessing I feel uncomfortable accepting - and maybe that's the biggest blessing of them all.
Another side to that same coin is my need for privacy. Yes, I am a ham, in many ways. No one will ever accuse me of being shy. I am unafraid to speak in front of three or three hundred - and I have done both. I have been pretty transparent about my shortcomings - and some of them are E-P-I-C!! But I am very, very private when it comes to my needs. I hate admitting to being sick. I hate admitting that we need prayer for some financial challenges. I hate admitting how insecure I am. Or how lonely I can become. I hate admitting needing help (see above paragraph). Again, however, this need for privacy is also pride. I like my image of being the always positive, always friendly, always happy lady. I may be those things much of the time, but certainly not always. This past weekend I was leveled by an intestinal bug that could have come from all the meds or some just-a-wee-bit-too-old cranberry-pomegranite-cherry drink. Doesn't matter which - it was just plain miserable. This meant that my weekend of fun was messed up. The weekend of messed-up fun was right on the heels of Don's two days off, which were also supposed to be fun. Since the first three days of last week were spent driving back and forth to the other side for medical stuff, we opted to make Thursday a "no-pain" day - meaning, Denise stays in bed, legs elevated and as gorked on pain meds as she is allowed. But that was supposed to lead to an all-fun Friday. Did not happen. Don had to go to a work breakfast, and by the time he got home, I was already feeling a little off. I was not a friendly-positive-happy lady. It had been a rough week. I began to question God in less than respectful ways. I began to wonder if I really wanted to fight this fight. I could, without much effort, list off a dozen people who would have been there for me - to listen, comfort, and pray - if only I had not been so worried about my image. Privacy is a two-way prison.
I find that I, in my darker moments, think about the life we had a few short years ago. While I don't think there is any such thing as a charmed life, there are certainly blessed ones - and the Daltons certainly fit in that category. We had a pretty large, beautiful home in San Diego, with a pool and jacuzzi, koi pond, aviary, etc. We had parties. We traveled. Life was pretty dang sweet. Oh, of course, there were some really tough times, too. You can't raise three sons and be married for over twenty-some years with shedding some metaphorical blood. And those epic shortcomings of mine?? So on display at that time. Now, years later, we had a financial shift thanks to...well...actually, the economy takes the blame, but it was God teaching some pretty self-involved (although LOVELY) people a very painful lesson. Our sons are dealing with some trials in their lives, which is the quickest way to to get to parents' hearts. And now this. But....when I get my eyes off of myself, and back on the Lord who loves me, I realize that NOW is the blessed life! I see my husband and sons loving in me in a way that blows my little drug-pickled mind. I see my sisters and brother and nieces and nephews and cousins and in-laws just rallying to my side. And I get to do all of this, see all of this, while living in my absolute dream location. I love Maui. I picked the perfect place to get better. Yes, my life is rich and full and blessed.
And tonight, I am looking down and across at the enemy camp. I'm not going to lie and say I'm not afraid of what it's going to feel like, what the side effects will be. I spent the larger part of last week crying about the upcoming loss of my hair once chemo starts in January. But this battle is a little more unknown. And my heart pounds in apprehension. I think about the leaders in the Bible. Did Gideon's stomach twist before he and his three hundred faced down the huge armies of the Midianites? Did Joshua have sweaty palms before he blew the trumpet at Jericho? And David. Did that little shepherd kid want to toss his cookies before tossing a stone that killed Goliath? Almost assuredly, yes. Even Jesus - God Himself - sweated blood in anticipation of His torture and being crucified.
I certainly don't compare myself with any of those - especially our sinless Lord who took that pain, torture, and cruel death for my sake. I just know that I need not let the devil tell me that my faith is weak because I am scared of the unknown. I need not feel like a hypocrite because of my weaknesses - wanting my way, my privacy, and my nice life, I know that they are all part of the same trial and part of the same disease that God is preparing to rid me of.
I'm looking down and across at the enemy camp. I'm ready to go to battle.
In almost every movie or tv show that has some kind of battle in it, there is a moment when the central character stands on a ridge top and looks down and across at the enemy with whom he will be engaged in combat. Often, it is the night before, and it is a moment of introspection, anticipation, and apprehension.
Tonight, I find myself on such a ridge - albeit, a metaphoric one. But the battle is real, even if there are no actual encampments with torches and singing soldiers around bonfires. I'm looking down and across at an ugly enemy who disguised itself as something benign for years until it was discovered almost too late. Almost.
It is three months since this particular enemy was discovered, and less than that since we found out the type of venom it was harboring in its fangs. In the time between then and now, I have had more mood swings than a fifteen-year-old girl with boy troubles. I have periods of great hope and near-excitement for what God is doing - and has already done. But then, I have moments where I think that I just simply cannot do it. In fact, I just won't do it. But, this is kind of like labor - once you start it, you pretty much to have to finish it, one way or the other. Mommy can't just suddenly decide that Junior is just fine where he is, any more than I can decide to change my mind and not have cancer.
There are already a few things that have been lessons and blessings (my head so wants to say blessons and lessings), that even if God healed my tomorrow, they are indelibly printed on my soul.
First is the consistent, loving, cheerful attitude of EVERY medical person we have met! I know that Maui Memorial has this reputation of being somehow less-than, and to my friends - and I love you all - who insist upon continuing to disparage, criticize, or otherwise say not-nice things about this very unique hospital, please rethink, or at the very least, refrain from doing so out loud. All hospitals are full of germs and things happen. I have a friend who is now a doctor in Dallas (HI, SHARON!!). She told me things about the two hospitals in which she did her internship and residencies that would make anybody rethink the medical system. That is because these places a run by humans, who are just as prone to mistakes and mishaps like the rest of us. They put in insanely long hours, work with people at their absolute worst, take the blame for things over which they have no control - but are still there on the front lines doing everything they can to save the lives of total strangers as though they were closest kin. As I stated before, I have had more experience with hospitals than I ever wanted, but it gives me a measuring stick. The two hospitals I have spent time in here in Hawaii have been filled with such loving and gracious spirits. My care has been exceptional. I have never been treated with anything but warmth and compassion and as an individual - never one of a herd. The education and training of these doctors is impressive - and they further demonstrate their smarts by escaping the rat races on the mainland and practicing their art in paradise. Sounds like the kind of medical entourage that I would have picked for myself - but God did it for me.
Another thing is the overwhelming love - and food - of the people in my church. And at my former home church in San Diego. And a group of prayer warriors who were part of a team that prayed for a missionary team in Rwanda. And family (but technically, I think think they're supposed to. It's the code...). But it has really brought into focus my fierce independent streak. okay. I will call it what it is: I am a sort of personal control freak - meaning, I don't want to control you, but I sure want to control me. In fact, that is the primary reason I stayed away from drugs (until now!) and more than a little alcohol. I wasn't that much of a goody-two-shoes, I just hated anything that messed with my head. But what kept me safe until I actually developed a better value system has matured into that fierce independence better known as pride. I hate when anyone has to take care of me - even my sweet husband. I am not overstating this. I hate it, despise it, loathe it. I have no problem being there in a pinch for someone. It doesn't make me better than others, but because I am in that position of control, I feel more comfortable. This has been a real humbler. I have had to accept help in the most basics of functions - physical and otherwise. I have had to let others drive me around. I have had to accept meals prepared when I so love to cook. Small tangent: Fortunately, this is the best cooking church we have EVER been a part of - which explains the TEN POUNDS I gained in about ten days!! Enchiladas, chimchangas, beef stroganoff, pasta with meatballs, creamy chicken & rice & broccoli, roasted chicken, desserts...and ONE salad!! and then there was the second night - AHAHAHA!!! Kidding, obviously - but you get my point. And each meal prepared with love, brought with love. For me and mine. I am blessed by a blessing I feel uncomfortable accepting - and maybe that's the biggest blessing of them all.
Another side to that same coin is my need for privacy. Yes, I am a ham, in many ways. No one will ever accuse me of being shy. I am unafraid to speak in front of three or three hundred - and I have done both. I have been pretty transparent about my shortcomings - and some of them are E-P-I-C!! But I am very, very private when it comes to my needs. I hate admitting to being sick. I hate admitting that we need prayer for some financial challenges. I hate admitting how insecure I am. Or how lonely I can become. I hate admitting needing help (see above paragraph). Again, however, this need for privacy is also pride. I like my image of being the always positive, always friendly, always happy lady. I may be those things much of the time, but certainly not always. This past weekend I was leveled by an intestinal bug that could have come from all the meds or some just-a-wee-bit-too-old cranberry-pomegranite-cherry drink. Doesn't matter which - it was just plain miserable. This meant that my weekend of fun was messed up. The weekend of messed-up fun was right on the heels of Don's two days off, which were also supposed to be fun. Since the first three days of last week were spent driving back and forth to the other side for medical stuff, we opted to make Thursday a "no-pain" day - meaning, Denise stays in bed, legs elevated and as gorked on pain meds as she is allowed. But that was supposed to lead to an all-fun Friday. Did not happen. Don had to go to a work breakfast, and by the time he got home, I was already feeling a little off. I was not a friendly-positive-happy lady. It had been a rough week. I began to question God in less than respectful ways. I began to wonder if I really wanted to fight this fight. I could, without much effort, list off a dozen people who would have been there for me - to listen, comfort, and pray - if only I had not been so worried about my image. Privacy is a two-way prison.
I find that I, in my darker moments, think about the life we had a few short years ago. While I don't think there is any such thing as a charmed life, there are certainly blessed ones - and the Daltons certainly fit in that category. We had a pretty large, beautiful home in San Diego, with a pool and jacuzzi, koi pond, aviary, etc. We had parties. We traveled. Life was pretty dang sweet. Oh, of course, there were some really tough times, too. You can't raise three sons and be married for over twenty-some years with shedding some metaphorical blood. And those epic shortcomings of mine?? So on display at that time. Now, years later, we had a financial shift thanks to...well...actually, the economy takes the blame, but it was God teaching some pretty self-involved (although LOVELY) people a very painful lesson. Our sons are dealing with some trials in their lives, which is the quickest way to to get to parents' hearts. And now this. But....when I get my eyes off of myself, and back on the Lord who loves me, I realize that NOW is the blessed life! I see my husband and sons loving in me in a way that blows my little drug-pickled mind. I see my sisters and brother and nieces and nephews and cousins and in-laws just rallying to my side. And I get to do all of this, see all of this, while living in my absolute dream location. I love Maui. I picked the perfect place to get better. Yes, my life is rich and full and blessed.
And tonight, I am looking down and across at the enemy camp. I'm not going to lie and say I'm not afraid of what it's going to feel like, what the side effects will be. I spent the larger part of last week crying about the upcoming loss of my hair once chemo starts in January. But this battle is a little more unknown. And my heart pounds in apprehension. I think about the leaders in the Bible. Did Gideon's stomach twist before he and his three hundred faced down the huge armies of the Midianites? Did Joshua have sweaty palms before he blew the trumpet at Jericho? And David. Did that little shepherd kid want to toss his cookies before tossing a stone that killed Goliath? Almost assuredly, yes. Even Jesus - God Himself - sweated blood in anticipation of His torture and being crucified.
I certainly don't compare myself with any of those - especially our sinless Lord who took that pain, torture, and cruel death for my sake. I just know that I need not let the devil tell me that my faith is weak because I am scared of the unknown. I need not feel like a hypocrite because of my weaknesses - wanting my way, my privacy, and my nice life, I know that they are all part of the same trial and part of the same disease that God is preparing to rid me of.
I'm looking down and across at the enemy camp. I'm ready to go to battle.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
The Substance of Things Hoped For...
...the evidence of things not seen...
The Apostle Paul gives this eloquent and succinct definition of Faith in his letter to the Hebrews (11:1), yet it is an idea and way of believing that most - if not all - Christians still grapple with. My friend, Vania, stated it clearly last week, after we had been praying for a quick clearing of the insurance red tape so the scheduled surgery could go as planned, and it cleared - much to our shock and amazement.
"We say," said Vania, "when we see the issue, 'oh, God's got this. No problem!', and then when He does take care of it, we say "Really?? You're kidding!!'" In other words, perhaps we don't believe quite so much as we say we do. We ask for the miraculous, proclaiming praise for our omnipotent God, then drop our teeth when we see miracles - minor or major.
As if we didn't have enough evidence of God's power all around us and in the Bible and throughout history and over insurance companies, we were about to be blown away by something that still boggles my already boggled mind.
To get to that part, we have to go through this part: my globectomy - the original lump that has apparently caused all this rucus. A few episodes back, if you recall, they did a biopsy on said globular mass, but found only icky dead stuff inside with no active cancer cells. It turns out that that this is the likely culprit after all - a muscle sarcoma. I know. I said that last time...or the time before.
At any rate, this was a bad guy, icky, globular - and tied up to a few things inside my leg, like arteries and nerves and stuff. What made this all so crazy is that this had been there for a number of years, but had been wearing its lipoma-muscle-knot-tendon disguise, so it got away with just sitting there. It also did nothing offensive or obvious like causing discomfort or being visible. Of course, the fact that I am not now, nor ever have been, a skinny minnie when it comes to ANY part of me - let alone legs that used to run sprints - might have helped with that last part. What was getting almost comical was how all the medical people were asking when it started to bother me. Well.... NOT UNTIL YOU PEOPLE STARTED POKING AT IT!!! But the decision was made to remove it - or as much as they could - before starting radiation.
As I told you in one of my leapfrogged posts, this is called a "de-bulking" procedure. Dr. Lyons, my surgeon-without-a-nicname, made it very clear that this was not a "cure" type surgery because it had already gotten out of the barn, so to speak. Had this beast been still contained, with no signs of spread, then they would be taking a more aggressive "cure" type action - which would have meant taking the ENTIRE quad muscle!!! YEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOW!!!! have you seen the television series House?!!? About the junkie, cranky, brilliant doctor who is forever hobbling because his quad muscle died and disintegrated!?!? Well, I wasn't ready to be Dr. House in any way, shape, or form, so I'm thinking that this ain't so bad. So, the plan was to get about 90% (at best), and have the rest nuked away.
Just before I went in, Dr. Lyons and his anesthesiologist (my next new bff) were ultrasounding the heck outa this bad boy. What I just saw as gray squiggles, just like almost ANY ultrasound (yes, I even mean those of your baby the size of a wasabi pea...even though it is the cutest wasabi pea ever!), they saw as a problematic wad of goo and cancerous calcifications. While the nurse anesthetist was doing her best to start iv's (yes, plural) with veins that are ready for "Intervention", thanks to all the zillions of tests and previous iv's, Dr.'s Cutter and Gas-Passer were looking at the gray squiggles and pointing at a pulsing squiggle that they identified as the femoral artery. I didn't disagree, even though I had been on Webmd only 24 hours previous. The point they were making to each other was that this thing was in a delicate place (you're telling me?!??), and actually crossed over into the groin area (again, you telling ME delicate!?!?). As they were deciding different ways of shaving and planing of this thing like a lump of aged cheddar, I just lay there chatting with the nurse as she kept drilling for oil. A few minutes later, I was in the O.R., headed for blissful oblivion. My work was done. It was now up to them. Well....up to them and whatever God had in store.
The night before, I had been with Don, and much of my church family, at our Wednesday night worship and Bible Study. At the end, our dear friend and Pastor, Steve, has folks lay hands on me and pray. His prayer was specifically that the doctors be shocked by what they find, and that this tumor be able to be lifted cleanly away from all nerves and arteries.
The Substance of things hoped for....
Don, Steve, and Kim (Steve's wife and my dear, funny friend), were waiting for the doctor. When Dr. Lyons came in, the dude was all excited and downright giddy - with a picture of a red, nasty glob in tow. The tumor had lifted clean away. It was encapsulated in a way that NO ONE saw. It was whole and intact. I had been marked to receive 3 units of blood, because they expected this highly vascularized (lotsa blood vessels) to bleed like crazy once they being the shaving process. I needed no blood. The surgery was to take a least 2 hours. It was less than 90 minutes. I was to have drains for a least a couple of days, and be in the hospital 3 or 4. I had no drains, and was out in 48 hours.
...the evidence of things not seen.
There are times when my stuff might almost need a disclaimer, warning all you who lovingly read, but do not Believe. But that's wrong. In fact, I think this one should come with a "Claimer", as in I claim the name of Jesus. Oh, not the 2:00 a.m. "I-claim-in-the-name-of-Jesus-to-stand-up-and-do-the-Hokey-Pokey-and-here's-your-million-dollars-once you-pay-me-a-few-thousand" type of false claiming, but the claim of our hearts to the One who claimed us.
And as I still revel in this amazing thing - and by the way, Dr. Lyons was still giddy the next day! - I am now being asked to believe yet again. Don and I met with Dr. Labradoodle (main onco) and Dr. Tswing Tskirt Tsai (Radiation onco) for the overall picture as we begin to engage the enemy in earnest.
To summarize: I get mapped and tattooed tomorrow. Hopefully, the tattoos are not of a real big map. These, from what I hear - and study on the internet, of course - are just little dots so they can nuke the same place each and every time. Of this, I am glad. I do not relish the idea of two techies playing Nuclear Battleship with my tumors. The therapy will be five days a week for five weeks. This will have me in fine fettle (what is a fettle and why do I want to be in a fine one?!!?) by the time we hit San Diego on December 20! I also get to be one of the first to use the brand spankin' new Nuke Tube. And, yes, it is state of the art, not something they picked up on E-bay from a "real" hospital on the mainland.
When we return home to Maui, chemo will start. Since it is now clear to them that it is not Thyroid Cancer, the sequel, and it is simply a sarcoma (muscle cancer), they will be using a broad spectrum, potent set of what Dr. Altaha (Labradoodle) calls the backbone of chemotherapy. In order to possibly narrow the scope, they actually sent some samples to the Mayo Clinic for a second opinion! Did I tell ya!?!? I'm a stinkin' ROCK STAR!!
But rock star status notwithstanding, I still have some not-so-fun stuff ahead. As radiation begins, the dying tissue will cause pain to get worse before it gets better. That's okay. They have me on MORE narcotics!! wow...I really am a rock star..... ANYWAY, once things start settling down, then the pain will go away. Away away. Like it hasn't been away in over a year. Makes my head spin. no...wait....that's the morphine.... or the other stuff....
Once chemo starts....I will be sporting a very clean, smooth style on my noggin. Yup. Losin' m'hair. I wish I could sound all brave and strong and la-dee-da and stuff, but honestly, that's not how I feel. I know, it will grow back, but gee-mo-nee. I am a girl. I am a girl with LOTS of brushes and LOTS of hair product. Yes, I know that there are my girlfriends in Maui totally dying at that bit of trivia, because, quite honestly, the top-down jeep in my usual hair stylist. But I like having options. I'll be okay...I just need to process.
And I need to have F-A-I-T-H. I need to remember the miracles that God has already brought down our path. I need to remember His sovereignty and power and His MERCY!! It is going to be okay!
I'm closing this out, now. The pharmacy is taking over in my system. But I just wanted you all to know. I wanted you to know the amazing ways that God is working over here. I'll get silly about the goofiness that we've encountered (and it is considerable), when I do my next post.
And, Vania, I promise to try to not be shocked the next time the Lord answers a prayer so quickly and specifically.
The Apostle Paul gives this eloquent and succinct definition of Faith in his letter to the Hebrews (11:1), yet it is an idea and way of believing that most - if not all - Christians still grapple with. My friend, Vania, stated it clearly last week, after we had been praying for a quick clearing of the insurance red tape so the scheduled surgery could go as planned, and it cleared - much to our shock and amazement.
"We say," said Vania, "when we see the issue, 'oh, God's got this. No problem!', and then when He does take care of it, we say "Really?? You're kidding!!'" In other words, perhaps we don't believe quite so much as we say we do. We ask for the miraculous, proclaiming praise for our omnipotent God, then drop our teeth when we see miracles - minor or major.
As if we didn't have enough evidence of God's power all around us and in the Bible and throughout history and over insurance companies, we were about to be blown away by something that still boggles my already boggled mind.
To get to that part, we have to go through this part: my globectomy - the original lump that has apparently caused all this rucus. A few episodes back, if you recall, they did a biopsy on said globular mass, but found only icky dead stuff inside with no active cancer cells. It turns out that that this is the likely culprit after all - a muscle sarcoma. I know. I said that last time...or the time before.
At any rate, this was a bad guy, icky, globular - and tied up to a few things inside my leg, like arteries and nerves and stuff. What made this all so crazy is that this had been there for a number of years, but had been wearing its lipoma-muscle-knot-tendon disguise, so it got away with just sitting there. It also did nothing offensive or obvious like causing discomfort or being visible. Of course, the fact that I am not now, nor ever have been, a skinny minnie when it comes to ANY part of me - let alone legs that used to run sprints - might have helped with that last part. What was getting almost comical was how all the medical people were asking when it started to bother me. Well.... NOT UNTIL YOU PEOPLE STARTED POKING AT IT!!! But the decision was made to remove it - or as much as they could - before starting radiation.
As I told you in one of my leapfrogged posts, this is called a "de-bulking" procedure. Dr. Lyons, my surgeon-without-a-nicname, made it very clear that this was not a "cure" type surgery because it had already gotten out of the barn, so to speak. Had this beast been still contained, with no signs of spread, then they would be taking a more aggressive "cure" type action - which would have meant taking the ENTIRE quad muscle!!! YEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOW!!!! have you seen the television series House?!!? About the junkie, cranky, brilliant doctor who is forever hobbling because his quad muscle died and disintegrated!?!? Well, I wasn't ready to be Dr. House in any way, shape, or form, so I'm thinking that this ain't so bad. So, the plan was to get about 90% (at best), and have the rest nuked away.
Just before I went in, Dr. Lyons and his anesthesiologist (my next new bff) were ultrasounding the heck outa this bad boy. What I just saw as gray squiggles, just like almost ANY ultrasound (yes, I even mean those of your baby the size of a wasabi pea...even though it is the cutest wasabi pea ever!), they saw as a problematic wad of goo and cancerous calcifications. While the nurse anesthetist was doing her best to start iv's (yes, plural) with veins that are ready for "Intervention", thanks to all the zillions of tests and previous iv's, Dr.'s Cutter and Gas-Passer were looking at the gray squiggles and pointing at a pulsing squiggle that they identified as the femoral artery. I didn't disagree, even though I had been on Webmd only 24 hours previous. The point they were making to each other was that this thing was in a delicate place (you're telling me?!??), and actually crossed over into the groin area (again, you telling ME delicate!?!?). As they were deciding different ways of shaving and planing of this thing like a lump of aged cheddar, I just lay there chatting with the nurse as she kept drilling for oil. A few minutes later, I was in the O.R., headed for blissful oblivion. My work was done. It was now up to them. Well....up to them and whatever God had in store.
The night before, I had been with Don, and much of my church family, at our Wednesday night worship and Bible Study. At the end, our dear friend and Pastor, Steve, has folks lay hands on me and pray. His prayer was specifically that the doctors be shocked by what they find, and that this tumor be able to be lifted cleanly away from all nerves and arteries.
The Substance of things hoped for....
Don, Steve, and Kim (Steve's wife and my dear, funny friend), were waiting for the doctor. When Dr. Lyons came in, the dude was all excited and downright giddy - with a picture of a red, nasty glob in tow. The tumor had lifted clean away. It was encapsulated in a way that NO ONE saw. It was whole and intact. I had been marked to receive 3 units of blood, because they expected this highly vascularized (lotsa blood vessels) to bleed like crazy once they being the shaving process. I needed no blood. The surgery was to take a least 2 hours. It was less than 90 minutes. I was to have drains for a least a couple of days, and be in the hospital 3 or 4. I had no drains, and was out in 48 hours.
...the evidence of things not seen.
There are times when my stuff might almost need a disclaimer, warning all you who lovingly read, but do not Believe. But that's wrong. In fact, I think this one should come with a "Claimer", as in I claim the name of Jesus. Oh, not the 2:00 a.m. "I-claim-in-the-name-of-Jesus-to-stand-up-and-do-the-Hokey-Pokey-and-here's-your-million-dollars-once you-pay-me-a-few-thousand" type of false claiming, but the claim of our hearts to the One who claimed us.
And as I still revel in this amazing thing - and by the way, Dr. Lyons was still giddy the next day! - I am now being asked to believe yet again. Don and I met with Dr. Labradoodle (main onco) and Dr. Tswing Tskirt Tsai (Radiation onco) for the overall picture as we begin to engage the enemy in earnest.
To summarize: I get mapped and tattooed tomorrow. Hopefully, the tattoos are not of a real big map. These, from what I hear - and study on the internet, of course - are just little dots so they can nuke the same place each and every time. Of this, I am glad. I do not relish the idea of two techies playing Nuclear Battleship with my tumors. The therapy will be five days a week for five weeks. This will have me in fine fettle (what is a fettle and why do I want to be in a fine one?!!?) by the time we hit San Diego on December 20! I also get to be one of the first to use the brand spankin' new Nuke Tube. And, yes, it is state of the art, not something they picked up on E-bay from a "real" hospital on the mainland.
When we return home to Maui, chemo will start. Since it is now clear to them that it is not Thyroid Cancer, the sequel, and it is simply a sarcoma (muscle cancer), they will be using a broad spectrum, potent set of what Dr. Altaha (Labradoodle) calls the backbone of chemotherapy. In order to possibly narrow the scope, they actually sent some samples to the Mayo Clinic for a second opinion! Did I tell ya!?!? I'm a stinkin' ROCK STAR!!
But rock star status notwithstanding, I still have some not-so-fun stuff ahead. As radiation begins, the dying tissue will cause pain to get worse before it gets better. That's okay. They have me on MORE narcotics!! wow...I really am a rock star..... ANYWAY, once things start settling down, then the pain will go away. Away away. Like it hasn't been away in over a year. Makes my head spin. no...wait....that's the morphine.... or the other stuff....
Once chemo starts....I will be sporting a very clean, smooth style on my noggin. Yup. Losin' m'hair. I wish I could sound all brave and strong and la-dee-da and stuff, but honestly, that's not how I feel. I know, it will grow back, but gee-mo-nee. I am a girl. I am a girl with LOTS of brushes and LOTS of hair product. Yes, I know that there are my girlfriends in Maui totally dying at that bit of trivia, because, quite honestly, the top-down jeep in my usual hair stylist. But I like having options. I'll be okay...I just need to process.
And I need to have F-A-I-T-H. I need to remember the miracles that God has already brought down our path. I need to remember His sovereignty and power and His MERCY!! It is going to be okay!
I'm closing this out, now. The pharmacy is taking over in my system. But I just wanted you all to know. I wanted you to know the amazing ways that God is working over here. I'll get silly about the goofiness that we've encountered (and it is considerable), when I do my next post.
And, Vania, I promise to try to not be shocked the next time the Lord answers a prayer so quickly and specifically.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Medusa Hair and an Eggplant Thigh
(*a little note to start: this is taking me a few days to write. Make that, several days. Seems that sitting at my desk for extended periods of time is not an option for the time being. In fact, I barely get a sentence done at each sitting. Between the discomfort from my banged up leg, and the morphine, and the banged up leg, and the morphine, and the....wait a minute....this sounds familiar..... Okay. I think you get the point. I am also finding words are disappearing on me. Yes, I usually have more words than this. Scary, huh... So, forgive the extended nature of this post. I hope it sounds cohesive and coherent. Barring that...may at least be entertaining....)
I have discovered one of the most unique and unexpected positives about getting older and gaining perspective: the joy of being wrong. Now I am not talking about doing the wrong thing, because that's never good, and I'm not talking about saying the wrong thing, because that's just mean, and certainly am not talking about wearing the wrong thing or accessorizing wrong, because, well...it just makes me shudder to think about it.... I am talking about having a point of view or an outlook on a particular subject, and possibly even arguing enthusiastically your point - only to find a ways down the road that you were W-R-0-N-G!! And it turns out to be the best, happiest wrong you could be.
Case in Point: when Don's Real Estate biz was swirling around the commode for the umpteenth time, he wanted to work for one of the Time Share sales places around here. Nuh-uh. Tell me, don't you get just a wee bit heebie-jeebied at the mere mention!??? Well, I got a LOT heebie-jeebied. Don and I had been to at least three, and had not once left NOT livid. I don't like schmoozey pushy creepy smarmy high-pressure condescending superior salespeople. Of any product. And I am a former Tupperware Lady!!! Anyway, my hubby is none of those things on his worst day, and I still just believed in him and his business so much. Don believed in eating and paying rent and having health benefits. After a few reeeeeally enthusiastic....discussions, shall we say, I finally quieted down long enough for God to speak to me, I backed off - and Don got this job which is not a thing like the days of olde. He loves the program, (most) of the people, and the benefits. The benefits which got me into the doctor.
Soooooo happy to be soooooo wrong!!
Fast forward to a few weeks ago when I knew I was going to have my left femur "stah-bih-lised" by one of the O-cubed (Ortho Oncos on O'ahu). I am fascinated by medical stuff, and I also wanted to prepare myself for what might lie ahead. So, of course, I hit the internet, knowing that this is where any of us can go to diagnose and choose proper treatment for ANYTHING. Figuring I knew what to search for, I plugged in "femur replacement" - because, after all, everything that can be found on the internet is totally factual and is just as good as a decade or so of medical school and who needs doctors when you have webmd!?!? Actually, Since I went to college to study religion and psychology, this qualifies me to got to actual Journal articles - which I did.
HOLY MEAT SLAB, BATMAN!!! Greg was still visiting, and since he was pre-med for his first semester at San Diego State, he was maybe even over-quailified to look at this stuff. The "eeeaaauuuw!!" that emerged from his lips didn't sound quite professional, however. What we saw was what was purportedly a human leg, laid open from mid-calf to mid-hip. Neither Greg nor I are the squeamish types, but the prospect of that being done to my leg....ehh...yech. But fascination took over and we got a little lost in looking at the amazing apparatus that would be attached to my leg.
After a bit, I looked at the after care stuff, which was my original intent for looking all this gory stuff up. After reading this, I want to go back to the meat slab. Five days in the hospital in traction - which, to me, meant one thing: BED PAN!! Then four-to-six weeks on crutches - meaning, no ocean for at least another month. This had me happy not a bit -which is what led to my yelling-at-God-in-the-open-jeep meltdown detailed in the previous post. But, I finally resigned myself to whatever would have to be - and we packed up for a week on O'ahu.
We scored big on the flight over to O'ahu from here - Don finding uber cheap tickets that were from our little local airport (5 minutes away) instead of the main one in Kahalui (50 minutes away). I still managed to make us nearly late. I am NOT used to moving this slow! Taking a nice sized puddle jumper to Honolulu was great - but it would get interesting later. But more on that....later.
We also opted to rent a little car, trying to avoid the hilarious/calamitous/near disasterous adventures of cab rides. Besides, Don would need a ride back and forth between hospital and hotel. Never, in all our visits to Honolulu, have we failed to get lost. This was no exception, even though we got their little nav system. For one thing, she spoke tooooo sloooowly.... or she was reading her map and not sure where we were going either. At any rate, Don, the tiny lady in the Nav, and I had quite a tour of the area surrounding our doctor and the hospital in which all the stuff that was gonna happen was gonna happen. We finally made it though - after discovering that the street didn't quite go through. But we made it.
To say that this collection of doctors is impressive is an understatement. The group is an entire floor of orthopedic surgeons, and their credentials and specialties are equally so. After checking into the main registration desk, we were then sent to another suite of rooms to meet my young surgeon. And i do mean young. The youngest yet. He graduated high school only THREE YEARS BEFORE OUR OLDEST BOY!! But considering the group he was part of, we didn't question.
Okay. So now we have as part of my medical entourage: Dr. Darren (Asian Doogie Howser) Egami, the ortho who has championed this from the beginning; the main oncologist, Dr. Ramin (Dr. Labradoodle) Altaha; the radiation onco, Dr. Diane (Tswing Tskirt) Tsai, and now, my onco ortho, Dr. Gary Blum...num-num-yum-yum. Too stinkin' good looking. But, as with the others, super qualified and educated and smart enough to PRACTICE IN HAWAII!!
Let's cut to the chase (or chase to the cut...AHAHAHAHAHA!!!! I am too funny for my own good....ahhhhhh tears of mirth I must wipe away....). Our visit to Dr. Blum (num-num) was thorough and made me oh-so-happy - not because he was good-looking, but because he let me know quickly how WRONG I was, and oh, how happy I was to be so wrong AGAIN!!
I asked about the mile-long incision. He said, no, three small ones! I said, out of the water for six weeks? He said, no, two weeks. I LOVE THIS GUY!! Don thought that this meant it wouldn't be quite so painful, to which Dr. B (n-n) said, uh, no, it will definitely feel like someone hammered a rod down the middle of her femur. Shoulda quit while we were ahead...
Now I have to write faster. Just took all my sleepytime and painkilling drugs which means I could be nodding off in the middle of this. Like some of you all are. Don't lie.
We showed up for surgery (after having been a little lost...again) at the snazziest looking hospital ever! Queen's Medical Center lies above Waikiki, and looks more like a museum or old hotel - with historic displays and plaques, and hardwood floors so shiny that it is almost indecent for skirt-wearing ladies. Having checked-in, we then went to a holding area where we, along with other surgical patients...held. Technically, they were considering this a day surgery. Crazy, huh? We went from days in the hospital in traction to being bounced in a day, in less than 48 hours! But hold we did, and found ourselves blessed by a couple of prayer phone calls from a couple of our favorite prayer warriors. Awesome....truly blessed and overwhelmed....just awesome.
I met my new best friend in that time - the anesthesiologist - who SEEEERIOUSLY looked like he was a high school freshman dressed up in his dad's scrubs for Halloween. But he became my best friend after giving me a mix of anesthesia that did NOT have my insides looking for the quickest post-surgical exit. But I'm ahead of myself...
When it was my turn, Dr. B(n-n) came down to drive the gurney himself! I have had more experience with surgery than I ever intended, and this was a first. I found out later that this guy is so insistent about being hands-on in every aspect that he has no interns or residences that work for him. He is the original DIY Doc. My surgical staff was made up entirely of men - and, yes, most of them Hawaiian Hunky Men. Either that, or my new BFF had started the drugs earlier than I knew....at any rate, kinda okay with it!
I actually woke up fairly bright-eyed in recovery - hence the permanent BFF status (isn't that redundant?) of my Junior Anesthesiologist....who is probably waaaay older than I think, and certainly waaaaay smarter than most of us ever hope to be. I was fresh as a daisy so fast that I actually beat my hubby to the room. I had a private room, which was nicer than most motel rooms. There was a large comfy chair there for Don, which we later discovered opened up into a quasi-bed-cot-sleeping contraption. But I was comfy, and isn't that what truly matters?
To say that my care was special is quite an understatement. I had the most attentive nursing staff, which for me, meant that they would need to be around for the first walking adventure...to the potty...because I refused to use the dreaded bedpan. I mean, really. I was not about to sit and, you know, on something that looked like a large metal model of what can best be described as a giant Lego Man Hat. SO, walk it was. And walk I did. Well, I guess shuffle would be more like it, and I did have to plan well ahead of when I thought I might actually need to go potty. But we made it through the night, and into the morning for rounds...round...with Dr. B(n-n). AT 6:30 a.m., this guy was still as chipper as he had been every other time we chatter. I think this guy really does love his work!! He expressed how pleased he was, then proceeded to draw a very ACCURATE picture of my bones and what he did. Maybe this is why Dr. Labradoodle never became an orthopedic surgeon - he could never pass the art class. But this guy here was so confident, he sprung me that afternoon - much to the shock of our Calvary Chapel Westside Helping Hands Ministry Leader - or, her short name, The Angel, Denise Smith. This poor girl had met with me and set up meals to begin the next Thursday, not on Saturday or Sunday. oops.
(Oh, Lord love a little fuzzy duck. I am now about to start typing with my nose I'm so sleepy. And I haven't much of a nose with which to type. My plan was to stay up as late as possible, because as I write about one surgery that happened 4 weeks ago Friday, I am preparing for the next one tomorrow afternoon. But no sneak peeks. Guess I'll have to finish this in the morning....)
(**okay...this has been interrupted by that other surgery and the other blog - which means that you will have to figure out the the confused timeline I am presenting to you....WELCOME TO MY WORLD!!!)
Our return to Maui, was to say the least, a bit of a blur for me. I was fairly jacked up on pain killers, and what pain got through was enough to keep me occupied. The one teeny-tiny drawback was the whole wheelchair situation. This being our little Kapalua airport, there was no jetway (duh!) and not even a ramp to accommodate a regular wheelchair. What they do have is one of those cargo lifts (go ahead....make the obvious jokes...), but again, too skinny for a regular wheelchair. Instead, it is a little, armless chair on wheels, with a high back and enough straps on it for a M*A*S*H helicopter-side gurney. By this time, I was sweating profusely from the weather, exertion, and just downright nasty pain. And I then had to grab the necks of a couple of fortunate airport workers as they lifted me into the contraption that would eventually get me on the ground. The began the strapping. By the time they were done with me and bringing me out, all the was missing was the wire muzzle to keep me from looking like a female, sweaty Hannibal Lector. And Gregory was enjoying every bit of it.
Once the cargo lift got me and my strapped-in self down, it was then time to transfer to the regular wheelchair. Having spent a few more minutes sweating and getting slimier, it was now time for me to wrap my arms around a very strong-looking, Hawaiian gal...God bless her. As we were there, my nose to her cheek, as someone else maneuvered the skinny chair out and the regular one in and under, asking her to dance seemed the only polite thing to do. But then I pointed out that she would have to lead.
After what seemed like forever - for all involved - I was wheeled into the little waiting area where Greg was waiting. But not our ride home with friends Johnny and Dixie. Seems someone for got to call and tell them I was on the way home.... Johnny and Dixie live only ten minutes or so from the Kap airport, but egad, that felt like a long ten or fifteen. But their cheerful, loving faces showed up, and somehow, I got into the car. I seriously do not remember that part, but I am sure it was as entertaining as all other efforts to move me from Point A to Point B.
My re-entry into home was met with a bit of fanfare and anxiety from my normal not -anxious pup, FloJo. This doggy gets happy, but not whiny when her family comes home from being gone a couple of days. This time was different, and she knew it. Not only was there whining, but full on frantic-trying-to-get-out-of-the-yard craziness. Obviously, she had to wait, but it was one of those things where you see that dogs are much smarter than humans when it comes to sensing bad stuff. Not that we humans raise the bar that high, but you get my drift.
I also had the special treat of my very own borrowed walker!! Johnny and Dixie had borrowed it from their 90+-year-old upstairs neighbor. I don't know if the lady just was immobile, or what, but a couple of days later, I got my very own used one - replete with fuzzy tennis balls - that J&D got free from Salvation Army. Wait 'til I show the other girls!!! But it got me around (and does again now), it came with love and a smile, and for freeeeeeee!!
The rest of the night was navigated through fog - with one notable exception: as if Johnny and Dixie had not done enough for us, they also made us a delicious dinner - Dixie's delicious spaghetti and meatballs. I wasn't very hungry, to say the least, but this just sounded too good. My issues were also that I was pretty much done with sitting up for the night, and I was still orbiting somewhere near the Space Station. My beloved hubby got my as comfy as possible in bed (and OH, did that bed feel good!!!), then gave me a little bowl. Since I couldn't sit up, that meant lying on my back, and placing said little bowl balanced on my sternum. Don offered to feed me, but I told him to just enjoy the chow with his boy while watching college football. I also knew that it was not going to be pretty. Don laid a napkin on me between chin and bowl, asked again about sitting me up, to which I responded "ummnmnm-umnah"...to the best of my recollection.
Me and my yummy spaghetti and meatballs were free to relate in privacy. With every ounce of my already limited coordination, I speared a meatball, managed to cut said meatball in two, and then like a little crane, pulled the fork-impaled meatball the six or so inches to my waiting mouth, which was open and facing upward, chewed, and consumed the deliciousness. Then I took a break. Over the next twenty minutes or so, I continued this process - including twirling the noodles! I am a particularly good spaghetti noodle twirler, I must admit. Bowl finished, I set it back on the nightstand and drifted off into my drug-hazed happy place.
A while later- somewhere between ten minutes and two hours - I woke up to see that the little food elf had made a visit, and there was my little bowl on the nightstand with more of Dixie's yummy spaghetti and meatballs. My napkin/bib/safety shield was still in place from my first serving, so I just placed the little bowl back on my sternum and began to enjoy my seconds. Now, what transpired next is even more of a blur than other....transpirations (I get in my own way with words sometimes, but...just go with it...), but during the whole moving food from bowl to mouth, I either got cocky, lost concentration, or just simply nodded off, because I found myself the recipient of a pasta and marinara facial. The blob was sorta in line with my mouth, but nowhere near its designated target. This marked the end of the meal. Since there was no point in even attempting to call to my beloved caretaker, I simply removed the glob. Did I eat said glob? Honestly....couldn't tell ya. But Don said nothing about there being anything left in the bowl or napkin....
I, for better or worse, am the veteran of more than a couple of surgical procedures. Not enough to earn myself a spot on a reality freak show, but enough to require extra space when medical forms ask about previous surgery. I should know to not ever judge how great a surgical site looks just a day or two after the damage was done. While I was definitely bandaged from hip to just above the knew, much of the skin was visible, and it was relatively clear and un-swollen.
My sister, Vicki, and I had a conversation during her visit here, about vegetables - particularly, eggplant. While she believes that eggplant is a most delicious veggie, and has a garden full of them back in her Minnesota home. I think eggplant could be the most vile thing I have ever laid my little palate on. Can't find an edible way to prepare it. BUT!! I think it could also be the most beautiful vegetable in appearance (there is a metaphor in that, but I'll save it for another time...). I think the color "eggplant", when used in design, is rich and saturated. But it should never, ever be seen as the color of a leg. After a few days, the bandages started easing off, revealing such an eggplant hue...and my swollen thigh had grown pretty much to an eggplant shape - and not the long, skinny type, either. ahhhh...beautimous......
To add to my overall post-surgical loveliness was the no shower for a week edict. look back up, what may seem volumes ago but is actually only a few paragraphs, to the rather sweat-covered return home. mmm-hmm. Over the years, my hair has gotten much curlier - especially around humidity. It can, at times, look kinda cute. This was not one of those times. So, add together no shower plus mucho sweat plus high humidity, and that equals not so much cute, but downright mythological creature horrifying. Now, while no one actually turned to stone upon visiting me, what rested atop my head was certainly Medusa-like in quality. By Tuesday, it had reached such a level of...of...really, words fail - that we had to attempt washing it kind of adjacent to the tub.
Since standing was not an option, and even sitting long was still not so good, we had to figure out how to manage getting at least seven layers of glech (THAT is the word I was looking for!!), without soaking down the entire bathroom. Our "master" bath is essentially a long skinny room with two sinks on one side, a shower/tub combo at the end, and a toilet jammed in between the two. Somehow, we had to get a chair over to the tub, between the potty and wall, with enough room for Don to stand there with the handheld and wash his invalid wife's head. The only chairs we have are our dining room chairs and a big fake leather desk chair. We opted for one of the dining room chairs - especially considering that the desk chair is on wheels. Might have made it easy to get me to the tub, but hard to keep me there. You know all those romantic book/tv/movie scenes that have these tender scenes of a man washing his wife's hair!?!? It's so loving....so sweet...such a picture of devotion.... Yeah, well it was none of that. Between him trying to drown me (he swears he wasn't, but I don't know...), me either yelling in pain or at him - because he was trying to drown me - it was less than, shall we say, pitter-pattery-hearts inspiring. But we both made it out alive.
And now, we are almost five weeks after surgery - the titanium leg one, that is. We went back to O'ahu on the 19th for the post-op, and Dr. Blum-num-num was just as nummy and yummy as he was before. He was also even more excited, as he got to show us the x-rays of his work. Impressive, to be sure! The rod really does extend the length of the femur, and there is one long bolt holding it into my hip, and a shorter one just above the knee. Cool stuff. As far as the arm and any further follow up - that will happen in three or four months. Dr. B-n-n is sure that the arm should be okay since it isn't a load bearing bone. But I think he is looking forward to more HGTV-meets-The Health Channel medicine as he gets to pour in some kind of cement or plaster or grout filler. He calls it bio-carpentry. Don't know if that is an actual term, or if he really is as funny as he is cute and smart and gifted and cute.
I am so impressed with this guy's absolute enthusiasm for what he does - but I do remind him that his hands were chosen and gifted by God's hands. He did not disagree. In fact, every doctor hears the same from me. None disagree. Oh, for sure, some might be muttering under their breath as they leave the room because they don't want to argue with the lady with cancer, but I don't think so. We have yet to encounter arrogance, cockiness, or anything short of compassion and sweet spirits mixed with crazy smarts and credentials and education. I expect nothing less as God continues to guide us through this journey.
So, I promised you a long post. I kept my promise. There will be another one in the next couple days about this last bit of action on my legs. I intend to keep that promise, as well. Aren't you glad!?!?
Thanks for listening. You are appreciated. You are prayed for.
I have discovered one of the most unique and unexpected positives about getting older and gaining perspective: the joy of being wrong. Now I am not talking about doing the wrong thing, because that's never good, and I'm not talking about saying the wrong thing, because that's just mean, and certainly am not talking about wearing the wrong thing or accessorizing wrong, because, well...it just makes me shudder to think about it.... I am talking about having a point of view or an outlook on a particular subject, and possibly even arguing enthusiastically your point - only to find a ways down the road that you were W-R-0-N-G!! And it turns out to be the best, happiest wrong you could be.
Case in Point: when Don's Real Estate biz was swirling around the commode for the umpteenth time, he wanted to work for one of the Time Share sales places around here. Nuh-uh. Tell me, don't you get just a wee bit heebie-jeebied at the mere mention!??? Well, I got a LOT heebie-jeebied. Don and I had been to at least three, and had not once left NOT livid. I don't like schmoozey pushy creepy smarmy high-pressure condescending superior salespeople. Of any product. And I am a former Tupperware Lady!!! Anyway, my hubby is none of those things on his worst day, and I still just believed in him and his business so much. Don believed in eating and paying rent and having health benefits. After a few reeeeeally enthusiastic....discussions, shall we say, I finally quieted down long enough for God to speak to me, I backed off - and Don got this job which is not a thing like the days of olde. He loves the program, (most) of the people, and the benefits. The benefits which got me into the doctor.
Soooooo happy to be soooooo wrong!!
Fast forward to a few weeks ago when I knew I was going to have my left femur "stah-bih-lised" by one of the O-cubed (Ortho Oncos on O'ahu). I am fascinated by medical stuff, and I also wanted to prepare myself for what might lie ahead. So, of course, I hit the internet, knowing that this is where any of us can go to diagnose and choose proper treatment for ANYTHING. Figuring I knew what to search for, I plugged in "femur replacement" - because, after all, everything that can be found on the internet is totally factual and is just as good as a decade or so of medical school and who needs doctors when you have webmd!?!? Actually, Since I went to college to study religion and psychology, this qualifies me to got to actual Journal articles - which I did.
HOLY MEAT SLAB, BATMAN!!! Greg was still visiting, and since he was pre-med for his first semester at San Diego State, he was maybe even over-quailified to look at this stuff. The "eeeaaauuuw!!" that emerged from his lips didn't sound quite professional, however. What we saw was what was purportedly a human leg, laid open from mid-calf to mid-hip. Neither Greg nor I are the squeamish types, but the prospect of that being done to my leg....ehh...yech. But fascination took over and we got a little lost in looking at the amazing apparatus that would be attached to my leg.
After a bit, I looked at the after care stuff, which was my original intent for looking all this gory stuff up. After reading this, I want to go back to the meat slab. Five days in the hospital in traction - which, to me, meant one thing: BED PAN!! Then four-to-six weeks on crutches - meaning, no ocean for at least another month. This had me happy not a bit -which is what led to my yelling-at-God-in-the-open-jeep meltdown detailed in the previous post. But, I finally resigned myself to whatever would have to be - and we packed up for a week on O'ahu.
We scored big on the flight over to O'ahu from here - Don finding uber cheap tickets that were from our little local airport (5 minutes away) instead of the main one in Kahalui (50 minutes away). I still managed to make us nearly late. I am NOT used to moving this slow! Taking a nice sized puddle jumper to Honolulu was great - but it would get interesting later. But more on that....later.
We also opted to rent a little car, trying to avoid the hilarious/calamitous/near disasterous adventures of cab rides. Besides, Don would need a ride back and forth between hospital and hotel. Never, in all our visits to Honolulu, have we failed to get lost. This was no exception, even though we got their little nav system. For one thing, she spoke tooooo sloooowly.... or she was reading her map and not sure where we were going either. At any rate, Don, the tiny lady in the Nav, and I had quite a tour of the area surrounding our doctor and the hospital in which all the stuff that was gonna happen was gonna happen. We finally made it though - after discovering that the street didn't quite go through. But we made it.
To say that this collection of doctors is impressive is an understatement. The group is an entire floor of orthopedic surgeons, and their credentials and specialties are equally so. After checking into the main registration desk, we were then sent to another suite of rooms to meet my young surgeon. And i do mean young. The youngest yet. He graduated high school only THREE YEARS BEFORE OUR OLDEST BOY!! But considering the group he was part of, we didn't question.
Okay. So now we have as part of my medical entourage: Dr. Darren (Asian Doogie Howser) Egami, the ortho who has championed this from the beginning; the main oncologist, Dr. Ramin (Dr. Labradoodle) Altaha; the radiation onco, Dr. Diane (Tswing Tskirt) Tsai, and now, my onco ortho, Dr. Gary Blum...num-num-yum-yum. Too stinkin' good looking. But, as with the others, super qualified and educated and smart enough to PRACTICE IN HAWAII!!
Let's cut to the chase (or chase to the cut...AHAHAHAHAHA!!!! I am too funny for my own good....ahhhhhh tears of mirth I must wipe away....). Our visit to Dr. Blum (num-num) was thorough and made me oh-so-happy - not because he was good-looking, but because he let me know quickly how WRONG I was, and oh, how happy I was to be so wrong AGAIN!!
I asked about the mile-long incision. He said, no, three small ones! I said, out of the water for six weeks? He said, no, two weeks. I LOVE THIS GUY!! Don thought that this meant it wouldn't be quite so painful, to which Dr. B (n-n) said, uh, no, it will definitely feel like someone hammered a rod down the middle of her femur. Shoulda quit while we were ahead...
Now I have to write faster. Just took all my sleepytime and painkilling drugs which means I could be nodding off in the middle of this. Like some of you all are. Don't lie.
We showed up for surgery (after having been a little lost...again) at the snazziest looking hospital ever! Queen's Medical Center lies above Waikiki, and looks more like a museum or old hotel - with historic displays and plaques, and hardwood floors so shiny that it is almost indecent for skirt-wearing ladies. Having checked-in, we then went to a holding area where we, along with other surgical patients...held. Technically, they were considering this a day surgery. Crazy, huh? We went from days in the hospital in traction to being bounced in a day, in less than 48 hours! But hold we did, and found ourselves blessed by a couple of prayer phone calls from a couple of our favorite prayer warriors. Awesome....truly blessed and overwhelmed....just awesome.
I met my new best friend in that time - the anesthesiologist - who SEEEERIOUSLY looked like he was a high school freshman dressed up in his dad's scrubs for Halloween. But he became my best friend after giving me a mix of anesthesia that did NOT have my insides looking for the quickest post-surgical exit. But I'm ahead of myself...
When it was my turn, Dr. B(n-n) came down to drive the gurney himself! I have had more experience with surgery than I ever intended, and this was a first. I found out later that this guy is so insistent about being hands-on in every aspect that he has no interns or residences that work for him. He is the original DIY Doc. My surgical staff was made up entirely of men - and, yes, most of them Hawaiian Hunky Men. Either that, or my new BFF had started the drugs earlier than I knew....at any rate, kinda okay with it!
I actually woke up fairly bright-eyed in recovery - hence the permanent BFF status (isn't that redundant?) of my Junior Anesthesiologist....who is probably waaaay older than I think, and certainly waaaaay smarter than most of us ever hope to be. I was fresh as a daisy so fast that I actually beat my hubby to the room. I had a private room, which was nicer than most motel rooms. There was a large comfy chair there for Don, which we later discovered opened up into a quasi-bed-cot-sleeping contraption. But I was comfy, and isn't that what truly matters?
To say that my care was special is quite an understatement. I had the most attentive nursing staff, which for me, meant that they would need to be around for the first walking adventure...to the potty...because I refused to use the dreaded bedpan. I mean, really. I was not about to sit and, you know, on something that looked like a large metal model of what can best be described as a giant Lego Man Hat. SO, walk it was. And walk I did. Well, I guess shuffle would be more like it, and I did have to plan well ahead of when I thought I might actually need to go potty. But we made it through the night, and into the morning for rounds...round...with Dr. B(n-n). AT 6:30 a.m., this guy was still as chipper as he had been every other time we chatter. I think this guy really does love his work!! He expressed how pleased he was, then proceeded to draw a very ACCURATE picture of my bones and what he did. Maybe this is why Dr. Labradoodle never became an orthopedic surgeon - he could never pass the art class. But this guy here was so confident, he sprung me that afternoon - much to the shock of our Calvary Chapel Westside Helping Hands Ministry Leader - or, her short name, The Angel, Denise Smith. This poor girl had met with me and set up meals to begin the next Thursday, not on Saturday or Sunday. oops.
(Oh, Lord love a little fuzzy duck. I am now about to start typing with my nose I'm so sleepy. And I haven't much of a nose with which to type. My plan was to stay up as late as possible, because as I write about one surgery that happened 4 weeks ago Friday, I am preparing for the next one tomorrow afternoon. But no sneak peeks. Guess I'll have to finish this in the morning....)
(**okay...this has been interrupted by that other surgery and the other blog - which means that you will have to figure out the the confused timeline I am presenting to you....WELCOME TO MY WORLD!!!)
Our return to Maui, was to say the least, a bit of a blur for me. I was fairly jacked up on pain killers, and what pain got through was enough to keep me occupied. The one teeny-tiny drawback was the whole wheelchair situation. This being our little Kapalua airport, there was no jetway (duh!) and not even a ramp to accommodate a regular wheelchair. What they do have is one of those cargo lifts (go ahead....make the obvious jokes...), but again, too skinny for a regular wheelchair. Instead, it is a little, armless chair on wheels, with a high back and enough straps on it for a M*A*S*H helicopter-side gurney. By this time, I was sweating profusely from the weather, exertion, and just downright nasty pain. And I then had to grab the necks of a couple of fortunate airport workers as they lifted me into the contraption that would eventually get me on the ground. The began the strapping. By the time they were done with me and bringing me out, all the was missing was the wire muzzle to keep me from looking like a female, sweaty Hannibal Lector. And Gregory was enjoying every bit of it.
Once the cargo lift got me and my strapped-in self down, it was then time to transfer to the regular wheelchair. Having spent a few more minutes sweating and getting slimier, it was now time for me to wrap my arms around a very strong-looking, Hawaiian gal...God bless her. As we were there, my nose to her cheek, as someone else maneuvered the skinny chair out and the regular one in and under, asking her to dance seemed the only polite thing to do. But then I pointed out that she would have to lead.
After what seemed like forever - for all involved - I was wheeled into the little waiting area where Greg was waiting. But not our ride home with friends Johnny and Dixie. Seems someone for got to call and tell them I was on the way home.... Johnny and Dixie live only ten minutes or so from the Kap airport, but egad, that felt like a long ten or fifteen. But their cheerful, loving faces showed up, and somehow, I got into the car. I seriously do not remember that part, but I am sure it was as entertaining as all other efforts to move me from Point A to Point B.
My re-entry into home was met with a bit of fanfare and anxiety from my normal not -anxious pup, FloJo. This doggy gets happy, but not whiny when her family comes home from being gone a couple of days. This time was different, and she knew it. Not only was there whining, but full on frantic-trying-to-get-out-of-the-yard craziness. Obviously, she had to wait, but it was one of those things where you see that dogs are much smarter than humans when it comes to sensing bad stuff. Not that we humans raise the bar that high, but you get my drift.
I also had the special treat of my very own borrowed walker!! Johnny and Dixie had borrowed it from their 90+-year-old upstairs neighbor. I don't know if the lady just was immobile, or what, but a couple of days later, I got my very own used one - replete with fuzzy tennis balls - that J&D got free from Salvation Army. Wait 'til I show the other girls!!! But it got me around (and does again now), it came with love and a smile, and for freeeeeeee!!
The rest of the night was navigated through fog - with one notable exception: as if Johnny and Dixie had not done enough for us, they also made us a delicious dinner - Dixie's delicious spaghetti and meatballs. I wasn't very hungry, to say the least, but this just sounded too good. My issues were also that I was pretty much done with sitting up for the night, and I was still orbiting somewhere near the Space Station. My beloved hubby got my as comfy as possible in bed (and OH, did that bed feel good!!!), then gave me a little bowl. Since I couldn't sit up, that meant lying on my back, and placing said little bowl balanced on my sternum. Don offered to feed me, but I told him to just enjoy the chow with his boy while watching college football. I also knew that it was not going to be pretty. Don laid a napkin on me between chin and bowl, asked again about sitting me up, to which I responded "ummnmnm-umnah"...to the best of my recollection.
Me and my yummy spaghetti and meatballs were free to relate in privacy. With every ounce of my already limited coordination, I speared a meatball, managed to cut said meatball in two, and then like a little crane, pulled the fork-impaled meatball the six or so inches to my waiting mouth, which was open and facing upward, chewed, and consumed the deliciousness. Then I took a break. Over the next twenty minutes or so, I continued this process - including twirling the noodles! I am a particularly good spaghetti noodle twirler, I must admit. Bowl finished, I set it back on the nightstand and drifted off into my drug-hazed happy place.
A while later- somewhere between ten minutes and two hours - I woke up to see that the little food elf had made a visit, and there was my little bowl on the nightstand with more of Dixie's yummy spaghetti and meatballs. My napkin/bib/safety shield was still in place from my first serving, so I just placed the little bowl back on my sternum and began to enjoy my seconds. Now, what transpired next is even more of a blur than other....transpirations (I get in my own way with words sometimes, but...just go with it...), but during the whole moving food from bowl to mouth, I either got cocky, lost concentration, or just simply nodded off, because I found myself the recipient of a pasta and marinara facial. The blob was sorta in line with my mouth, but nowhere near its designated target. This marked the end of the meal. Since there was no point in even attempting to call to my beloved caretaker, I simply removed the glob. Did I eat said glob? Honestly....couldn't tell ya. But Don said nothing about there being anything left in the bowl or napkin....
I, for better or worse, am the veteran of more than a couple of surgical procedures. Not enough to earn myself a spot on a reality freak show, but enough to require extra space when medical forms ask about previous surgery. I should know to not ever judge how great a surgical site looks just a day or two after the damage was done. While I was definitely bandaged from hip to just above the knew, much of the skin was visible, and it was relatively clear and un-swollen.
My sister, Vicki, and I had a conversation during her visit here, about vegetables - particularly, eggplant. While she believes that eggplant is a most delicious veggie, and has a garden full of them back in her Minnesota home. I think eggplant could be the most vile thing I have ever laid my little palate on. Can't find an edible way to prepare it. BUT!! I think it could also be the most beautiful vegetable in appearance (there is a metaphor in that, but I'll save it for another time...). I think the color "eggplant", when used in design, is rich and saturated. But it should never, ever be seen as the color of a leg. After a few days, the bandages started easing off, revealing such an eggplant hue...and my swollen thigh had grown pretty much to an eggplant shape - and not the long, skinny type, either. ahhhh...beautimous......
To add to my overall post-surgical loveliness was the no shower for a week edict. look back up, what may seem volumes ago but is actually only a few paragraphs, to the rather sweat-covered return home. mmm-hmm. Over the years, my hair has gotten much curlier - especially around humidity. It can, at times, look kinda cute. This was not one of those times. So, add together no shower plus mucho sweat plus high humidity, and that equals not so much cute, but downright mythological creature horrifying. Now, while no one actually turned to stone upon visiting me, what rested atop my head was certainly Medusa-like in quality. By Tuesday, it had reached such a level of...of...really, words fail - that we had to attempt washing it kind of adjacent to the tub.
Since standing was not an option, and even sitting long was still not so good, we had to figure out how to manage getting at least seven layers of glech (THAT is the word I was looking for!!), without soaking down the entire bathroom. Our "master" bath is essentially a long skinny room with two sinks on one side, a shower/tub combo at the end, and a toilet jammed in between the two. Somehow, we had to get a chair over to the tub, between the potty and wall, with enough room for Don to stand there with the handheld and wash his invalid wife's head. The only chairs we have are our dining room chairs and a big fake leather desk chair. We opted for one of the dining room chairs - especially considering that the desk chair is on wheels. Might have made it easy to get me to the tub, but hard to keep me there. You know all those romantic book/tv/movie scenes that have these tender scenes of a man washing his wife's hair!?!? It's so loving....so sweet...such a picture of devotion.... Yeah, well it was none of that. Between him trying to drown me (he swears he wasn't, but I don't know...), me either yelling in pain or at him - because he was trying to drown me - it was less than, shall we say, pitter-pattery-hearts inspiring. But we both made it out alive.
And now, we are almost five weeks after surgery - the titanium leg one, that is. We went back to O'ahu on the 19th for the post-op, and Dr. Blum-num-num was just as nummy and yummy as he was before. He was also even more excited, as he got to show us the x-rays of his work. Impressive, to be sure! The rod really does extend the length of the femur, and there is one long bolt holding it into my hip, and a shorter one just above the knee. Cool stuff. As far as the arm and any further follow up - that will happen in three or four months. Dr. B-n-n is sure that the arm should be okay since it isn't a load bearing bone. But I think he is looking forward to more HGTV-meets-The Health Channel medicine as he gets to pour in some kind of cement or plaster or grout filler. He calls it bio-carpentry. Don't know if that is an actual term, or if he really is as funny as he is cute and smart and gifted and cute.
I am so impressed with this guy's absolute enthusiasm for what he does - but I do remind him that his hands were chosen and gifted by God's hands. He did not disagree. In fact, every doctor hears the same from me. None disagree. Oh, for sure, some might be muttering under their breath as they leave the room because they don't want to argue with the lady with cancer, but I don't think so. We have yet to encounter arrogance, cockiness, or anything short of compassion and sweet spirits mixed with crazy smarts and credentials and education. I expect nothing less as God continues to guide us through this journey.
So, I promised you a long post. I kept my promise. There will be another one in the next couple days about this last bit of action on my legs. I intend to keep that promise, as well. Aren't you glad!?!?
Thanks for listening. You are appreciated. You are prayed for.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Hiccups and Leapfrogging
I am, at times, a confusing person to read and/or listen to. This will be no different - except maybe more so. See?? Scratchin' your head already, huh...
You see, I have been working on a post about my femur surgery that took place four weeks ago tomorrow, but due to being either in too much pain to sit at the computer, or too hammered on pain killers to find said computer, I never finished. Sooooo, I'm leapfrogging a bit.
Today is my next surgery. And a biggie.
This is what they call my "de-bulking" procedure - which sounds like a radical weight loss program, but is, in actuality, an operation to remove as much of the soft tissue mass as can be done without messing with things like nerves and the femoral artery. After this bit of ick is done, then radiation can begin.
This doctor doesn't have a name yet. Well, he has the name his parents gave him and that others call him - Dr. Samuel Lyons - but I mean the one that I give him. The first thing, though, that I though would be an issue is that he is a Stanford man. We are a USC family. But, he seemed to be okay and be able to communicate clearly, so I guess I'll trust him. This guy also looks like he could actually be in MY GENERATION!! Finally, someone who remembers the same bad fashion of the 70's and 80's.
Today almost didn't happen. Well, I mean today would have happened, but not the today that we all planned for. About 11:30 yesterday morning, I got a call from the pre-registration gal at Maui Memorial. In a concerned voice she told me that my surgery was CANCELLED!! It seemed that the insurance had not yet authorized it. I am not one who loses it on phones - or anywhere, actually - with people in this kind of situation. Oh, I'll go off and beat up pillows and teddy bears and my husband and stuff, but I'll not lose control with whomever I'm speaking about the situation. Except for yesterday. I was less than cool as I called Don, the surgeon's office, and anyone else I could think of. I also notified my prayer chain immediately. These are the prayer warriors that I cannot function without!!
Anyway, it turns out that a small hiccup last week turned into this major glottal spasm yesterday. Last Thursday I went in for my pre-op labs - blood tests, chest x-ray, and EKG. Once again, this was a fasting test (you'd think I'd be super model thin by now with all these fasting things, but...not so much), so I made the 45 minute drive over there thirsty and hungry, but thinking about the yummy breakfast I would treat myself to once it was done. But the power was out.
That morning, the power was out in most of the medical building where I was supposed to get stuff done, as well as the state building and county courthouse across the street. Nerts and a half. But I felt for these folks, because what was merely an inconvenience for me was a nightmare for them. These good people had to use their cell phones to call and cancel appointments for the morning - knowing that many were coming for pretty far away. At least I thought it was merely an inconvenience. Since Don and I were going to be in O'ahu for my follow-up visit on the femur surgery on the Friday, I would have to wait until Monday to get my labs done. Because the doctor can't schedule things until he knows I'm not going to bleed out, suffocate under anesthesia, or my heart explode, he has to wait until he sees the labs. Because of it being on Monday instead of last Thursday, the insurance people hadn't looked at it yet - thus, hadn't given it the okey-dokey. Egad. So, very long story not so short but not so long - after tow and a half hours of phone calls and tons of prayer, the insurance cleared it, the hospital scheduled it, and we're good to go!!! Yes, God is even more powerful than insurance companies and hospital red tape...
So, this morning...It is 11:38 right now. I check in at 2:00. I am so hungry and thirsty now that the little flower candle is looking good.....
But I'm excited to go. I truly am. We have been waiting for all these to get done so the next thing can happen - the next thing being the radiation which will begin reducing the tumors. Before chemo begins, we have our visit over Christmas with our family in San Diego!! PRAISE GOD!!!
My next appointments with the entourage are on the 5th of November. Dr. Labradoodle is looking forward to finding out more info on this little bugger so he can use "exciting" medicine. I love this guy's enthusiasm! At this point, they are still thinking that this is a rare recurrence of thyroid cancer. I love being...rare...!
And I am still not scared! Granted, I would rather be doing other things with my day today, and I am not looking forward to using a walker and cane and hobbling around and such. Being nuked everyday for a few weeks, then having oogie chemicals pumped through me was never on my "What I want To Do When I Grow Up" list. But it isn't on anybody's. And I at least, did get to grow up.
Don and I have a great-nephew whom we have never met. Well...technically, he isn't ours, I guess. Our nephew, Kevin, and his lovely bride, Missy, have been foster parents for a while. Among their children is Jose - a little dude about 7 or 8 (sorry, Missy!!), who has been fighting leukemia. Jose underwent a bone marrow transplant this summer, which required him and Mama Missy to go from their home in Henderson, NV, to Children's Hospital in San Diego. Months of separation from family. Months of isolation. All on this little guy who so deserves a life filled with joy and peace and security. Jose knows more about medicine than any little guy should. And there are thousands more like him.
No, I'm not scared. I am grateful. God let me become a grown-up (okay...chronologically). God let me have an amazing life. And I know I still have more ahead. I know I am prayed for, fervently. Please add Jose and his family and all those like them to your chats with God.
ahhhh....Thursday....Gardeners are here...making a ton of noise outside my window. Time to go.
See you all in a few days!!
You see, I have been working on a post about my femur surgery that took place four weeks ago tomorrow, but due to being either in too much pain to sit at the computer, or too hammered on pain killers to find said computer, I never finished. Sooooo, I'm leapfrogging a bit.
Today is my next surgery. And a biggie.
This is what they call my "de-bulking" procedure - which sounds like a radical weight loss program, but is, in actuality, an operation to remove as much of the soft tissue mass as can be done without messing with things like nerves and the femoral artery. After this bit of ick is done, then radiation can begin.
This doctor doesn't have a name yet. Well, he has the name his parents gave him and that others call him - Dr. Samuel Lyons - but I mean the one that I give him. The first thing, though, that I though would be an issue is that he is a Stanford man. We are a USC family. But, he seemed to be okay and be able to communicate clearly, so I guess I'll trust him. This guy also looks like he could actually be in MY GENERATION!! Finally, someone who remembers the same bad fashion of the 70's and 80's.
Today almost didn't happen. Well, I mean today would have happened, but not the today that we all planned for. About 11:30 yesterday morning, I got a call from the pre-registration gal at Maui Memorial. In a concerned voice she told me that my surgery was CANCELLED!! It seemed that the insurance had not yet authorized it. I am not one who loses it on phones - or anywhere, actually - with people in this kind of situation. Oh, I'll go off and beat up pillows and teddy bears and my husband and stuff, but I'll not lose control with whomever I'm speaking about the situation. Except for yesterday. I was less than cool as I called Don, the surgeon's office, and anyone else I could think of. I also notified my prayer chain immediately. These are the prayer warriors that I cannot function without!!
Anyway, it turns out that a small hiccup last week turned into this major glottal spasm yesterday. Last Thursday I went in for my pre-op labs - blood tests, chest x-ray, and EKG. Once again, this was a fasting test (you'd think I'd be super model thin by now with all these fasting things, but...not so much), so I made the 45 minute drive over there thirsty and hungry, but thinking about the yummy breakfast I would treat myself to once it was done. But the power was out.
That morning, the power was out in most of the medical building where I was supposed to get stuff done, as well as the state building and county courthouse across the street. Nerts and a half. But I felt for these folks, because what was merely an inconvenience for me was a nightmare for them. These good people had to use their cell phones to call and cancel appointments for the morning - knowing that many were coming for pretty far away. At least I thought it was merely an inconvenience. Since Don and I were going to be in O'ahu for my follow-up visit on the femur surgery on the Friday, I would have to wait until Monday to get my labs done. Because the doctor can't schedule things until he knows I'm not going to bleed out, suffocate under anesthesia, or my heart explode, he has to wait until he sees the labs. Because of it being on Monday instead of last Thursday, the insurance people hadn't looked at it yet - thus, hadn't given it the okey-dokey. Egad. So, very long story not so short but not so long - after tow and a half hours of phone calls and tons of prayer, the insurance cleared it, the hospital scheduled it, and we're good to go!!! Yes, God is even more powerful than insurance companies and hospital red tape...
So, this morning...It is 11:38 right now. I check in at 2:00. I am so hungry and thirsty now that the little flower candle is looking good.....
But I'm excited to go. I truly am. We have been waiting for all these to get done so the next thing can happen - the next thing being the radiation which will begin reducing the tumors. Before chemo begins, we have our visit over Christmas with our family in San Diego!! PRAISE GOD!!!
My next appointments with the entourage are on the 5th of November. Dr. Labradoodle is looking forward to finding out more info on this little bugger so he can use "exciting" medicine. I love this guy's enthusiasm! At this point, they are still thinking that this is a rare recurrence of thyroid cancer. I love being...rare...!
And I am still not scared! Granted, I would rather be doing other things with my day today, and I am not looking forward to using a walker and cane and hobbling around and such. Being nuked everyday for a few weeks, then having oogie chemicals pumped through me was never on my "What I want To Do When I Grow Up" list. But it isn't on anybody's. And I at least, did get to grow up.
Don and I have a great-nephew whom we have never met. Well...technically, he isn't ours, I guess. Our nephew, Kevin, and his lovely bride, Missy, have been foster parents for a while. Among their children is Jose - a little dude about 7 or 8 (sorry, Missy!!), who has been fighting leukemia. Jose underwent a bone marrow transplant this summer, which required him and Mama Missy to go from their home in Henderson, NV, to Children's Hospital in San Diego. Months of separation from family. Months of isolation. All on this little guy who so deserves a life filled with joy and peace and security. Jose knows more about medicine than any little guy should. And there are thousands more like him.
No, I'm not scared. I am grateful. God let me become a grown-up (okay...chronologically). God let me have an amazing life. And I know I still have more ahead. I know I am prayed for, fervently. Please add Jose and his family and all those like them to your chats with God.
ahhhh....Thursday....Gardeners are here...making a ton of noise outside my window. Time to go.
See you all in a few days!!
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Gulp!....
Last night it had been my intent to write the usual funny and erudite blog, evoking laughter and tear-streaked admiration for the smiling courage of the author....
yeeeeeaaah.....well....not so much.
You see, this morning Don and I fly to O'ahu for my surgery tomorrow at 7:00 a.m. Wait, you say, isn't this good news?? Why, yes, say I, this is great news!! 'cept it is still.....(gulp!)
I have to admit to having a bit of a tiff with God yesterday. Okay. Less of a tiff than maybe a full-blown four-year old hissy fit. I had made my plans on how I would spend yesterday - and snorkeling would be the highlight. No. The conditions have been great for Surfing, so that means that shoreline snorkel sites are roughly BLECH! everywhere. Okay, Plan B: go to the aquarium, hang with sharks and rays and jellies and have a beautiful drive there. I grew to love the idea of me and God driving along the beautiful Honoapi'ilani (pronounced Ho-no-a-pi-i-la-ni) Highway as it hugs the wave drenched - yet murky - coastline. I could handle some important tasks along the way. I even spent some time painting and cleaning before leaving and just felt sooooo dandy as I took off. Only to have Don call and give me an appointment for yet ANOTHER DOCTOR!! Long story, but some of my regular prescriptions had been forgotten and I had to get into a doc to get new ones yada yada yada.
That was it. Meltdown triggered. I started the nutsiness in the McDonald's parking lot, having just gotten my $1.00 tropical ice tea for my lovely afternoon. After being rude to my wonderful husband (I'm so sorry, babe!!), I then headed to the highway to get my errands done, without following up by going to the aquarium to hang with sharks and rays and jellies.
I was done. This just tore it. I was angry....and there was nary a pot to scrub. We live in a community about 10-15 minutes norths of Lahaina Town, which was now my sole destination. So, I had those few minutes to scream at God at the top of my lungs. This was likely problematic - not because my Father was going to through lightning my way, but because I looked like a lunatic, and since I have a wide-open, top-down jeep and a pretty big voice, this meant I could be heard by....lots. By the time I approached my first stop, I had calmed down, and my merciful God just led me by the hand the rest of the day. I got every errand and task accomplished, and even had time to grab Ohana Tacos (if you're in Honokowai, don't miss it!!) for Greg and me (he had been a boat trip to Lana'i with a friend - but that's a different story), before my successful visit to the local on-call doc. Church last night was amazing. Loved and prayed over. All leading to this morning....
Don is getting fidgety as I write now, be cause we need to leave in a few and I am still in jammies. Poor guy! So let me sum up:
I am going to have surgery on Friday morning to replace my left femur. Don't know if it will be full or partial, but having checked out an online journal article, I was both grossed out and amazed. God made us some crazy-msart people to invent such things!! There is also an outside chance that they have to do the same to my right upper arm - but just an outside chance...I hope. I will be in traction for five days. swell..... And then we head home for our next big visit with the head onco (Dr. Labradoodle) to learn the results of the bone biopsy and hear the game plan.
I am not sure when I will be able to write again. Feels kind of tough giving up that part of my life. But the battle is important and I am ready. God has been so merciful and good to me!! My peace has returned because I lean on HIM!! If you don't know Him...seek Him.
Thank you for your loving, funny, encouraging e-mails and notes. They are an enormous blessing.
Gotta go. No time to edit. Enjoy the typos.
yeeeeeaaah.....well....not so much.
You see, this morning Don and I fly to O'ahu for my surgery tomorrow at 7:00 a.m. Wait, you say, isn't this good news?? Why, yes, say I, this is great news!! 'cept it is still.....(gulp!)
I have to admit to having a bit of a tiff with God yesterday. Okay. Less of a tiff than maybe a full-blown four-year old hissy fit. I had made my plans on how I would spend yesterday - and snorkeling would be the highlight. No. The conditions have been great for Surfing, so that means that shoreline snorkel sites are roughly BLECH! everywhere. Okay, Plan B: go to the aquarium, hang with sharks and rays and jellies and have a beautiful drive there. I grew to love the idea of me and God driving along the beautiful Honoapi'ilani (pronounced Ho-no-a-pi-i-la-ni) Highway as it hugs the wave drenched - yet murky - coastline. I could handle some important tasks along the way. I even spent some time painting and cleaning before leaving and just felt sooooo dandy as I took off. Only to have Don call and give me an appointment for yet ANOTHER DOCTOR!! Long story, but some of my regular prescriptions had been forgotten and I had to get into a doc to get new ones yada yada yada.
That was it. Meltdown triggered. I started the nutsiness in the McDonald's parking lot, having just gotten my $1.00 tropical ice tea for my lovely afternoon. After being rude to my wonderful husband (I'm so sorry, babe!!), I then headed to the highway to get my errands done, without following up by going to the aquarium to hang with sharks and rays and jellies.
I was done. This just tore it. I was angry....and there was nary a pot to scrub. We live in a community about 10-15 minutes norths of Lahaina Town, which was now my sole destination. So, I had those few minutes to scream at God at the top of my lungs. This was likely problematic - not because my Father was going to through lightning my way, but because I looked like a lunatic, and since I have a wide-open, top-down jeep and a pretty big voice, this meant I could be heard by....lots. By the time I approached my first stop, I had calmed down, and my merciful God just led me by the hand the rest of the day. I got every errand and task accomplished, and even had time to grab Ohana Tacos (if you're in Honokowai, don't miss it!!) for Greg and me (he had been a boat trip to Lana'i with a friend - but that's a different story), before my successful visit to the local on-call doc. Church last night was amazing. Loved and prayed over. All leading to this morning....
Don is getting fidgety as I write now, be cause we need to leave in a few and I am still in jammies. Poor guy! So let me sum up:
I am going to have surgery on Friday morning to replace my left femur. Don't know if it will be full or partial, but having checked out an online journal article, I was both grossed out and amazed. God made us some crazy-msart people to invent such things!! There is also an outside chance that they have to do the same to my right upper arm - but just an outside chance...I hope. I will be in traction for five days. swell..... And then we head home for our next big visit with the head onco (Dr. Labradoodle) to learn the results of the bone biopsy and hear the game plan.
I am not sure when I will be able to write again. Feels kind of tough giving up that part of my life. But the battle is important and I am ready. God has been so merciful and good to me!! My peace has returned because I lean on HIM!! If you don't know Him...seek Him.
Thank you for your loving, funny, encouraging e-mails and notes. They are an enormous blessing.
Gotta go. No time to edit. Enjoy the typos.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
The Meaning of Joy
I am a funny person. That statement may seem at best obvious boasting, and at worst inaccurate, self-promoting arrogance. I prefer to think of it as....simply humble and honest.... I'll give you a moment to compose yourself...
BUT! It seems that my humor of late has been misinterpreted as denial or idiocy. Not so. In fact, there is a lot of reality and smartness in me. To that end, let me clarify a few things...
Please don't mistake my humor as not taking this disease seriously. I have nearly constant reminders that there is a monster inside me whose end game is to take my life. It reminds me of its presence with pain and weakness in what once was a powerful runner's leg, and with a growing dull ache in my right bicep. I know that within a few months, I will be in a bit of a mess because of radiation and chemo. But I know that God gave me my weird way of looking at things as a weapon against this beast. I laugh when things are funny - and many, many things are funny. I laugh because it helps. Laughter releases endorphins which are the body's God-given pain killers. Humor is an important part of my arsenal.
Please don't mistake my goofy way of looking at things as ignorance of the actual physiology of cancer. I happen to be a lover of science and medicine and was researching all of this before we even talked about it with any others. I understood lesion, metastasis, necrotic, calcification, soft tissue mass - all before knowing that these existed inside me. I'm a very smart girl.
Please don't mistake my calm for complacency. Like any warrior, I need to be focussed and calm in the face of the enemy. To panic or freak gives him (it) a foothold. My mind is preparing for the battle ahead. Calm is from the Lord. Panic....not. But that doesn't mean I sit and wait for the Lord to make phone calls or take tests. I am a compliant, pro-active patient. I push gently when pushing is needed. I respectfully pursue - but never assuming that my case is more important than others like me. I am building what will surely be long relationships with nurses, techs, receptionists, assistants, and doctors. When they see me coming, I want them to see the face of Christ, not a demanding buzz saw. I am a good advocate for myself, but there is something to the "catch more flies with honey than vinegar" philosophy. Being spazzed while I'm in pursuit of records or CD's of scans or the next appointment will do nothing to speed the process, let alone help me in this war.
Please don't mistake my patience for passivity. I am also extremely eager to get this party started, but I appreciate the hard work, diligence, and careful study that these remarkable people are putting into properly treating my cancer. I want them to have the exactly right weaponry. I don't want the doctors to use a bazooka when a pea shooter would do. Or, vice versa. I have been in awe of the responsiveness when I have asked for help, or have needed records. This ain't television, folks, where there is a disease discovered on week, the treatment the next week, and the third week either the patient croaks or has a miraculous recovery (followed, of course, by a dream wedding overlooking some body of water. I digress....a little....). No, this is reality. These tests take time - and I'm not the only game in town. I have said often how I feel treated like a rock star. Well, that's still true. But think of this as the Grammy Awards, where it all full of Paul McCartney's, Mick Jagger's, and Lady Gaga's. We are all rock stars - but sometimes, rock stars have to wait their turn.
Please don't mistake my peace for surrender - at least not to cancer. I do surrender my life to Christ. What He does with it is His choice. But there's a fight, and I believe He will heal me. But it is His choice as to when and how, not mine. There is great peace in that. Philippians 4:7 describes the "peace that passes all understanding", because, frankly, peace in this particular situation seems nonsensical in the eyes of the world. And with the peace, comes joy. Joy!
Finally, let me share about my champion, my hero, my advocate...my husband. Please, never, ever mistake his quiet nature as not caring enough. Don operates with a quiet determination. He is by my side as I travel to every test. He keeps this home running. He still goes to work every day - even though he only wants to spend time with me. Remember the craziness at the Honolulu Airport? Read between the lines. This was a man doing everything possible to care for his bride. He can control nothing of the disease that has invaded his wife's body, but he will leap tall buildings to find the ones who can. And he trusts, trusts, trusts the Living God who holds all of this in His mighty and merciful hands. Don is holding up his end of the vow he took almost 35 years ago. I am not alone.
The meaning of Joy is not happiness. Happiness is dependent on external happenings, situations, moods - more extrinsic. Joy comes from within, separate from situations - more intrinsic. (see, I told ya I was smart). Joy is one of the fruits of the Spirit. It is intangible, but so obvious in one who has it. I am not happy about what is going on inside of me. I am not all a-twitter about a bone biopsy and leg surgery and all that this entails. But God has given me joy. It may not make sense, but I feel Him like never before. He uses others around me to tell me how much He loves me. Joy.
So, I covet your prayers. It's an unknown road ahead. But God knows the way. He has given me humor and intelligence and calm and peace and JOY!!
Now, don't make me go all serious on you again....makes my head hurt....
BUT! It seems that my humor of late has been misinterpreted as denial or idiocy. Not so. In fact, there is a lot of reality and smartness in me. To that end, let me clarify a few things...
Please don't mistake my humor as not taking this disease seriously. I have nearly constant reminders that there is a monster inside me whose end game is to take my life. It reminds me of its presence with pain and weakness in what once was a powerful runner's leg, and with a growing dull ache in my right bicep. I know that within a few months, I will be in a bit of a mess because of radiation and chemo. But I know that God gave me my weird way of looking at things as a weapon against this beast. I laugh when things are funny - and many, many things are funny. I laugh because it helps. Laughter releases endorphins which are the body's God-given pain killers. Humor is an important part of my arsenal.
Please don't mistake my goofy way of looking at things as ignorance of the actual physiology of cancer. I happen to be a lover of science and medicine and was researching all of this before we even talked about it with any others. I understood lesion, metastasis, necrotic, calcification, soft tissue mass - all before knowing that these existed inside me. I'm a very smart girl.
Please don't mistake my calm for complacency. Like any warrior, I need to be focussed and calm in the face of the enemy. To panic or freak gives him (it) a foothold. My mind is preparing for the battle ahead. Calm is from the Lord. Panic....not. But that doesn't mean I sit and wait for the Lord to make phone calls or take tests. I am a compliant, pro-active patient. I push gently when pushing is needed. I respectfully pursue - but never assuming that my case is more important than others like me. I am building what will surely be long relationships with nurses, techs, receptionists, assistants, and doctors. When they see me coming, I want them to see the face of Christ, not a demanding buzz saw. I am a good advocate for myself, but there is something to the "catch more flies with honey than vinegar" philosophy. Being spazzed while I'm in pursuit of records or CD's of scans or the next appointment will do nothing to speed the process, let alone help me in this war.
Please don't mistake my patience for passivity. I am also extremely eager to get this party started, but I appreciate the hard work, diligence, and careful study that these remarkable people are putting into properly treating my cancer. I want them to have the exactly right weaponry. I don't want the doctors to use a bazooka when a pea shooter would do. Or, vice versa. I have been in awe of the responsiveness when I have asked for help, or have needed records. This ain't television, folks, where there is a disease discovered on week, the treatment the next week, and the third week either the patient croaks or has a miraculous recovery (followed, of course, by a dream wedding overlooking some body of water. I digress....a little....). No, this is reality. These tests take time - and I'm not the only game in town. I have said often how I feel treated like a rock star. Well, that's still true. But think of this as the Grammy Awards, where it all full of Paul McCartney's, Mick Jagger's, and Lady Gaga's. We are all rock stars - but sometimes, rock stars have to wait their turn.
Please don't mistake my peace for surrender - at least not to cancer. I do surrender my life to Christ. What He does with it is His choice. But there's a fight, and I believe He will heal me. But it is His choice as to when and how, not mine. There is great peace in that. Philippians 4:7 describes the "peace that passes all understanding", because, frankly, peace in this particular situation seems nonsensical in the eyes of the world. And with the peace, comes joy. Joy!
Finally, let me share about my champion, my hero, my advocate...my husband. Please, never, ever mistake his quiet nature as not caring enough. Don operates with a quiet determination. He is by my side as I travel to every test. He keeps this home running. He still goes to work every day - even though he only wants to spend time with me. Remember the craziness at the Honolulu Airport? Read between the lines. This was a man doing everything possible to care for his bride. He can control nothing of the disease that has invaded his wife's body, but he will leap tall buildings to find the ones who can. And he trusts, trusts, trusts the Living God who holds all of this in His mighty and merciful hands. Don is holding up his end of the vow he took almost 35 years ago. I am not alone.
The meaning of Joy is not happiness. Happiness is dependent on external happenings, situations, moods - more extrinsic. Joy comes from within, separate from situations - more intrinsic. (see, I told ya I was smart). Joy is one of the fruits of the Spirit. It is intangible, but so obvious in one who has it. I am not happy about what is going on inside of me. I am not all a-twitter about a bone biopsy and leg surgery and all that this entails. But God has given me joy. It may not make sense, but I feel Him like never before. He uses others around me to tell me how much He loves me. Joy.
So, I covet your prayers. It's an unknown road ahead. But God knows the way. He has given me humor and intelligence and calm and peace and JOY!!
Now, don't make me go all serious on you again....makes my head hurt....
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
The De-Calibrated Life
CALIBRATE: to standardize (as a measuring instrument) by determining the deviation from a standard so as to ascertain the proper correction factors; to adjust precisely for a particular function; to measure precisely; especially: to measure against a standard
Let's face it. We are all attached to our routines. Even the most free-spirited, artsy-fartsy, fly-by-the-seat-of-one's-pants individual has consistent things in their lives upon which they balance the rest. It could be as broad as the seasons, or as minute (and maybe neurotic) as the precise schedule of the before-work morning ritual. having a certain amount of predictability in important aspects of our lives allows us the freedom of, well, sort of planned spontaneity. It's our individual calibration that we all live by - even those who deny so. And when life throws us curveballs and disasters or surprises, we flounder for a time until we re-calibrate, so we may begin ticking along in our new comfortable.
Don and I have had to recalibrate many times in our 35 years together. Sometimes for the good (marriage, children, moving, children, finances....and may I mention CHILDREN!!), and sometimes, for the not-so-good. But each times we adjusted our perspective and our internal clocks and moved on with life. Until now...for we have discovered......
The DE-calibrated Life.
When Don got this new job, we knew that it would bring many, many blessings - but there were also challenges. His days off, for instance. When he first started at Diamond, his days off were Tuesday and Wednesday making Monday his Friday and Wednesday his Sunday. The he got Saturday and Sundays off!! Praise God!! That not only meant that I got to go to church with my sweetie again, but every day was the actual day it was supposed to be!! Then, new sales team and new days off - Thursday and Friday - making Wednesday his Friday and Friday his Sunday. No sooner had we figured that one out than it changed again to Friday-Saturday days off. So now Thursday is Friday and Saturday is Sunday. Confused? Feel our pain....
In the midst of the last change was the diagnosis and the launch of the thrill ride through the land of oncology. We now had to try to organize our life around tests and visits and more tests and stuff and things and e-stinkin'-gad more tests!! talk about a loss of routine and comfortable. We have never, ever been more out of control of anything in our lives. And never have we felt such freedom.
Huh?? I know. You think it's the morphine speaking....ummm...writing. One might think, but one would be wrong. Since there is no "why" to be answered, since there is no cause to be discovered, since there is no blame to be laid - there is only moving on and doing what needs to be done. And being able to rest in the knowledge of God's ALL-ENCOMAPASSING POWER, brings me peace that can only be explained through Him.
So, now for the update and the what's up next: a week ago Wednesday, I got the awaited call from O'ahu to arrange for the P.E.T. scan. They wanted me there on Monday. Knowing that my M.E. (Medical Entourage) here was trying to get me in to see the O-cubed (Ortho Onco of O'ahu), which could mean we stay for a while so the surgery could be done, and that my sister was coming in on Tuesday, and we were supposed to have mani-pedi's (or as my beloved spells it, manny-petty) on Wednesday, and I wanted to have fun so could we not do it on Monday!?!?!?!? okay....so cooler, less silly heads prevailed, and plans were made for for us to fly out five days hence. The cool thing about this is that the insurance paid for my flight and cab, and we only had to pay for Don's flight. He could ride in the same cab with me. They also arranged for us to remain in Honolulu late so we could do something fun - not that having scans and stuff isn't just heap load o' chuckles! yee-haw. Anyway, more on that later....
Two days after we found out about the Honolulu trip was the biopsy for the soft tissue mass in my right thigh. This was to be yet another fasting test. Why do these people keep making me stop eating!?!?!?!? But we did have time to eat early in the morning, so Don took me to my favorite breakfast place on the island: Longhi's on Front Street, Lahaina. Grand Marnier French Toast....Coconut Syrup....blackberry preserves....side of the best bacon ANYWHERE.....and fresh, squeezed o.j...... Okay, so maybe this would hold me for six hours until my test. We managed to use up the time constructively for a while, then spent a couple hours at our Maui aquarium watching sharks and rays and jelly fish just move through the water which utter grace and ease. Yes, this IS how I relax!!
Finally, it was back to Maui Memorial and the crazy path from admissions to the refrigerated radiology department. Don got to freeze along side me this time. By this time, we also had noticed that our yummy morning meal - big and luscious as it was - was no longer keeping our tummies satisfied. We were hungry. In earnest. The tv in the waiting room had on the travel channel. About cruise ships. About all the FOOD on cruise ships. Cruel and unusual.... The biopsy itself was not as bad as I expected - thanks to the capable and kind hands of the doctor...whose name is a mystery to me. There was also the perfect air of goofiness, even though it was a bit chilling to her the nurse say matter-of-factly "She's mets", meaning metastatic. hmmmm... But it got back to funny when I said something smartmouthy, and then we got going. The actual instrument sounded like a very cheap staple gun, and before too long, all was done. Being the practical sort, I pointed out to this kind man that I lived in Napili, and since we were here on this side (meaning Central Maui, 45 minutes away from home), would it be okay if we went and did shopping at Costco and Walmart? He looked at me and said "No.". No discussion. No "if you feel up to it. No "as long your husband puts you in a papoose". He then pointed out that he had just poked a rather significant hole next to a rather significant artery. In fact, I was not even allowed to ride back home sitting up, but reclined in the jeep. Yikes. Anyhow, I was finally released, and because I was a good girl, didn't fuss too much, and promised to ride home in reclined comfort rather than taking care of some much needed shopping, I was rewarded with three stickers and a straw. I was very, very good.
Saturday and Sunday flew by too quickly, and then Monday was upon us. Once again, I had to fast before this next test. Oh, yes - my "last meal" at 6:00 a.m. could only be boiled or baked protein. No dairy. No carbs. No fruit. No flavor. My intent was to have a boiled egg, but Greg had used the last of the eggs and forgot to tell us. Good thing he's ridiculously cute and an unbelievable blessing, otherwise,, I would not have like his chances of surviving the night. So my breakfast? I had some cooked cocktail shrimp. Cold. With lemon. Nasty... But it got me by.
Since I have finally acknowledged that perhaps it might be in my best interest to behave as though my leg is not fully functional/reliable, I have gotten a cane (a cool wooden one, though not a magic Harry Potter one like my great-nephew thought I should get) and a handicapped parking placard - which makes me the first to get the invite to all girls' shopping trips and movie nights. This also meant wheelchair at the airport. In San Diego, getting a wheelchair means reserving one and having your own driver, as it were. In Maui, they point you to the stand of wheelchairs, you take one you like, and whomever your traveling companion is gets to be your chauffeur. Don't know what you do if you're alone. So, there we were, with only three carry-ons. Yes, I know that we were only supposed to be there one day, but this time my hubby insisted that we pack for the possibility of staying for the consult with O-cubed and the surgery to follow. That still meant my two chic olive stackables on wheels and his very butch small duffel. My spouse is extremely coordinated (making up for my lack thereof), and in no time he was pushing with one hand and pulling with the other while I had the duffel on my lap.
Everything went smooth as silk, quick as a bunny, no bumps - including the freakishly smooooooth flight - until we got to Honolulu. Honolulu. Home of Five-O. Land of Aloha. And also one of the largest cities in the U.S. and recent prize winner of the worst traffic in the nation. I think the last statistics have reeeeeally messed with the Aloha Spirit. The arrival was fine, and we were met by a friendly chap driving my wheels. Don had only to call the designated cab company and simply intone my name and ALA-KAZAM!! Our friendly chariot would appear. yeeeeeaaaahhhh,,,,not so much. Don called the magic number. Don invoked the name, Denise Dalton. The operator responded..."who!?!?" They had no record. So Don called the Imaging place which had expertly arranged all travel. They called the cab company. Again. Don called the cab company. Again. In five minutes, the cab company had lost my name. Again. My husband firmly but politely suggested that they write it down. They finally relented and sent a cab.
I have gotten used to Maui's little and efficient airport. I can't speak for other days, but on this day, Honolulu International was neither. Don followed the directions to the area outside Baggage Claim B, passing through Baggage Claim C. Keep in mind, he is still doing the push and pull and carry and stuff with his seemingly able-bodied wife. We make it out to the curb outside Baggage Claim B. Don called the cab company. again. They lost my name. AGAIN. But then they found it. Then began a series of actions that combine Three Stooges, I love Lucy, and the Amazing Race. The voice from the cab said we had to move to the cab stand. This meant pushing/pulling across a street in one of these lower level of an airport departure/arrival garages We went to the cab stand. The young lady there, with NO aloha, began yelling at us that we couldn't be there, that this was for paid fares only. We went back across the street, Don pushing and pulling - and now trying to get the cab company on the phone. Again. This time they had not lost my name, just their cabbie. So, now my husband is pushing/pulling/talking on the phone to a cabbie - for whom English is not a language yet mastered. We see him coming down the drive. Hallelujah! he slowed....said something through the open window about not being allowed to stop there...follow him..... So, Don begins his best to push/pull us to the cab - who keeps moving off anytime we get close! I also have to stop my harried hubby from running my off the sidewalk in his haste to get us to the fleeing cab. Finally, the cab pulls away entirely, leaving us in the proverbial dust and the literal exhaust. At this point, Don parks me, and slowly walks away while talking on the phone. My beloved is a very patient man in most circumstances. But...I noticed as he walked away, his voice got a little more loud with every step he took away from me. Keep in mind, this is in one of those echoey giant garage-y structures, so the acoustics are AWESOME!! I couldn't hear much except Don asking if this guy could not see the lady in the wheelchair (we were totally by ourselves, wheelchair or no) and other stuff, which my husband later confessed to me had a little something to do with the cabbie's training. After a bit, we saw this guy parked beyond Baggage Claim C - right where we had started!
Now, I know I look like a healthy girl, but I would think that the cane and the wheelchair might hint that something was not quite nimble with this particular fare, and given the destination as Hawaii Advanced Imaging, the dots should have been close enough for anyone to connect. Apparently not. The cabbie not only didn't help me in, but he proceeded to lecture Don on the high fines given to cabbies who stop at the spot where DON WAS TOLD TO WAIT!! We got in the car, and had a nice Mr. Toad ride to the imaging place. He still was muttering things about fines, but I just finally looked grumpy enough that he stayed quiet - until he pulled up to the address. We still had no idea where we were, and there was no sign on the outside indicating that this was the right place. Instead of giving us a moment, this guy unceremoniously unloaded us, STILL LECTURING MY HUSBAND, and took off.
After finding me a planter wall to sit on, Don wandered this beautiful and contemporary plaza - that was chalk full of restaurants and other eateries. Remember!?!? Fasting!?!? He found our destination and escorted me over, still pulling, although no longer having to push. When we landed in Honolulu, it was 10:00 a.m. I didn't have check-in until noon, and we had been wondering how we would kill the time. We arrived at 11:40....
In this process, I have had so many tests that I am now almost qualified to give them. But of all the tests, this is by far my favorite. Why, you ask?? Because there was a great deal of napping involved. The nurse handling my prep was awesome and hilarious. She had my bundle up in my sweats and fuzzy socks (I just looked like a Pink Disney Michelan man), then brought forth yet another vial encased in lead. I said I really am going to be my own Weapon of Mass Destruction. She assured me all would be fine as long as I didn't run through the airport yelling "Jihad!!". After injecting me, she said she had to see if it took, then turned off the lights to look for the glow. I LOVE this woman!! After I was properly infused with Radioactive Glucose, I then had one hour of dark and quiet and calm. Nap. When it was my turn for the test, I was bundled up some more, and put into a larger, semi-open tube, that whirred and purred, instead of the cacophonous din of the MRI. More nap. When that was done, she brought me "steak and lobster": two granola bars and OJ. Yes, by far my favorite test.
The rest of our time in Honolulu was to be spent watching the Chargers at Islands Restaurant in Ala Moana Center - which meant another cab ride. Oh, Lord.... But God was gracious, providing a lovely, solicitous gentleman named Woo (pronounced oo), who drove gently, dropped us off EXACTLY where we wanted, then picked us up for the ride back to the airport later that night. In the end, we got medical stuff done - although no Dr. O-cubed - had a fun time watching our Chargers beat the Raiders, and came home with an adventure to tell.
We had our next visit with Dr. Altaha (Dr. Labradoodle) early Tuesday. This one had us all a bit tight, be we knew God was in control. God also reminded us of HIS control and our need to trust Him by letting us get stuck in back up due to an accident on our one two-lane highway from the westside. We arrived late - as did many of the day's appointments - but were once again treated with warmth and compassion.
So, the scoop: the soft tissue mass was inconclusive, as all the material was simply necrotic. Look it up. The definition is roughly: eeeeeeeaaauuuuuwwwww grooooosss!! But this means that they will have to go into the bone for the next biopsy. Waiting for the time on that. The P.E.T. scan showed no new surprises (YAY!) but the ones that exist are enough. I have the one biggie in my left femur, one small in my right., one small in my lower spine, one bigger in my mid spine, and one in the right upper arm. This means I am a Stage Four. But that's okay. God's got this. I had one more MRI on my spine (the girl actually asked me if I had an MRI before, and I was tempted to ask: "You mean today??") that showed a clearer shot of the oogie on the spine. I should hear from Dr. O-cubed tomorrow or the next day - which means, be ready to go on very short notice. He will take out icky bone and replace it with a metal rod. Wonder if refrigerator magnets will work...???
So, back to our de-calibrated life. It's a good life. In fact, it's a very good life. We are blessed beyond anything either of us could have asked or imagined - but that's simply the way our Heavenly Father works. What I want from Him is full and perfect healing!! But then again...what I want is nothing less than what HE wants for me!!
Many years ago, as Don and I changed our diet for the healthier, I adopted my "Six-Months-to-Live Eating Plan" - meaning, if Dr. Wonderful said, "Denise, six months from now, your ticket is punched and you're goin' home!!", I would start gnoshing on jack-in-the Box tacos and stuffed jalapenos, a can of Pringles a day, and double stuff Oreos and pretty much any of the Mother's Cookies brand. After our visit with Dr. Altaha, we were finally able to make that much-needed trip to Costco. As we were cruising toward checkout, going down aisles of yumminess, I pointed out to Greg the stacks of Mother's Iced Oatmeal cookies next to the Oreo Double Stuff - and kept on moving. In our cart? Tomatoes, and fruit and beautiful mushrooms and bananas and spinach.
Yup....I plan to be here a long while....
Let's face it. We are all attached to our routines. Even the most free-spirited, artsy-fartsy, fly-by-the-seat-of-one's-pants individual has consistent things in their lives upon which they balance the rest. It could be as broad as the seasons, or as minute (and maybe neurotic) as the precise schedule of the before-work morning ritual. having a certain amount of predictability in important aspects of our lives allows us the freedom of, well, sort of planned spontaneity. It's our individual calibration that we all live by - even those who deny so. And when life throws us curveballs and disasters or surprises, we flounder for a time until we re-calibrate, so we may begin ticking along in our new comfortable.
Don and I have had to recalibrate many times in our 35 years together. Sometimes for the good (marriage, children, moving, children, finances....and may I mention CHILDREN!!), and sometimes, for the not-so-good. But each times we adjusted our perspective and our internal clocks and moved on with life. Until now...for we have discovered......
The DE-calibrated Life.
When Don got this new job, we knew that it would bring many, many blessings - but there were also challenges. His days off, for instance. When he first started at Diamond, his days off were Tuesday and Wednesday making Monday his Friday and Wednesday his Sunday. The he got Saturday and Sundays off!! Praise God!! That not only meant that I got to go to church with my sweetie again, but every day was the actual day it was supposed to be!! Then, new sales team and new days off - Thursday and Friday - making Wednesday his Friday and Friday his Sunday. No sooner had we figured that one out than it changed again to Friday-Saturday days off. So now Thursday is Friday and Saturday is Sunday. Confused? Feel our pain....
In the midst of the last change was the diagnosis and the launch of the thrill ride through the land of oncology. We now had to try to organize our life around tests and visits and more tests and stuff and things and e-stinkin'-gad more tests!! talk about a loss of routine and comfortable. We have never, ever been more out of control of anything in our lives. And never have we felt such freedom.
Huh?? I know. You think it's the morphine speaking....ummm...writing. One might think, but one would be wrong. Since there is no "why" to be answered, since there is no cause to be discovered, since there is no blame to be laid - there is only moving on and doing what needs to be done. And being able to rest in the knowledge of God's ALL-ENCOMAPASSING POWER, brings me peace that can only be explained through Him.
So, now for the update and the what's up next: a week ago Wednesday, I got the awaited call from O'ahu to arrange for the P.E.T. scan. They wanted me there on Monday. Knowing that my M.E. (Medical Entourage) here was trying to get me in to see the O-cubed (Ortho Onco of O'ahu), which could mean we stay for a while so the surgery could be done, and that my sister was coming in on Tuesday, and we were supposed to have mani-pedi's (or as my beloved spells it, manny-petty) on Wednesday, and I wanted to have fun so could we not do it on Monday!?!?!?!? okay....so cooler, less silly heads prevailed, and plans were made for for us to fly out five days hence. The cool thing about this is that the insurance paid for my flight and cab, and we only had to pay for Don's flight. He could ride in the same cab with me. They also arranged for us to remain in Honolulu late so we could do something fun - not that having scans and stuff isn't just heap load o' chuckles! yee-haw. Anyway, more on that later....
Two days after we found out about the Honolulu trip was the biopsy for the soft tissue mass in my right thigh. This was to be yet another fasting test. Why do these people keep making me stop eating!?!?!?!? But we did have time to eat early in the morning, so Don took me to my favorite breakfast place on the island: Longhi's on Front Street, Lahaina. Grand Marnier French Toast....Coconut Syrup....blackberry preserves....side of the best bacon ANYWHERE.....and fresh, squeezed o.j...... Okay, so maybe this would hold me for six hours until my test. We managed to use up the time constructively for a while, then spent a couple hours at our Maui aquarium watching sharks and rays and jelly fish just move through the water which utter grace and ease. Yes, this IS how I relax!!
Finally, it was back to Maui Memorial and the crazy path from admissions to the refrigerated radiology department. Don got to freeze along side me this time. By this time, we also had noticed that our yummy morning meal - big and luscious as it was - was no longer keeping our tummies satisfied. We were hungry. In earnest. The tv in the waiting room had on the travel channel. About cruise ships. About all the FOOD on cruise ships. Cruel and unusual.... The biopsy itself was not as bad as I expected - thanks to the capable and kind hands of the doctor...whose name is a mystery to me. There was also the perfect air of goofiness, even though it was a bit chilling to her the nurse say matter-of-factly "She's mets", meaning metastatic. hmmmm... But it got back to funny when I said something smartmouthy, and then we got going. The actual instrument sounded like a very cheap staple gun, and before too long, all was done. Being the practical sort, I pointed out to this kind man that I lived in Napili, and since we were here on this side (meaning Central Maui, 45 minutes away from home), would it be okay if we went and did shopping at Costco and Walmart? He looked at me and said "No.". No discussion. No "if you feel up to it. No "as long your husband puts you in a papoose". He then pointed out that he had just poked a rather significant hole next to a rather significant artery. In fact, I was not even allowed to ride back home sitting up, but reclined in the jeep. Yikes. Anyhow, I was finally released, and because I was a good girl, didn't fuss too much, and promised to ride home in reclined comfort rather than taking care of some much needed shopping, I was rewarded with three stickers and a straw. I was very, very good.
Saturday and Sunday flew by too quickly, and then Monday was upon us. Once again, I had to fast before this next test. Oh, yes - my "last meal" at 6:00 a.m. could only be boiled or baked protein. No dairy. No carbs. No fruit. No flavor. My intent was to have a boiled egg, but Greg had used the last of the eggs and forgot to tell us. Good thing he's ridiculously cute and an unbelievable blessing, otherwise,, I would not have like his chances of surviving the night. So my breakfast? I had some cooked cocktail shrimp. Cold. With lemon. Nasty... But it got me by.
Since I have finally acknowledged that perhaps it might be in my best interest to behave as though my leg is not fully functional/reliable, I have gotten a cane (a cool wooden one, though not a magic Harry Potter one like my great-nephew thought I should get) and a handicapped parking placard - which makes me the first to get the invite to all girls' shopping trips and movie nights. This also meant wheelchair at the airport. In San Diego, getting a wheelchair means reserving one and having your own driver, as it were. In Maui, they point you to the stand of wheelchairs, you take one you like, and whomever your traveling companion is gets to be your chauffeur. Don't know what you do if you're alone. So, there we were, with only three carry-ons. Yes, I know that we were only supposed to be there one day, but this time my hubby insisted that we pack for the possibility of staying for the consult with O-cubed and the surgery to follow. That still meant my two chic olive stackables on wheels and his very butch small duffel. My spouse is extremely coordinated (making up for my lack thereof), and in no time he was pushing with one hand and pulling with the other while I had the duffel on my lap.
Everything went smooth as silk, quick as a bunny, no bumps - including the freakishly smooooooth flight - until we got to Honolulu. Honolulu. Home of Five-O. Land of Aloha. And also one of the largest cities in the U.S. and recent prize winner of the worst traffic in the nation. I think the last statistics have reeeeeally messed with the Aloha Spirit. The arrival was fine, and we were met by a friendly chap driving my wheels. Don had only to call the designated cab company and simply intone my name and ALA-KAZAM!! Our friendly chariot would appear. yeeeeeaaaahhhh,,,,not so much. Don called the magic number. Don invoked the name, Denise Dalton. The operator responded..."who!?!?" They had no record. So Don called the Imaging place which had expertly arranged all travel. They called the cab company. Again. Don called the cab company. Again. In five minutes, the cab company had lost my name. Again. My husband firmly but politely suggested that they write it down. They finally relented and sent a cab.
I have gotten used to Maui's little and efficient airport. I can't speak for other days, but on this day, Honolulu International was neither. Don followed the directions to the area outside Baggage Claim B, passing through Baggage Claim C. Keep in mind, he is still doing the push and pull and carry and stuff with his seemingly able-bodied wife. We make it out to the curb outside Baggage Claim B. Don called the cab company. again. They lost my name. AGAIN. But then they found it. Then began a series of actions that combine Three Stooges, I love Lucy, and the Amazing Race. The voice from the cab said we had to move to the cab stand. This meant pushing/pulling across a street in one of these lower level of an airport departure/arrival garages We went to the cab stand. The young lady there, with NO aloha, began yelling at us that we couldn't be there, that this was for paid fares only. We went back across the street, Don pushing and pulling - and now trying to get the cab company on the phone. Again. This time they had not lost my name, just their cabbie. So, now my husband is pushing/pulling/talking on the phone to a cabbie - for whom English is not a language yet mastered. We see him coming down the drive. Hallelujah! he slowed....said something through the open window about not being allowed to stop there...follow him..... So, Don begins his best to push/pull us to the cab - who keeps moving off anytime we get close! I also have to stop my harried hubby from running my off the sidewalk in his haste to get us to the fleeing cab. Finally, the cab pulls away entirely, leaving us in the proverbial dust and the literal exhaust. At this point, Don parks me, and slowly walks away while talking on the phone. My beloved is a very patient man in most circumstances. But...I noticed as he walked away, his voice got a little more loud with every step he took away from me. Keep in mind, this is in one of those echoey giant garage-y structures, so the acoustics are AWESOME!! I couldn't hear much except Don asking if this guy could not see the lady in the wheelchair (we were totally by ourselves, wheelchair or no) and other stuff, which my husband later confessed to me had a little something to do with the cabbie's training. After a bit, we saw this guy parked beyond Baggage Claim C - right where we had started!
Now, I know I look like a healthy girl, but I would think that the cane and the wheelchair might hint that something was not quite nimble with this particular fare, and given the destination as Hawaii Advanced Imaging, the dots should have been close enough for anyone to connect. Apparently not. The cabbie not only didn't help me in, but he proceeded to lecture Don on the high fines given to cabbies who stop at the spot where DON WAS TOLD TO WAIT!! We got in the car, and had a nice Mr. Toad ride to the imaging place. He still was muttering things about fines, but I just finally looked grumpy enough that he stayed quiet - until he pulled up to the address. We still had no idea where we were, and there was no sign on the outside indicating that this was the right place. Instead of giving us a moment, this guy unceremoniously unloaded us, STILL LECTURING MY HUSBAND, and took off.
After finding me a planter wall to sit on, Don wandered this beautiful and contemporary plaza - that was chalk full of restaurants and other eateries. Remember!?!? Fasting!?!? He found our destination and escorted me over, still pulling, although no longer having to push. When we landed in Honolulu, it was 10:00 a.m. I didn't have check-in until noon, and we had been wondering how we would kill the time. We arrived at 11:40....
In this process, I have had so many tests that I am now almost qualified to give them. But of all the tests, this is by far my favorite. Why, you ask?? Because there was a great deal of napping involved. The nurse handling my prep was awesome and hilarious. She had my bundle up in my sweats and fuzzy socks (I just looked like a Pink Disney Michelan man), then brought forth yet another vial encased in lead. I said I really am going to be my own Weapon of Mass Destruction. She assured me all would be fine as long as I didn't run through the airport yelling "Jihad!!". After injecting me, she said she had to see if it took, then turned off the lights to look for the glow. I LOVE this woman!! After I was properly infused with Radioactive Glucose, I then had one hour of dark and quiet and calm. Nap. When it was my turn for the test, I was bundled up some more, and put into a larger, semi-open tube, that whirred and purred, instead of the cacophonous din of the MRI. More nap. When that was done, she brought me "steak and lobster": two granola bars and OJ. Yes, by far my favorite test.
The rest of our time in Honolulu was to be spent watching the Chargers at Islands Restaurant in Ala Moana Center - which meant another cab ride. Oh, Lord.... But God was gracious, providing a lovely, solicitous gentleman named Woo (pronounced oo), who drove gently, dropped us off EXACTLY where we wanted, then picked us up for the ride back to the airport later that night. In the end, we got medical stuff done - although no Dr. O-cubed - had a fun time watching our Chargers beat the Raiders, and came home with an adventure to tell.
We had our next visit with Dr. Altaha (Dr. Labradoodle) early Tuesday. This one had us all a bit tight, be we knew God was in control. God also reminded us of HIS control and our need to trust Him by letting us get stuck in back up due to an accident on our one two-lane highway from the westside. We arrived late - as did many of the day's appointments - but were once again treated with warmth and compassion.
So, the scoop: the soft tissue mass was inconclusive, as all the material was simply necrotic. Look it up. The definition is roughly: eeeeeeeaaauuuuuwwwww grooooosss!! But this means that they will have to go into the bone for the next biopsy. Waiting for the time on that. The P.E.T. scan showed no new surprises (YAY!) but the ones that exist are enough. I have the one biggie in my left femur, one small in my right., one small in my lower spine, one bigger in my mid spine, and one in the right upper arm. This means I am a Stage Four. But that's okay. God's got this. I had one more MRI on my spine (the girl actually asked me if I had an MRI before, and I was tempted to ask: "You mean today??") that showed a clearer shot of the oogie on the spine. I should hear from Dr. O-cubed tomorrow or the next day - which means, be ready to go on very short notice. He will take out icky bone and replace it with a metal rod. Wonder if refrigerator magnets will work...???
So, back to our de-calibrated life. It's a good life. In fact, it's a very good life. We are blessed beyond anything either of us could have asked or imagined - but that's simply the way our Heavenly Father works. What I want from Him is full and perfect healing!! But then again...what I want is nothing less than what HE wants for me!!
Many years ago, as Don and I changed our diet for the healthier, I adopted my "Six-Months-to-Live Eating Plan" - meaning, if Dr. Wonderful said, "Denise, six months from now, your ticket is punched and you're goin' home!!", I would start gnoshing on jack-in-the Box tacos and stuffed jalapenos, a can of Pringles a day, and double stuff Oreos and pretty much any of the Mother's Cookies brand. After our visit with Dr. Altaha, we were finally able to make that much-needed trip to Costco. As we were cruising toward checkout, going down aisles of yumminess, I pointed out to Greg the stacks of Mother's Iced Oatmeal cookies next to the Oreo Double Stuff - and kept on moving. In our cart? Tomatoes, and fruit and beautiful mushrooms and bananas and spinach.
Yup....I plan to be here a long while....
Monday, September 3, 2012
No Cape, nor Coordinating Tights....
It has occurred to me in the past couple of weeks that people around me are starting to look at me a little funny. I mean, funnier than usual. And it makes me a little squirmy. What tends to surprise most people about me is that, even though I am outgoing, i am actually a rather private person when it comes to some stuff. I don't have a problem sharing the good stuff. I don't even have that much of an issue being transparent in the innumerable ways I screw up. But when it comes to difficulties, challenges, and bad stuff that comes our way....both Don and I tend to play it pretty close to the vest. So, when it came time to "go public", as my friend and pastor, Steve, says, it gave me some serious heebie-jeebies.
So, now most everyone knows of the new Big Adventure for Denise and Don, and I find that I am the recipient of many loving and positive notes and hugs and Facebook posts - and I love 'em, keep 'em coming!! But I also find myself, in more than a few cases, being given a status of near super-hero. Seriously. Don't laugh. But in the loving eyes of a few, it seemed that the cancer diagnosis came with a cape, coordinating tights, and a snappy looking mask. Not so much....
I would like to think that most of my perceived bravery comes from my faith in God. this morning my Facebook post quotes one of the all-time great scriptures, Romans 8:28: "For we know that God cause all things to work together for good to those who love the Lord, who are called according to His purpose". Awesome verse. Awesomer chapter. Check it out. Anyway, so i would like to think that this is the source of that heroic glow that I seem to have floating around me.
But, unfortunately, I think it is mostly still shell-shock. Three short weeks ago this morning, I was happy to have my MRI done so it could show the soft tissue injury in my left hip. It was Don't day off, and we had a great day planned. Duh. We live in Maui. So, I get a call from the MRI place. Come in for a CONTRAST MRI. This morning. Two and a half hours from now. See, I've watched enough Medical Center and Soap Operas to know that this is NEVER, EVER GOOD!! But in we went. The next morning was the call from my ortho (Asian Doogie) telling me about the tumor. Tumors.
To say a dark curtain came down at that moment might sound right, because that is how our spirits felt, but the dropping of a curtain comes at the end of a performance. Our curtain was just rising. By that afternoon, our show, the crazy roller coaster ride had begun in earnest.
SInce then, I have had my moments of being awake and lucid and clear-headed where I am just downright ticked off at this. A few days ago was a good one. Have you ever noticed how women will clean when they are perturbed? Well, that was me. The menfolk were off seeing the latest Bourne movie, and it was just me and the dog and all my pent up indignation. I found a couple of innocent skillets that needed some attention, grabbed an S.O.S. pad (how ironic/appropriate), and started in as I had my chat with God.
"Dear Lord," (scrub-scrubber-scrub), "You know how I said I will be blessed to be used by You for Your glory?" (scrubbedy-scrub-rinse), "I CHANGED MY MIND!!" (scurbby-scrub-rinse-scrub-rinse-CLANG!) "You know how I said I felt humbled to be chosen by You for such a thing as this?" (new skillet - scrubbedy-scrub-scrub) "CHOOSE SOMEONE ELSE!" By the time I was finished with this completely rational, totally reasonable exchange with the Lord, I had cried myself to calm - and had two skillets so shiny and brilliant you could use the reflection to pick stuff out of your teeth.
I do not like this. I do not want this. But here it is. I am in it. And God is with me. Always.
The process itself keeps moving at rather break-neck speed. I got a call from the P.E.T. scan people in O'ahu, and I am set up for Monday morning, so the results will be ready Tuesday morning when when meet with Dr. Labradoodle....Dr Altaha.....I have my biopsy tomorrow morning on the soft tissue ick so they can discern (hopefully) what kind of ick it is exactly so they can use the right anti-ick therapy.
Yesterday, we met with my radiation oncologist, Dr. Diane Tsai - pronounced "sigh" tsorta. Anyway, before we met with her, we had an opportunity to once again sit and wait. We were there toward the end of lunch hour, and so had the chance to sit and observe as the office came to life. In a room opposite where we sat were several comfortable chairs - teal blue leather (pleather??!!?) Lazyboys. The sign on the door read: "Medical Oncology", and we watched as a few people came in sat down, and had their medicine plugged into the ports implanted near their collarbones. Nary a frown in the group. There is a directory near the front doors of the department, and one heading reads: "Tumor Registration". Really?? You can register for a tumor like your wedding gift!?!? Yes, I will take my little barcode-reading gun and choose....the teak salad bowl set.....the ivory pillar candles....8-piece fluted stemware....and a 3-piece set of matching tumors!! Who knew?!?!
Our turn came rather quickly - never have had to wait too long - and met the newest membership of our medical entourage. Pretty soon there will be special blazers, membership cards, and a secret handshake. Dr. Tsai is yet another young and energetic doctor - and with a sweet sense of fashion in her cute little black flair skirt. I appreciate that! She is also a foodie. I appreciate that more! But we actually did talk medicine and cancer and radiation and stuff, too.
Turns out that my femur (thigh bone, for those of you who never watched ER) is pretty much trash, thanks to this tumor that has been hiding there for a while. I am almost certain to need surgery to carve out the bad stuff and put in a rod. As Greg said, looks like I'm still goin' bionic! The question is to do it before or after radiation, and should my Asian Doogie Howser do it here on Maui, or should I go to the big shot ortho onco on O'ahu (I LOVE the syncopation - gotta be a song!). Personally, I choose here and my A.D.H., but those decisions will be made by smarter people than me.
The good news for me is that my radiation treatment should be about 3-5 weeks, and each tumor only gets zapped for 1-5 minutes. I even can drive myself! So, radiation is going to be a lot easier than I expected. When Don and I were reading about side effects and managing them, it said to STAY OFF THE BEACH AND OUT OF SALT WATER. I was so cranked up about that, angry to the point of tears, before the doctor came in and said basically "Eh, don't worry about it. Sunscreen. No hot tubs. Go for it" The other fun thing is that i am going to get TATTOOS!! Fifty-seven. A Grandmother. I'm gettin' my first ink... Actually, it's little dots to make sure that the radiation beam shoots in the same place each time. Yes, you don't want to be misfiring these guys.
The not-quite-so-good news is that chemo is looking more likely. All of these decisions will be made after the biopsy tomorrow and the P.E.T. scan on Monday. I am even on the agenda for Friday's Tumor Board. Do they sit around and do their best Arnold - "It IS a toomah!" "Yes, but vat kind off toomah?"...
So, the ride goes on. And back to my original thought....oh-so-long-ago....I don't like this much. I don't like being transparent about my warts. But I hate being transparent about my needs. I try to help out others when I can. I loathe the idea of asking for help. I have my days and times of being funny and semi-brave. I have days and times, more than I want to admit, of being sad, demanding, and Princess Weenie Pants. I am discovering that there are a ton of things that are going to happen that are going to rob me of my pride - and that's a good thing. There are also things in my private life that will no longer be so. Not so sure how good that is.
I know God will use me in this, and yes, I really do feel His blessing and presence - but He gave me no Superhero costume. You see, the battle isn't mine to win. it is His - and He already has.
So, now most everyone knows of the new Big Adventure for Denise and Don, and I find that I am the recipient of many loving and positive notes and hugs and Facebook posts - and I love 'em, keep 'em coming!! But I also find myself, in more than a few cases, being given a status of near super-hero. Seriously. Don't laugh. But in the loving eyes of a few, it seemed that the cancer diagnosis came with a cape, coordinating tights, and a snappy looking mask. Not so much....
I would like to think that most of my perceived bravery comes from my faith in God. this morning my Facebook post quotes one of the all-time great scriptures, Romans 8:28: "For we know that God cause all things to work together for good to those who love the Lord, who are called according to His purpose". Awesome verse. Awesomer chapter. Check it out. Anyway, so i would like to think that this is the source of that heroic glow that I seem to have floating around me.
But, unfortunately, I think it is mostly still shell-shock. Three short weeks ago this morning, I was happy to have my MRI done so it could show the soft tissue injury in my left hip. It was Don't day off, and we had a great day planned. Duh. We live in Maui. So, I get a call from the MRI place. Come in for a CONTRAST MRI. This morning. Two and a half hours from now. See, I've watched enough Medical Center and Soap Operas to know that this is NEVER, EVER GOOD!! But in we went. The next morning was the call from my ortho (Asian Doogie) telling me about the tumor. Tumors.
To say a dark curtain came down at that moment might sound right, because that is how our spirits felt, but the dropping of a curtain comes at the end of a performance. Our curtain was just rising. By that afternoon, our show, the crazy roller coaster ride had begun in earnest.
SInce then, I have had my moments of being awake and lucid and clear-headed where I am just downright ticked off at this. A few days ago was a good one. Have you ever noticed how women will clean when they are perturbed? Well, that was me. The menfolk were off seeing the latest Bourne movie, and it was just me and the dog and all my pent up indignation. I found a couple of innocent skillets that needed some attention, grabbed an S.O.S. pad (how ironic/appropriate), and started in as I had my chat with God.
"Dear Lord," (scrub-scrubber-scrub), "You know how I said I will be blessed to be used by You for Your glory?" (scrubbedy-scrub-rinse), "I CHANGED MY MIND!!" (scurbby-scrub-rinse-scrub-rinse-CLANG!) "You know how I said I felt humbled to be chosen by You for such a thing as this?" (new skillet - scrubbedy-scrub-scrub) "CHOOSE SOMEONE ELSE!" By the time I was finished with this completely rational, totally reasonable exchange with the Lord, I had cried myself to calm - and had two skillets so shiny and brilliant you could use the reflection to pick stuff out of your teeth.
I do not like this. I do not want this. But here it is. I am in it. And God is with me. Always.
The process itself keeps moving at rather break-neck speed. I got a call from the P.E.T. scan people in O'ahu, and I am set up for Monday morning, so the results will be ready Tuesday morning when when meet with Dr. Labradoodle....Dr Altaha.....I have my biopsy tomorrow morning on the soft tissue ick so they can discern (hopefully) what kind of ick it is exactly so they can use the right anti-ick therapy.
Yesterday, we met with my radiation oncologist, Dr. Diane Tsai - pronounced "sigh" tsorta. Anyway, before we met with her, we had an opportunity to once again sit and wait. We were there toward the end of lunch hour, and so had the chance to sit and observe as the office came to life. In a room opposite where we sat were several comfortable chairs - teal blue leather (pleather??!!?) Lazyboys. The sign on the door read: "Medical Oncology", and we watched as a few people came in sat down, and had their medicine plugged into the ports implanted near their collarbones. Nary a frown in the group. There is a directory near the front doors of the department, and one heading reads: "Tumor Registration". Really?? You can register for a tumor like your wedding gift!?!? Yes, I will take my little barcode-reading gun and choose....the teak salad bowl set.....the ivory pillar candles....8-piece fluted stemware....and a 3-piece set of matching tumors!! Who knew?!?!
Our turn came rather quickly - never have had to wait too long - and met the newest membership of our medical entourage. Pretty soon there will be special blazers, membership cards, and a secret handshake. Dr. Tsai is yet another young and energetic doctor - and with a sweet sense of fashion in her cute little black flair skirt. I appreciate that! She is also a foodie. I appreciate that more! But we actually did talk medicine and cancer and radiation and stuff, too.
Turns out that my femur (thigh bone, for those of you who never watched ER) is pretty much trash, thanks to this tumor that has been hiding there for a while. I am almost certain to need surgery to carve out the bad stuff and put in a rod. As Greg said, looks like I'm still goin' bionic! The question is to do it before or after radiation, and should my Asian Doogie Howser do it here on Maui, or should I go to the big shot ortho onco on O'ahu (I LOVE the syncopation - gotta be a song!). Personally, I choose here and my A.D.H., but those decisions will be made by smarter people than me.
The good news for me is that my radiation treatment should be about 3-5 weeks, and each tumor only gets zapped for 1-5 minutes. I even can drive myself! So, radiation is going to be a lot easier than I expected. When Don and I were reading about side effects and managing them, it said to STAY OFF THE BEACH AND OUT OF SALT WATER. I was so cranked up about that, angry to the point of tears, before the doctor came in and said basically "Eh, don't worry about it. Sunscreen. No hot tubs. Go for it" The other fun thing is that i am going to get TATTOOS!! Fifty-seven. A Grandmother. I'm gettin' my first ink... Actually, it's little dots to make sure that the radiation beam shoots in the same place each time. Yes, you don't want to be misfiring these guys.
The not-quite-so-good news is that chemo is looking more likely. All of these decisions will be made after the biopsy tomorrow and the P.E.T. scan on Monday. I am even on the agenda for Friday's Tumor Board. Do they sit around and do their best Arnold - "It IS a toomah!" "Yes, but vat kind off toomah?"...
So, the ride goes on. And back to my original thought....oh-so-long-ago....I don't like this much. I don't like being transparent about my warts. But I hate being transparent about my needs. I try to help out others when I can. I loathe the idea of asking for help. I have my days and times of being funny and semi-brave. I have days and times, more than I want to admit, of being sad, demanding, and Princess Weenie Pants. I am discovering that there are a ton of things that are going to happen that are going to rob me of my pride - and that's a good thing. There are also things in my private life that will no longer be so. Not so sure how good that is.
I know God will use me in this, and yes, I really do feel His blessing and presence - but He gave me no Superhero costume. You see, the battle isn't mine to win. it is His - and He already has.
Friday, August 31, 2012
So, we're pretty sure it's not The Borg...
For those of you who are not Star Trek Fans (and why aren't you!?!?), let me explain about the Good Guys - The United Federation of Planets - versus the Bad Guys - Klingons, Romulans, and The Borg. The Good Guys go exploring the galaxies, discovering new species who, remarkably enough, almost all speak English. It is then the Good Guys who must protect the never-before-encountered-yet-articulate-in-English newbies from the Bad Guys. Up to speed? Good. It gets more complicated from here. Okay, so the first incarnation of Star Trek, Captain James T. Kirk (before he had to start hawking for Priceline. I guess a Captain's retirement pay from the Federation doesn't quite cover the bills), is mortal enemies with the Klingons and Romulans. He never even heard of the Borg. In this time, the Romulans looked just like Vulcans because at one time they were like all the same or something and then they like had a fight and Vulcans became all stoic and smart and junk and the Romulans just got a nasty attitude. The Klingons of this time looked like a cross between a sixties beatnik and some orange-tanned cast member of Jersey Shore. But I digress. Point being, they were all the bad nasties and Captain Kirk went about valiantly protecting all the well-spoken alien species. Flash-forward a couple of captains and tv decades later, and we have Captain Jean-Luc Picard, taking a break from doing Shakespeare-on-the-Green In Enid, Oklahoma. By this time, the Feds have made nice-nice with the Klingons - who have lost their Jersey Orange tans, but have developed a truly nasty case of forehead ridges from too much time on a tanning bed. The Romulans are still among the bad nasties. But then appears (duh-duh-DUH!!), flying at super warp speed, a cube that looks like something like a '67 Lincoln Continental that went several rounds with an car crusher. But these guys are scary. They want to "assimilate" all species, but barring that ("Resistance is futile" which has to be pronounced "Few-tile", otherwise no one will take them seriously), The Borg will simply annihilate what ever does kick up a fuss. The Borg are also telepathically wired to one another so they can spread a single thought throughout their "Collective", making them the baddest of the bad nasties.
So, WHAT the heck am I talking about!?!?!? Thought you'd never ask....
Today was the first of the results to find out how big the bad nasties were that had invaded my body. A week ago is when I donated about a gallon or two of my blood for them to ponder and examine and sell off the extra. So far, this has been the only test I have had since the many wonderful scans in the refrigerated radiology department. It doesn't mean it's been all quiet and calm. Not quite.
Thank God Greg has been here to take me around to all these places and be my general buddy when Don is working. We are losing track of the number of trips we have taken over to the hospital, including one extra special one to pick up re-writes of prescriptions that Walmart couldn't cover so we then had to go to a different pharmacy that the Cancer Clinic uses. WHEW!! Today, he actually came in with Don and I so he could be there to pray, be supportive, pray, ask good questions, and then...pray. He also has become our personal valet, as they are doing construction on the building (yay, MORE places to get lost!!), and the construction dudes pretty much take up all the parking. So, he tried taking it to valet out by the lobby. The declined saying they could not because FloJo also accompanied us, and they were not allowed to take a car with LIVE animals!! Kinda begs a certain question, doesn't it....
ANYWAY!! He eventually got the car parked and joined us in the waiting room of the Pacific Cancer Center. I really admire the overall attitude of these good people doing a hard job in a difficult area. We are always met with smiles and warmth (in demeanor, not temperature), there are usually home-baked cookies on the reception desk surrounded by gorgeous tropical flowers, and there is a giant jigsaw puzzle on a table for those who are waiting the long wait for a doctor or loved one. Today there was an extra treat - a musician!! A....HARPIST!! Now, I don't want to stereotype, but is HARP music really the appropriate genre in an oncology ward!?!?!?!? ("yes, this is what you may be hearing soon - and you just might be playing it!). So, we sat and giggled our sick, morbid jokes until my name was called and the three of us trudged back.
I know I talked about my oncologist and his sweetness and artistic acumen, but I failed to describe him. Dr. Ramin Altaha a soft-spoken Persian with years of studies from Hamburg, Germany and Johns-Hopkins and few more rather impressive places. He chuckles like an prepubescent boy whose best friend just said "booby". He also has a little gray in his scruffy beard (verrrry comforting, seeing gray), and a crazy, not quite controlled head of longish soft black curls. Kind of a Persian Labradoodle. But he makes what is so tough much easier.
Dr. Labradoodle takes out his notes and asks me what other tests I may have had or have scheduled. I respond about the blood, the biopsy scheduled for next Friday, the meeting with the Radiation Oncologist on Wednesday, and still waiting for the free trip to Honolulu for the P.E.T. scan. he takes down my answers. Then he pulls out his notes about the blood, and smiles as he reports that the blood tests show nothing in vital organs!! PRAAAAAISE GOD!!!! What does this mean?!!? The cancer does not appear to be from pancreas ovary breast liver kidney colon or even from any vagrant thyroid tissue left behind for 8 years ago. Any of these could have been very grim news indeed, as the prognoses for these types of cancer are equally grim. No Borg. No "Collective" trying to assimilate healthy tissue or destroy what it could not absorb.
This was the first good news of any kind since this nightmare began just a couple of weeks ago. Dr. used the term "if" instead of "when" for the chemotherapy. I have admitted to my family that I was kind of getting behind the notion of the smooth, no maintenance head. But then again, I have a very lumpy, bumpy skull and bald would not do. Besides, I am used to pulling my hair through the back of my mask when I snorkel, and I fear that the strap may just slip right off without it. So, yeah...pretty jazzed that I may get to keep my hairs.
But we're not in enemy free territory. The same nodules and tumors are there - and Dr. Labradoodle is seeking answers from the biopsy. And radiation will be hitting all the spots of enemy growth throughout my body. I spent some time ready up on the side effects of radiation. Not pretty. One instruction actually says to avoid going to the beach.......... AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH!!!!!!! We'll figure a way around that. Then, because I will have some zappage on my chest to get to the little pimples on my lungs, I might have throat troubles. Avoid spicy foods, it advises.....EHEHEHEHEHHEEEE!! I will likely be having three-spice hummus while sitting (under an umbrella) on Ka'anapali Beach.
Things are going to change in a way I don't like - but at least it looks like I will be alive to appreciate it. I was telling Gregory tonight that I have never been so completely out-of-control of anything in my life - nor have I ever felt so free. I do and go what and where the doctors say. It's not them I put my trust in, however - it is the God of Creation who put them in this position to help me. The medicine and prescription and radiation and all treatments may have their name on the orders, but it is God who gifted them and gives them insight. Don't get me wrong. I love every single doctor and medical person I have met in this process, and I am in awe of their brains and years of study and profound work ethic. But.... I know the power comes from above...
So, now back to my odd metaphor.... I know that I have used roller coasters and chariots. Don't mean to give you time warp whiplash, or shock your brain by referring to Biblical History in one entry then a futuristic fiction in the next. But in our conversation with my lovely Dr. Ramin "Labradoodle" Altaha, he expressed deep concern for the pain I would be feeling as the bone and muscle get eaten up a bit under treatment. He insisted I start now. He insisted on Morphine.
Told ya....I'll do whatever the doctors say.....
So, WHAT the heck am I talking about!?!?!? Thought you'd never ask....
Today was the first of the results to find out how big the bad nasties were that had invaded my body. A week ago is when I donated about a gallon or two of my blood for them to ponder and examine and sell off the extra. So far, this has been the only test I have had since the many wonderful scans in the refrigerated radiology department. It doesn't mean it's been all quiet and calm. Not quite.
Thank God Greg has been here to take me around to all these places and be my general buddy when Don is working. We are losing track of the number of trips we have taken over to the hospital, including one extra special one to pick up re-writes of prescriptions that Walmart couldn't cover so we then had to go to a different pharmacy that the Cancer Clinic uses. WHEW!! Today, he actually came in with Don and I so he could be there to pray, be supportive, pray, ask good questions, and then...pray. He also has become our personal valet, as they are doing construction on the building (yay, MORE places to get lost!!), and the construction dudes pretty much take up all the parking. So, he tried taking it to valet out by the lobby. The declined saying they could not because FloJo also accompanied us, and they were not allowed to take a car with LIVE animals!! Kinda begs a certain question, doesn't it....
ANYWAY!! He eventually got the car parked and joined us in the waiting room of the Pacific Cancer Center. I really admire the overall attitude of these good people doing a hard job in a difficult area. We are always met with smiles and warmth (in demeanor, not temperature), there are usually home-baked cookies on the reception desk surrounded by gorgeous tropical flowers, and there is a giant jigsaw puzzle on a table for those who are waiting the long wait for a doctor or loved one. Today there was an extra treat - a musician!! A....HARPIST!! Now, I don't want to stereotype, but is HARP music really the appropriate genre in an oncology ward!?!?!?!? ("yes, this is what you may be hearing soon - and you just might be playing it!). So, we sat and giggled our sick, morbid jokes until my name was called and the three of us trudged back.
I know I talked about my oncologist and his sweetness and artistic acumen, but I failed to describe him. Dr. Ramin Altaha a soft-spoken Persian with years of studies from Hamburg, Germany and Johns-Hopkins and few more rather impressive places. He chuckles like an prepubescent boy whose best friend just said "booby". He also has a little gray in his scruffy beard (verrrry comforting, seeing gray), and a crazy, not quite controlled head of longish soft black curls. Kind of a Persian Labradoodle. But he makes what is so tough much easier.
Dr. Labradoodle takes out his notes and asks me what other tests I may have had or have scheduled. I respond about the blood, the biopsy scheduled for next Friday, the meeting with the Radiation Oncologist on Wednesday, and still waiting for the free trip to Honolulu for the P.E.T. scan. he takes down my answers. Then he pulls out his notes about the blood, and smiles as he reports that the blood tests show nothing in vital organs!! PRAAAAAISE GOD!!!! What does this mean?!!? The cancer does not appear to be from pancreas ovary breast liver kidney colon or even from any vagrant thyroid tissue left behind for 8 years ago. Any of these could have been very grim news indeed, as the prognoses for these types of cancer are equally grim. No Borg. No "Collective" trying to assimilate healthy tissue or destroy what it could not absorb.
This was the first good news of any kind since this nightmare began just a couple of weeks ago. Dr. used the term "if" instead of "when" for the chemotherapy. I have admitted to my family that I was kind of getting behind the notion of the smooth, no maintenance head. But then again, I have a very lumpy, bumpy skull and bald would not do. Besides, I am used to pulling my hair through the back of my mask when I snorkel, and I fear that the strap may just slip right off without it. So, yeah...pretty jazzed that I may get to keep my hairs.
But we're not in enemy free territory. The same nodules and tumors are there - and Dr. Labradoodle is seeking answers from the biopsy. And radiation will be hitting all the spots of enemy growth throughout my body. I spent some time ready up on the side effects of radiation. Not pretty. One instruction actually says to avoid going to the beach.......... AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH!!!!!!! We'll figure a way around that. Then, because I will have some zappage on my chest to get to the little pimples on my lungs, I might have throat troubles. Avoid spicy foods, it advises.....EHEHEHEHEHHEEEE!! I will likely be having three-spice hummus while sitting (under an umbrella) on Ka'anapali Beach.
Things are going to change in a way I don't like - but at least it looks like I will be alive to appreciate it. I was telling Gregory tonight that I have never been so completely out-of-control of anything in my life - nor have I ever felt so free. I do and go what and where the doctors say. It's not them I put my trust in, however - it is the God of Creation who put them in this position to help me. The medicine and prescription and radiation and all treatments may have their name on the orders, but it is God who gifted them and gives them insight. Don't get me wrong. I love every single doctor and medical person I have met in this process, and I am in awe of their brains and years of study and profound work ethic. But.... I know the power comes from above...
So, now back to my odd metaphor.... I know that I have used roller coasters and chariots. Don't mean to give you time warp whiplash, or shock your brain by referring to Biblical History in one entry then a futuristic fiction in the next. But in our conversation with my lovely Dr. Ramin "Labradoodle" Altaha, he expressed deep concern for the pain I would be feeling as the bone and muscle get eaten up a bit under treatment. He insisted I start now. He insisted on Morphine.
Told ya....I'll do whatever the doctors say.....
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