Christmas Wish

For the past 5 years, I have been doing the 12 days of Christmas with my kids.  It's a fun little tradition we do and I really love doing it.  The reason why I started this particular tradition was because I wanted to focus more on my immediate family during the holiday season than have them and myself get so wrapped up on all the commercialism of the season.

Anywho...

This year of 12 days of Christmas started like all the other years.  I have a list of what we will be doing as a family each day - playing board games, visiting friends, looking at Christmas lights, etc.  On Friday, the 13th (ooooooooo), we had a movie night.  We had a chocolate fondue (yes!) and then we went through Netflix and watched Christmas movies.  The kids were laying on the living room floor watching Charlie Brown's Christmas and I was sitting on our couch, by myself, watching them watch the movie.  Then, out of the blue, E, my 8 year old, came and snuggled up to me. Then, a couple of minutes later, T, my 10 year old came and cuddled up on my other side.  I was now officially a mama sandwich.  I stretched out my arms and draped them over their shoulders.  My 4 year old, I, did not want to be left out so he literally climbed up behind me and continued to watch the movie.  Now usually, by the end of the day, the last thing I want is for my kids to invade my space.  Moms - you know what I mean.  It was late and I was still feeling the effects of the cancer shot/treatment I got the previous night.  But, what I felt at that moment will be something I will never forget and it will be something that I will cling on to when life gets rough.

I felt LOVE and PEACE.

I was sitting there, snuggling with my kids and the thought came to me that this could have been my last Christmas with them.  I'm not trying to be morbid - I'm just being real.  When you are diagnosed with what could be a life threatening disease, such as cancer, it makes you stop and reflect a lot more than when you are healthy and things are going well in life.  I love those moments of clarity and humbleness.  I'm grateful I keep getting these 2nd chances of life.  Really grateful.  And oh my gosh, do I ever love my kids!  In that moment of snuggliness, I did not want to let them go and I wanted that moment to last forever.

I don't know what the future holds in store for me.  We are all cautiously optimistic that I will fight these darn cooties to their death.  But for now, I will continue to live each day as full as I can and I will take advantage of those sandwich moments with my kids.  So, our Christmas wish to you is the same - find those sandwich moments and savor them!  We love you and we thank you for all your prayers and love.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!

I, E, T, K (front)

Studman Jeremy and Cancer Fighting Gorgeous Me (back)

It's Time

I've written at least 5 other posts before this post and have deleted them all.  Again - what do people want to read and know about?  How about this...I don't complain as much as I did in the beginning of treatment.  I have come to terms this is my new normal for a while so just suck it up.  I.  Am.  Alive.  And we are aggressively fighting these darn cancer cooties to their death.

That being said...

What else do the masses want to know?  Remember that one post I said I wasn't going to lose my hair?  Well, I was also told that my hair could start thinning.  I had no idea what that meant up until 4 weeks ago.  I woke up one night with hair in my mouth.  What the heck?  Then, I went to my therapy appointment for my lymphedema and was laying down while my OT (occupational therapist) worked miracles on my sausage leg (I no longer have a major lymphatic system in my left leg because of my cancer and therefore the fluid doesn't know where to go and just stays in my one leg and really makes it look like a fat, juicy sausage.  Beautiful) and I got up, looked at the pillow and it was COVERED in hair.  My hair to be exact.  My scalp hurts a lot too.  Not everyday.  On the days it does hurt (like today), more hair disappears.  I now have two receding hair lines, just like those men who start losing their hair.  I keep asking my studly husband to check the back of my head just in case I start getting the bald spot there.  My oncologist told me not to do anything drastic, like shave all my hair off.  He's had others on this treatment who started losing hair but no one went bald and their hair grew back afterwards.  Ok.  I trust the dude.  I will make do with what I have.

One more thing - what has been hard for me the past couple of weeks is how my treatment really dictates what kind of day I will have.  For example, today is Sunday.  I always go to church with the family on Sundays.  I love going to church.  I love going with my family.  But, sometimes, I just can't do it because the treatment is making me feel "off."  Today is one of those "off" days.  My husband convinced me to stay home.  So, I'm home because of the treatment that is getting rid of my pesky cancer cooties.  But you know what?  That's ok.  I need to keep telling myself that.  I have until July to feel "off" (treatment will be done by then).  Right?  I struggle with this though.  I really do.  I pretty much know what kind of day I will have the moment I wake up.  Today, I knew I wouldn't be going anywhere.  Yesterday?  I had a lot of energy and conned my brother into painting my kitchen with me.  I love those days.  I shower, I get a lot of things done around the house and it feels good.

But, I'm not going to complain.  I keep thinking about that day the oncologist came into my dad's hospital room telling him and us that he had 3 months to 3 years to live.  Stupid colon cancer.  There is no cap on my life like my father's.  Yes, life is a little bit harder than it was 6 months ago.  But I'm still living it.  Honest to goodness - the good days really do outweigh the "off" days.  My dad lived 11 months after that day in the hospital room.  The last couple months of his life were spent in a hospital bed in the middle of our living room.  But the months before that were spent LIVING.  He was always good at that and he continued to do it even with the threat of death.  One of my favorite memories of my dad during that time was coming home for the weekend from the cities to spend time with him.  We did together what he loved doing best - yard work.  I remember pulling weeds out of his rhubarb patch and he followed behind to till the soil.  There is this picture of us from that day - his arm was around my shoulders and we were smiling.  We had just got done making his rhubarb patch all pretty and it felt GOOD.  Good to be with my dad and good to share that experience with my dad as well.  There are so many questions I would ask my dad now that I didn't know to ask him while he was alive.  What were his struggles in being diagnosed with terminal cancer?  Was he scared?  Was he angry?  Did he ever get used to his limitations?  I'm sure my  mom saw and heard a lot more than we did, just as my husband does now.  I miss my dad.  A lot.  But I'm going to continue to remember how he lived after the horrible news of his cancer spreading.  He brought so much joy and laughter in people's lives - he never stopped doing that until the day he took his last breath.  He was pretty freaking amazing.

Anyway...this post has been rather therapeutic for me today.  Whew.  I'm going to go lay down now and rest so I can feel not "off" tomorrow!  Meanwhile - please comment and ask me anything!  What do you want/need to know about what I'm going through?  What are you curious about?  Go ahead and give me ideas on what to write about.  Anything.  Anything at all.  Feel free to be my therapist!  Until then...

Update on Moi

Why hello there!  It's been awhile, I know.  Been sorta busy figuring life out with school starting for T and E and what to do with I and K at home.

I AM TIRED.

Lots and lots of tired.  Actually, I am really tired of being tired.  Why am I tired, you ask?  Well, I'm on round two of my cancer treatments.  I am still getting interferon treatments, just not as much as before.  Now, my awesome and brave husband gives me a shot of interferon 3 times a week (Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday).  I still take my rounds of Tylenol and Ibuprofen every two hours b/c we found out quick if I didn't do that, I would become very SICK.  Yuck.

So, I'm getting shots now.  They hurt and the medicine burns going in.  And I get to have this treatment until July of 2014.  Yaaaaaaaaay.

They did warn me that I was going to be tired.  I just didn't know how tired I was going to be.  And I've got muscle fatigue as well.  Which is worse than just being plain 'ol tired.  It's easier to fight through being tired.  Now I have to figure out how to fight through my noodly legs from the fatigue.  Getting everyday house chores done is a total challenge.  I get really excited now when I actually clean the kitchen.  Like really clean it - the way I used to do it.  Like today - I had a burst of energy so I took advantage of it and cleaned my kitchen.  Now, if I could get someone to mop my kitchen floor.  That sounds heavenly.  <sigh>

Jeremy and I realized that this is the new normal for me now until I'm done w/ treatment.  And since we have pretty much come to terms with it, we are finding ways to work around it.  I just sat down with my two oldest, T and E, and explained to them what everyday life is like for me.  I compared it to them having strep or sick with the flu.  You just don't feel well and you just want to sit on the couch and watch Ninjago, Phineas and Ferb and Mythbusters episodes on Netflix all day and sleep in between. They both looked at me and were a little shocked that that was how I was feeling.  After our little talk, they both agreed that they would clean the living room and front closet for me.  My living room is now clean.  So is my front closet.  The closet is even ORGANIZED.  Nice.  My kids are pretty freaking awesome.  And my kitchen and living room are both clean.  Right now.  I am happy.  And tired.  Always tired.

I'm just really grateful for a bestie and a husband who let me complain daily about my tiredness.  Cuz that's one thing I'm really good at now - complaining.  And they let me think aloud constantly on ways I can overcome this fatigue and what I can do for the next year to stay sane!  Seriously.  I'm also grateful for all the prayers sent my way.  From people who I haven't seen since high school and people that I have never met.  It's pretty cool.  So, thank you.  You guys are awesome!

Well, that's it for now.  I'm going to continue being tired, work my way around it somehow and keep on laughing and smiling.  I've heard that laughter is the best medicine.  It's free too.  :)

The Details

So, I was at church today and I was chit chattin' with one of my good friends and she was telling me how much she loved reading my blog (why thank you) and she mentioned how nice it was to know what I was thinking, feeling - all that stuff.  I agreed with her.  Meaning, when I know of someone who is going through what I am going through, I get curious about their situation.  I wonder, "How are they doing?" "How sick are they getting from the treatment?"  "Will they lose their hair?"  "How are the kids doing?"  "Heck, how is their husband?"

So, I thought since I haven't really addressed any of those questions I would do so today.  Just to give you an idea of how my week runs while on interferon treatment.  As a side note, I do have one more week left of treatment.  I was supposed to be done last week but had a week off since my white blood cell count was too low (like really low).  That was one fabulous week!

Anyway - here you go:

This is what happens everyday.

At noon, I take 2 Tylenol.  Pretty exciting.

At 12:30, my bestie's mom brings me to the hospital.  We get there at 1:00 and I check myself in.  Sheryl (my fabulous nurse) then comes out, gives me a really big hug and leads me back to start my treatment.  On the way there (the walk there is short) she asks me how I'm feeling and if there is anything new the nurses need to know about.  Then, I get comfy in their many recliners and she gets me all set up.  They hook me up to an IV through my PICC line with 1000 mL of saline.  Since I usually get fevers with this treatment, they want to make sure I am well hydrated.  After about an hour, I am given a drug called Indicin - it's like an ibuprofen.  Then, they start the interferon treatment which is hooked up to an IV.  It takes about 15-20 minutes.  After that, they finish up my 1000 mL of saline and off I go.  We usually get out of there at 3:00-3:15.

Now, this is what I feel like Monday - Friday.

Monday:  I get my blood drawn so they can check on those vital things they need to check to make sure I'm healthy enough to have the treatment.  No, it doesn't hurt.  I have a PICC line in my arm - it's like a semi permanent IV that is threaded through the vein in my arm all the way to the heart.  Super cool.  Can't wait to get it out.  Showering is a challenge.  Heck, showering has been a challenge since I had surgery in May.  Anyway, after we get the results back, they start the treatment.  This past Monday, about halfway through the interferon going in me, my bum started to hurt.  Crap.  That's my fever trigger.  Then, about 10 or so minutes later, my muscles start getting all tense and all I do is stretch.  It's really weird.  I feel like a cat with all the stretching I do.  But, that's my body's response to my muscles going a little haywire with the treatment.  By the time we leave, I'm pretty wiped.  But, not wiped out enough to go to Costco this past Monday.  I love that place.  It loves my wallet too.  After getting home, I'm feeling achy and my temp is at 100.0 degrees F.  Yuck.  I take 2 more Tylenol and then two hours later I take 2 ibuprofen and two hours later 2 Tylenol...then when it's time for bed I take 2 Adavan so I can sleep.


Tuesday:  This past Tuesday was BAAAAAAD.  Usually when I take Tylenol and Ibuprofen every two hours it keeps my symptoms at bay.  My body had another plan.  Instead of the meds lowering my temp, my temp kept getting higher.  I was miserable.  I was hoping to sleep it off but my body wouldn't let me.  Grrrr...it can be really frustrating.  My skin hurts from the fever and I get really tired.  By 10:00 that night, my temp was finally back down to normal.  Thank goodness.

Wednesday-Friday: The rest of the week is usually really good.  Besides feeling annoyingly tired I don't get the aches and the fevers on these days.  Thank goodness.  Really thank goodness.

Other random side effects:  Muscle fatigue (which I have dubbed "noodlyness"), loss of appetite, loss of taste (those two suck - I love to eat so that made me sad), loss of focus (I couldn't read or watch t.v.  I couldn't focus long enough to enjoy it).

As for the random questions:

No - I will not be losing my hair.

Emotionally I can be a train wreck.  One of the side effects of this treatment is depression.  Yay... I never thought I would even say this but I'm grateful that I have experienced post partum depression after my last 3 kids.  Otherwise I totally think I would go bonkers right now.  I recognize the signs of depression and that helps.  It's dumb and frustrating but it won't always be like this.  

My kids are doing well.  My two oldest, T and E, have really stepped up their game.  I am so proud of them and feel guilty as well.  Their summer was fun but was spent helping me take care of their younger siblings.  They also learned how to cook eggs, ramen noodles and macaroni cheese.  There was a point during the summer that T was in charge of making sure K ate breakfast and lunch and E made sure his little brother, I, ate breakfast and lunch.  They thought it was cool at first.  Then it got old but they carried on.  Seriously - Jeremy and I have really awesome kids and we feel very blessed and humbled by them.

As for my husband - he's my favorite super hero of all time.  If you want to know how to selflessly serve others without complaint - come spend a week at my house and watch my handsome husband.  I really don't know how he does it.  He's basically been a single parent since my surgery in May.  Yet, he makes sure I get the rest I need.  He sleeps with our youngest sometimes at night so she doesn't climb into our bed and wake me up.  He rubs my back.  He cozies up to me when I get the shakes from the fever so I can get warm.  He makes us dinner.  He takes all 4 kids to church, BY HIMSELF, so I can get some much needed rest without any interruption.  And, he's TIRED.  I can't wait to be done so we can go back to being a mom and dad team again.  I love that guy!

Well, that's that.  One more week.  I can honestly say this has been the longest 4 weeks EVER.  But, I'm almost done.  Then another journey of the treatment begins.  I'll just continue to take one day at a time.  Thank you all for your love, friendship, prayers and thoughts.  It really does mean a lot to me.  So, thank you!

Me and E standing in front his artwork at the Cancer Care Center

The Best

("Bestie" here...) Imagine your best day. BEST. For me it would include sleeping in. Having a chef bring me some crazy egg dream dish, but not in bed because, well, gross. Then Sara and I go shopping with Stacy and Clinton from What Not to Wear, with credit cards they provide because after 9 kids between us we need someone else to tell us what jeans fit, remind us why we actually should care about how we look, and remind us that showering every day IS what grown-ups do. Then my hubby and I go to a movie of my choice and have some yummers Indian dinner. At some point I take my kids to the perfect playdate, blah blah, blah...there are endless ways to write this story.

Now get cancer.

I think Sara's dream day looks like this: Get up at 8, feeling normal. Make breakfast for my kids. Have the energy to then do laundry. Clean the garage. Be normal. Bake some cupcakes to eat after the simple dinner I made. Put the kids to bed before 9. Sleep without waking up until the next morning. Repeat.

Oddly enough I know her perfect day does not include interferon treatments. There are good things about hanging out at the Cancer Care Center at Regions. Like a mini fridge with soda and the awesome nursing staff brings around a snack basket. Pretty posh. I hung out with Sara there for one of her treatments, and I can also say they place the bathroom nice and close so you only have to take a short walk with your IV to use it. We also go to hear a sweet little ditty a nurse sang (same tune as "Happy Birthday") to someone who was finishing her chemo. Hello?! Lorna Doones AND entertainment? How did I get in here without tickets? Oh right, my best friend has cancer. Maybe I'll have another packet of Oreos.

Sitting with Sara plugged in to her drug cocktail, you talk. You sit. Most of all you wonder. What are all the other people in here for? I imagine the same thing goes through the minds of jail inmates. But the woman in the corner with the lovely lavender scarf on her head did not steal a car, she got cancer. She is not being kept away from family, from her life to insure our safety or protect our way of life. She is being kept from her normal life to save hers. We wonder about her story. About all the stories.

You wonder what Sara's body is doing. How is it going to react today, tomorrow, to the drugs being pumped in. Well right now, she is tired. Feeling a lot like the worst first trimester (you know, ladies) you can imagine. She is an experiment for the nursing staff because they have very almost no experience with her kind of treatment. Sheryl (her fantastic nurse) checks in with her every day to see what changes. Are you nauseous? Tired? How are the bowels? Oh, you haven't slept in three days? We'll get you something for that. It isn't often that the medical staff can't really tell you what to expect. They can guess. They can wonder.

More than anything, we hope. We hope the other inmates will get out soon. To their families. To their normal. We hope the tired isn't forever, or the sleep will come, maybe the nausea was the virus the kids passed around. We hope that Sara will get through the next year of treatment without being wiped out all the time, and that she will get back to her monotonous, magical routine. We hope for Doritos tomorrow in the snack basket.

Maybe then Sara can reinvent her perfect day. I actually hope mine will start to look more like the one she wishes for now. So I'll try to find joy in the every day. Really, I make a pretty good egg white omelet, when I remember to eat. And Stacey and Clinton need to relax, and lower their hygiene expectations. We don't have time for perfect. It doesn't exist, anyway. We have now, and it makes that kitchen cleaning I'm avoiding look pretty darn romantic.

I Am Alive. You Are Alive. Nothing Bad News.

How have I fared the first week of treatment?  As the title of the post mentions - I am ALIVE.  That is good news.  And just for fun, say the title of the post in a Russian accent - especially since it is a direct quote from a sweet Russian man after receiving some bad news.  The bearer of the bad news apologized to him and immediately he responded in the positive, "I am alive.  You are alive.  Nothing bad news."  

Those 3 short sentences became my mantra for the week.  Literally.

I have been trying to write this post for the past 3 days.  I still don't know what to write.  Do I write the specifics of what I go through each day?  Do I write about my feelings?  Do I tell other stuff?  I don't know (imagine me shrugging my shoulders).  I am tired.  Waaaaaay tired.  The tiredness didn't hit until the 4th day - Thursday of last week.  I also have insomnia.  So because I am tired and then can't sleep even though I am really tired, it makes for one crabby ME.  As for feeling sick, the first couple of days were terrible.  I had the chills, the aches and fevers.  But, thank goodness for miracle workers (aka my nurse and doctor) they have me taking tylenol and ibuprofen every two hours and that keeps all the symptoms at bay.  So, that is very good news.  

The hardest part of the week for me would be my people watching skills.  When I get to the cancer care center, sometimes I'm in a private room and other times I am in a big room with other people getting cancer treatment.  I realized, the first time I was with a bunch of other people, I was the youngest person there by at least 20 years.  And that made me sad.  Here, these people have lived their whole lives with no major health issues only to be smacked with cancer at the end.  And then all of that reminds me of my dad.  He retired and then a year later, he was diagnosed with colon cancer and then 11 months later, he died.  I couldn't help but feel the injustice of it all.  

But one thing that got me through those dark thoughts are the cancer patients themselves.  Most of them would have family members or friends with them while they sat and got the treatment.  They would all talk and even laugh.  When we would converse, we never complained about having cancer.  We would ask each other how the treatment was treating us and then give each other encouragement to kick its butt.  The atmosphere at the cancer care center may seem somber but there is a sense of hope in the air as well.  More hope than somberness and that is what I look forward to each day.  I am not alone in this.  I may be young but I am fighting the same fight they are and we are all in this together.

Me in one of the private rooms.

Orientation

Orientation.  I've had a couple of those in my life.  One for when I went to college.  One when I started a new job.  I would even consider taking a class on having a baby for the first time a type of orientation.  I can honestly say all of those orientations were a bit cheesy, a bit ridiculous, and really did nothing to prepare me for the real thing (ie CHILDBIRTH).

On Thursday of this last week, Jeremy and I went to what we have dubbed "cancer orientation."  We went to the hospital's cancer care center and there we were given a tour of the place that will be my home for 3 hours a day, Monday-Friday, for the next four weeks starting tomorrow (gulp).  Before going, I pictured this experience to be a lot similar to when Jeremy and I went to this same hospital to take a class on having a baby.  I pictured a room full of chairs with couples sitting in them all a little nervous and anxious to hear what was going to be shared with us.  I pictured the person giving the orientation to be dry and not really wanting to be there but had to because it was their job. My expectations were extremely low and since my dad passed away from colon cancer 11 years ago, I also felt I knew everything already from his battle with cancer.  Plus, I went with my dad once when they gave him chemo.  Really - what more could they share with me?  I felt I knew and experienced everything.

I WAS WRONG.

First of all, there were only four of us in this class.  Me, my husband, another cancer patient and her very close friend.  The nurse in charge of this orientation ushered us into this room that looked and felt like a cozy living room with very comfortable chairs (not the folding kind, but like a real to honest, sink my booty into and read a good book for hours chair).  The nurse left to get us some refreshments and all four of us immediately, I felt, became instant friends.  The other cancer patient asked me what cancer I had and we exchanged our information - Me: Melanoma.  Her: Breast Cancer.  I introduced my husband and she introduced her friend. We were all a little nervous but were able to find humor in our situations as well.

Our nurse came back and she sat down and began our "orientation."  There were no movies we had to suffer through or a script she had to follow or there were no role playing stuff either (I really hate that kind of stuff).  It was only her many years of experience as a nurse in oncology that gave her the right to be our orientation leader.  Since my cancer treatment is different from my new friend's cancer treatment, our nurse took turns addressing us specifically on what we can expect from start to finish with our treatments.  While she talked to my new friend about her treatment, I would ask questions about it.  When she would talk to me about my treatment, my new friend would ask questions that I didn't think about asking about what I could expect as well.

We were suddenly a team and I LOVED IT.  Since being diagnosed with stage 3 melanoma, there has been a little part of me that felt alone.  Just a little part.  Rather minuscule.  Actually, until that "orientation" I never labeled that feeling in me as feeling "alone."  I am surrounded by an amazing family - immediate and extended and all my in-laws are wonderful - and amazing friends - old and new, ones that live close by and ones that live far away.  I have never felt alone in that sense.  Those people are here for me when I need to vent, cry and attempt to explain how I feel.  And to just hug me or make me laugh or let me make them laugh.  I am incredibly blessed.  Really, REALLY blessed.

But our nurse shared with us what that "alone" feeling was.  At least for me.  She said what were going through was a "loss."  A loss of predictability, a loss of time, even a loss of self.  She told us it was normal and it was a sense of grief.  And to let ourselves grieve.  I think as a whole, we grieve for the most part when someone we care and love have passed away.  That is one of the ultimate losses in our lives.  But, when our nurse used the world "loss" I felt all the pieces fall into place and a burden was lifted off of me.

I do feel a loss.  I had plans.  I was diagnosed in April while still in school.  I remember going to Chemistry that very day, an hour after finding out I had cancer and all I could do was sit there in class and repeat in my head, "Oh my gosh.  I have cancer.  I have a very aggressive cancer." over and over again. There was a loss of 50 minutes of Chemistry (I admit - to some that may not have been a loss.  But I loved that class!).

My first surgery was in May and my recovery took about 3 weeks.  I couldn't walk.  I was in a lot of pain. And I didn't get to ride my bike with the kids to their school on their last day of school.  There was a loss of my physical self and the chance to hang out with my kids and celebrate their last day of school.

Because they found the cancer in my lymph node, I had to go in from 8 am - 3 pm to get a series of scans done (PET and CT).  No one wants to be at the clinic/hospital for a whole day.  Unless they are getting paid to be there.  Here, there was a loss of time.

Those scans were done on Wednesday.  We didn't find anything out until we met with our oncologist on Friday.  Those were the longest days of my life.  One of my main losses was sleep.  Jeremy too.  We spent lots of hours at night just talking about it.  Truth be told, I was scared.  I remembered what it was like when the oncologist came into my dad's hospital room and literally gave him a cap in his life.  3 months to 3 years was his life expectancy.  I DID NOT WANT THAT.  I didn't want to be that person.  I was already that other person who somehow attracted two different types of cancer.  But I wanted to LIVE.  I think it's safe to say I lost a little of my mind those couple of nights as well.

I could go on with my "losses" but I think you have the gist of it.  I am grieving.  I am feeling losses.  But that minuscule part of me that felt alone no longer feels alone.  Heavenly Father, God, the Big Guy up there, the Great Spirit - that one person a lot of us pray to and believe that he is there for us - anyway, I believe and know he takes care of me the best through other people.  And on Thursday of this week, it was through my new friend who is fighting her battle with breast cancer and the nurse who gave my feeling a label.  And that that feeling was mutual and normal.  And I love them for that.  Yay for orientation.

Not for the Faint of Heart - Seriously

I was talking to my bestie a couple days ago about some of the funny stares and looks I got when we were at Nickelodeon Universe at the Mall of America last Wednesday.  I was confused at first by all the looks.  I thought it was because I was in a wheelchair.  I was explicitly told to "take it easy" for the next two weeks by Dr. Suwan - hence the wheelchair.  Aaaaannnnnd the fact that it hurt something bad to be walking.  So, naturally, the majority of us being curious by nature, will look and wonder why said person was in a wheelchair.  Then I saw one person staring his big googly eyes at my legs.  I was almost flattered until because of his big googly eyes, he almost ran into another person who was also staring with her big googly eyes at my legs as well.  Then the light bulb went off.  My new and awesome looking outfit that day consisted of a dressy t-shirt that looked fabulous w/ my new gray jersey knee length skirt.  For reals - finding clothes to wear that are comfortable w/ a JP drain stitched in my thigh is not easy.  Not to mention the fact that I had major surgery involving removing a bunch of important lymph nodes from my groin area which makes my thigh nice and swollen which in turn makes wearing jeans and pants and shorts WEIRD.

Sorry.  Tangent.  I did look really good that day though.

Okay - back to the light bulb going off.  I do need to backtrack a little here and explain my first surgery with the melanoma cootie.  When I asked Dr. Ideker to remove the mole from my leg (left shin to be more precise), she did remove the mole.  Then she gave it to the lab peeps and they biopsied it and that's when we found out it was not a mole but a tumor (um, ewww) and that tumor was melanoma.  Scary, aggressive skin cancer cootie.  That's when all the "fun" started.  Within 24 hrs I had appointments set up with Dr. Suwan, general and vascular surgeon extraordinaire, and with Dr. McCormack, oncologist who is the same age as me, maybe even younger but totally awesome.  Both Drs explained to me because of the depth of the tumor, which was 2.01 mm, the standard procedure, based on the size, was to remove all tissue down to my muscle 2 cm around the tumor.  That means a 4 cm circle of skin would be missing from my leg and would need to be grafted by my skin from my upper left thigh.  

That being said, surgery left its mark.  Clearly.  Very clearly.  I am almost used to it - this is the reason I was confused by the looks of people and kids at the MOA until my figurative, flashing light bulb went off.  I was wearing an awesome, comfortable knee length jersey skirt which left my leg that no longer needs a bandage around it out there for people to see and stare.  I guess I didn't think about it because I was wearing a compression sock (to keep the swelling in my thigh in my thigh - the compression sock stops the swelling from going down to my calf).  But, the compression sock is tight - really tight.  So tight my strong and studly husband puts it on me everyday (sigh - I love that man).  Because it is tight, it really molds into my leg - thus showing my crater size hole on my shin.  So, people are curious b/c a young and awesome looking girl in an awesome looking outfit is in a wheelchair.  I could almost hear them thinking "Oh wait - she must be in the wheelchair because of that... what is that?  A crater on her leg?  What?  Weird. Wait, I must look again and make sure she doesn't know that I'm looking again.  Because looking at an awesome looking, strange woman's leg is just maybe a little creepy...yada yada yada" 

Back to the bestie conversation.  We talked about it and I really did laugh about the people's reactions.  Heck - I stare at the crater myself because it is pretty bizarre looking.  That was when she, the bestie, told me that was what I should blog about next WITH PICTURES.  

So, as the title of the post indicates - this is not for the faint of heart.  My oldest daughter, T, still has a hard time looking at it.  When my third born looks at it, he exclaims, "It looks like a zombie head!" and then runs away a little scared.  E thinks its the coolest thing in the world and thinks it looks more like a zombie bite - not a zombie head.  And my youngest calls it "mommy owie."  Jeremy, when Dr. Suwan took the bandage off my leg to remove the staples (yup, I had staples. They stapled my skin graft over my crater.  15 to be exact.  I counted them after he removed them.  I really thought there were at least 30 b/c removing staples was not a pleasant experience at all) was a little green and a little in awe.  See, the first picture we took of it, we could literally see my muscle.  MY MUSCLE. No joke.  I will not be putting that picture on here.  That is a special request picture.  That is a "will give you nightmares" picture.  

You have all been warned.  Here are the pictures of my adventure into cancer cootie land...

Here's the before pic - see that red dot there?  That's where Dr. Ideker removed my tumor.  

 The after.  At least it's a nice circle of some sort.

  

Side view - this is what bothers me - how deep it went.  This is so much better from the first time I saw it but still.

My upper left thigh - this is where they removed the skin graft from.  

My awesome compression sock and what people saw at the MOA.  Poor guys!

I have one more picture.  For those of you wondering what the heck a Jackson Pratt (JP) drain is, here it is in all its glory except for the stitches.  The drain is stitched in my leg but again - it kind of creeps me out so I don't want to creep any of you out.  Use your imagination...

No - that is not pee!  It is lymphatic fluid.  Although my good friend Trish, who is about to pop with her third, exclaimed after seeing JP, "I want one of those!!!"  I hated to crush her hopes but told her it was not what she thought it was.  

So, that's that.  I am not responsible for any nightmares or weird and inappropriate dinner conversations from viewing these photos.  You were all warned...

A Hospital Adventure

I'm still here.  I will be here until they tell me that I can go home.  Huh.  That kind of stinks.  But, thank goodness for the "adventures" I have been having since being here.  I refuse to be bored while being stuck in a hospital.  I like having fun.  So, I'll share one of the funs I've had since being here on Tuesday.  And I'm going to go ahead and dedicate this post and any post that's hospital adventure related to my friend Al who has a hospitalization fantasy.  I hope these adventures live up to your expectations!

First off - to understand my adventures of mine, I want you all to understand where my infection is on my body.  It's on/in my inner top left thigh.  Right up by my groin.  The infection/redness goes right up to the 8 inch incision they made to scoop out my lymph nodes.  It's big and red and you know, nasty.  And, I have people checking me there all the time - doctors and nurses.  I have pretty much thrown my dignity out the window.  There is really no way to be modest about any of this so whatever.  And they are all nonchalant about it anyway so who cares, right?  Weeeeellll...

Adventure #1
Last night I was not feeling well.  One minute I was feeling great, laughing and having a good 'ol time w/ the husband and my awesome nurse Nikky, next I'm achy and tired and loopy and stuff that was not normal.  Told Nikky about it.  We looked at my infection and dangnabbit - it was spreading again.  Pooooooooopy!  Anyway, she went to page my doctor to find out what we should do and I decided to go to the bathroom.

Now, I can go to the bathroom by myself (thank goodness) but sitting on the toilet seat is something else.  It HURTS on the left side.  So, I have to lean to the right and then somehow figure out how to aim my pee into the "hat" they need me to pee in (they need to make sure I'm getting enough fluids and what not).  I pretty much laugh every time I go to the bathroom.  I'm sure I look ridiculous.  If someone were to walk in on me I'd either be really embarrassed or laugh right along with them.

Now, getting cleaned up afterwards is quite the adventure as well.  I have this really oversized hospital gown on (I totally rock it) and I'm connected to an IV.  The nurse anesthetist inserted the 4th IV (yes, I said 4th - please no more!) into a vein on top of my right hand.  It's not a big deal unless your a righty and you have to figure out how to clean yourself up after going to the bathroom.

Without too much details (I know, I'm too late on that), I pretty much throw an immense amount of fabric from my gown over my shoulder and then proceed to clean myself w/ my right hand (I tried with my left - it was impossible and quite funny too) without getting it dirty (because of the IV).  I'm not quite sure how it looks but I think it probably looks like some one trying to learn how to be a contortionist who's not one.  I really don't know how else to explain it.  Somehow, I was skipping around and accidentally pulled the red cord that says, "Pull for Help."  You know, the devil side of me has always wanted to pull that cord just to see what would happen.  Then the angel side of me beats the devil side of me over the head and tells him to shut up.

Tangent.

Let me tell you what happens when that cord gets pulled.  Remember, I'm cleaning myself up, looking like a contortionist who's not one, trying to work around all the tubes that are stuck all around me.  I was also leaning and balancing for some reason on my good leg.  Suddenly, there's a knock on the closed bathroom door mid clean and Nikky comes bursting in.  I scream AHHHHH! then fall but catch myself on the many bars they have on the walls for support and almost trip over the toilet.  I would totally watch that scene in my life over and over and over again. Can you just picture it????  I'm still laughing!  Nikky, fortunately, saves me from falling and life goes on.  I'm still laughing.  Yay for bathroom adventures!

Look, cancer sucks.  Getting a staph infection from something that is helping me get rid of cancer sucks too.  I was not happy about the infection spreading.  I'm not really happy about being in the hospital since Tuesday and then not really knowing when I can leave either.  I miss my kids.  I miss my husband.  Heck, I miss going to the bathroom the normal way.  But, it would suck more if I let it suck all the crazy and happy out of me.  Finding humor in crappy situations makes life more fun and I'm beginning to think cancer's scared of humor.  It shrinks it and makes it disappear forever.  Huh.  Wouldn't that be nice????

Me and Nikky

On a side note, Nikky was really scared when she saw the alarm go off from my bathroom.  I had just told her that I was feeling awful and woozy and we both agreed that my infection was spreading again.  Hence why she came bursting in like that.  I know I make light of some situations but I also recognize the gravity of them as well.  I'm just grateful for a nurse who responded by running into my room and into the bathroom like the superwoman she really is.  I'm surrounded by a lot of good nurses and doctors and PCAs who sincerely care for my well-being.  They are like my personal cancer cootie fighting army.  Yes cancer sucks but it's hard to feel down about it when I have an army like them fighting alongside with me!

Plus, who else would celebrate my going a #2 FINALLY by dancing?  I can honestly say I love you Nikky!

An Introduction of Sorts

This is the view I had from my window in the hospital this afternoon.  I've been here since Tuesday night.  My husband and I went to the emergency room, waited for 2 1/2 hours (people watched of course) got called back and saw doctor after doctor and nurses after nurses...I was poked and prodded.  I swear they took a gallon of my blood!

But wait, let's start from the beginning.  In a nutshell because there is a lot to tell.  Some of you know what is going on while others will have heard of this for the first time.  

The beginning started when my second born, E, was 7 months old.  I went to my primary care physician, Dr. Ideker, to have her tell me why my right foot hurt.  Turns out it was plantar fasciitis (a pulled ligament).  Then I had her check out my carpal tunnel.  Yup - it was confirmed that I had it in both wrists.  Then, while I was there I thought she could take a look at the lump in my neck.  I really didn't think it was a big deal.  I wasn't even going to have her look at it but why the heck not. As it turns out, it was a pretty big deal.  After doing a series of tests, a needle aspiration biopsy (worse thing ever), and a bunch of scans I was told by a doctor that I had Papillary Thyroid Cancer.  

Gulp.

I was 29 years young.  During the following years, I have had 3 papillary thyroid related surgeries.  The first surgery involved having my entire thyroid removed and the tumor that was found there.  I also had a round of radiation.  After all that, they put me on synthroid - a pill that is the exact replica of the missing thyroid hormone.  I have been taking that pill now for 7 years and will be for the rest of my life.  I have too.  I don't have a thyroid!  

The 2nd and 3rd surgeries were to remove the lymph nodes in my neck that were housing the papillary thyroid cancer.  Darn you, you cancer cooties!  I also had another round of radiation after my 3rd surgery.  Not fun.

So, I have had stage 1 papillary thyroid cancer for 7 years now.  

On to other news.  The one related to me enjoying the view from my window while typing this blog post on the hospital bed.  

April of this year, I again went to Dr. Ideker because I had a wicked infection on the back of my ankle.  I could barely walk.  It was grotesquely huge.  Shudder.  And again, since I was there, I asked her to remove the mole on the front of my left shin because shaving around it was a pain the in the bum.  

Well, she took it out, sent it to pathology and received the news two days later that I had melanoma.  What?!?!?  I had her repeat that again just to make sure I heard her right.  And, unfortunately, I did hear her right.  

So, since May 22nd, I have had 3 surgeries regarding my melanoma cancer.  The first one involved taking a huge chunk of skin off where the cootie mole was.  They cut all the way down to the muscle.  They took a skin graft from my left thigh to put in my gaping hole.  They also removed one lymph node from my left groin.That lymph node came back positive.  I am now at a Stage 3A in my cancer.

Double Gulp

Before my 2nd surgery, I had a series of scans to go through.  We all wanted to make sure that it didn't spread to any organs.  I had a PET scan and a CT scan.  Everything came back negative (meaning no cancer was found anywhere else in my body - thank goodness!)

My 2nd surgery then was to remove as many lymph nodes from my left groin as they could.  Since that is where we found the one infected lymph node, they wanted to make sure there wasn't any cancer in the other lymph nodes surrounding it.  I also had a Jackson Pratt drain stitched into my leg.  Since my doctor (Dr. Suwan) removed a major lymphatic system from my leg, the fluid had to figure out where to go from there.  Just in the interim, it was being drained into the JP (Jackson Pratt).  They biopsied all the lymph nodes and it all come back negative!  No gulping there.  It was a total Mary Poppins and Bert the chimney sweeper jump up and click my heels together feeling.  It was AWESOME.

But what about my 3rd surgery?  Well, the skin surrounding the draining tube that is stitched in my thigh became super infected.  We came straight to the emergency room Tuesday night (thank you Roxane and Deidre and Jason for watching our kids) and I am still here.  The infection turned out to be a staph infection.  I had surgery yesterday so they could flush out all the infected cooties out of my leg.  I now have a new JP (curse you JP) and am constantly being pumped with antibiotics through an IV.  I will be here until Sunday. 

Starting in August, I will be getting a series of interferon treatments, Monday - Friday for 4 weeks at the Cancer Care Center in Regions Hospital.  This treatment is meant to destroy all those cancer cooties the scans didn't pick up.  It helps so the melanoma doesn't come back in the future as well.

So, there it is - in a nutshell.  I've been thinking about writing a cancer blog for a while.  I'm hoping that through writing this down and sharing it to all of you will be therapeutic for me and perhaps others who are going through something similar.  

I know a lot of you will have questions.  Or maybe are just plain confused.  I hope to write a little more of each of those scenes of my life in more detail in the future.  For now, this will have to suffice.  

And lastly - this is what gives me hope:

E, T, K, and I

And this guy for sure:

Gorgeous me and Hottie husband Jeremy

Yup - it's all good.  Scary but good.