MAY 29, 2009

A year ago tomorrow....

I was dreading celebrating my son's birthday in the hospital. Kevin was a week shy of his second birthday when I was diagnosed, and my surgery was two days before his birthday. There was NO WAY I was going to be home for his birthday - 3-5 days before recovery enough to go home? Not me! I went home on my son's birthday. For me, there wasn't a better day. We kept the celebration small and short, but it was still a celebration nonetheless.

Tomorrow will be another small celebration. We will head out in the morning for groceries and errands (this new coupon system I am using RULES!!!), then home for lunch and naptime, and we are going to have a not-very-healthy-but-totally-yummy dinner. Something fun for dinner - quesadillas maybe? Maybe eggs and bacon? I don't know yet. But then, dessert.

Oh, the dessert I have planned. We are going to get ice cream tomorrow, and all the fixings to make our own sundaes. I am going to have an early dinner, then early celebration with the kids, and let them go nuts with the ice cream (well, sort of). I won't let them bathe in it or rub it into the cat's hair or anything - but, if they want nuts and marshmallows and caramel and sprinkles and chocolate sauce and ice cream, then that's what they get. Of course, Kevin will get first dibs on the goodies. :-)

I figure that this will be a fun, memorable way to celebrate my little man growing up. It also means that I won't have cake sitting around my house, begging me to eat it. I do understand that this means that the ice cream will be calling my name, but I am going to get the smaller containers and TRY to get the light ice cream. See....healthy!

Comments:

Jennifer Witham Buck / Graceful Expressions said...

Happy Birthday, Kevin!
Is he seriously three?
Have a wonderful time tomorrow and eat lots of ice cream!
Love ya.. !

May 30, 2009 at 5:16 AM

MAY 28, 2009

Decisions

Sometimes, a decision that you make in one portion of your life has repercussions that you can't possible begin to imagine in another portion of you life. When I had our son in May of 2006, Levi and I made the decision to have my tubes tied. Kevin was a planned C-Section due to the complications I had birthing (or lack thereof) with Julia, and the chances of me needing to have another emergency C-Section were extremely high (in the 90s).

We knew that we didn't want to have more children. Well, that's not right. We made the conscious decision to end our childmaking because of a variety of reasons that were right for us at the time. And, they are still valid reasons. I think that, if certain circumstances were different, we would have made a different decision, but it is what it is, and I know that it was right for us.

But, occasionally, especially in the past month or two, I have been finding myself dealing with a pretty strong bout of baby-fever. It's not like I enjoyed being pregnant enough to want to endure another 9 (well, 10) months of growing a child inside of you (although, it's the most amazing thing you can ever possibly experience). I was in pain and uncomfortable for a lot of my pregnancies. I ended up on bedrest with both - with Julia, it was because of the weight gain (almost 100 pounds) and with Kevin, pre-term labor. The surgeries were rough, and the recovery not much better. Things didn't always go as planned (birth, breastfeeding, etc.), and to say that the years I gave birth were easy would be a lie. (I won't go into the gory details - you want 'em, I'll call you...) And, it's not as if I am wishing for the sleepless nights. But, in a way, I am.

I am a mother, at heart. When it all comes down to it, I know the reason I am here is to raise these two beautiful gifts that we have been given. I have the most amazing kids, and I often wonder what kind of element a third might bring to the table. Would it be a boy or a girl? Would he/she be funny? smart? blonde like Kevin and Julia? What kind of personality would they have? Would they look like Levi or me? Or, some unknown relative that would make us wonder about the past and praise the potential for the future?

And, in these moments, I realize that, if I hadn't had my tubes tied, I would constantly be worrying. What kind of life will I be deeming this child to? I have had drugs and chemo and radiation and all kinds of "stuff" roaring through my body over the past year. What kind of effect must this have had on the little eggs that are still in my ovaries? Will the chemicals have an effect on them?

And, in these times, I wonder about my brother and the offer I made to him. I have offered him my remaining eggs. He and his partner could, potentially, take my eggs, Tom's sperm, and make a baby that would be, biologically, theirs. How cool is that? But, I wonder. At first, my concern came from this: would I be passing on the genes, the markers, the pre-determination of cancer to this child? And, as my very smart brother pointed out, if I have the genetic markers, so does he. Point for Jim. Now, my concern stems from the point of view that, assuming I could find a way to do this and give my brother and Tom this amazing gift, what kind of side effects might this child have because of what I have been through. Can I, in all fairness to them and to this potential child, go through with it? What kind of life would that mean for this child? And, then, for them?

It all comes back down to options and decisions. I know me - if/when this comes about, I will do what I can to give my brother and Tom my eggs. No worries there. But, this damn cancer throws a wrench into another well-laid plan. So, we will need to add some steps to this process, if the time ever comes. We will need to make sure that all of our i's are dotted and all of our t's are crossed, and make an informed decision. I won't be able to carry the baby - that much is already determined. This was a non-issue from my second birth - too much scar tissue from the two C-Sections.

But, a little bit of me holds out hope that, one day, I could once again be party to the creation of a child. A person. A being with so much greatness inside of them that they only need be given the chance to let it burst forth. I know it will be emotional to see this child that is biologically mine, and to know that I will be aunt to him or her, never Mommy. But, to have this ability to give a gift of this magnitude is just unbelievable.

This might not ever come to fruition. I will be 33 next month. The little Michelle-eggs aren't getting any younger. I could always have them extracted and freeze them - that's a viable option that would work. Who knows? The unknown is often what brings us the most pleasure. I hope that, in this case, this is true.

Comments:

Carol Urban said...

If you thought chemo was bad just wait until you do injectable fertility drugs. Been there, done that, don't want to do it again. Your ovaries grow to the size of lemons and if you're lucky you get 5-10 follicles to choose from and hopefully 2-4 of those will be large enough to harvest. Your abdomen will swell enormously and you'll retain water while hoping that your ovaries don't burst which occasionally happens. I would tell you more off-blog if you're interested. Not fun. Would only recommend doing it if you didn't already have children.

May 29, 2009 at 7:58 PM

MAY 26, 2009

Health Update

So, I don't have any new news on the cancer front. Well, I mean, I am working on scheduling my PET scan, colonoscopy, and blood work for July. Not very exciting stuff. Although, apparently, I can take pills for my colonoscopy rather than drinking that stuff, so woo!

I wanted to update you more on the status of what I'm doing for my health. A while back, I blogged about wanting to lose weight, and I had a goal by May. Sadly, I didn't make that gola. The good news is (and here's the Sally Sunshine version that I like to find with everything) I haven't gained anything. Matter of fact, I can honestly say that I probably lost a couple of pounds. Nothing to write home about, but good enough for me.

The real news is that I am working out. While I won't say this is to the level of other people I know (Wanda), I will say that this is significantly more than I have ever done. Right now, I am averaging twice a week, 20-30 minutes per workout. And, I am not just walking on a treadmill. I am working my body on the Gazelle (yes, the Tony Little you-can-do-it machine, and the link isn't the exact one we have, but you get the idea), and while I am running/gliding on this dumb-looking machine, I am working my arms. So, I feel like I am working my legs, core, and my arms, plus getting cardio. Woo!

I think for me, this is an accomplishment in that I finally have the drive to work out. I also think this is a shame-filled admission, because it took CANCER to make me have the drive to work out. Why? I don't know. I could always come up with an excuse to avoid working out. I was tired. I had my period. I couldn't find the time. I blah-blah-blah and then some.

Now, though, I can definitely carve out the time to make sure that my body is strong enough to fight off the cancer. And, if it isn't, I will make sure that my body is much better equipped to handle the harsh effects of the chemo. (How's that for realistic optimism?)

Another positive side effect? My kids are watching me work out, and to them, this is totally normal. They are excited about this....Mommy, when's it my turn? Mommy - me? The thing is, your kids want to be like you. I don't think I really got that until recently. Every move you make, every thing you do, every action you take reflects on you and becomes a model for your kids. If you sit on your ass all day, eating Cheetos and watching tv, then your kids are going to see that as the bar they need to reach for. Hmph. If you get up off your butt and do something, your kids will want to emulate you.

My daughter once told my mom that she wanted to be like me, and grow up and have kids and chemo and cancer. Because that's what her Mommy did. And, because she wants to be like me. I am so proud that my daughter and son see me as a role model. It makes me want to be a better person every single day. I want them to see me as a bar, and I want them to reach above and beyond what I have done in my life, so that they can reach new greatness, and raise the bar for their kids.

All this from working out, huh? Yup.

Another very selfish, horrible, self-serving reason I want to work out like a dog? I haven't seen my husband in 6 weeks. I won't see him until August. He's working out in NY almost daily with a trainer. No pressure here, but I don't want to be the big fat blob next to him, wobbling down the aisle looking like a giant pink cupcake. (The gorgeous bridesmaid dresses my futuer sister-in-law picked out for their wedding are a beautiful hot pink color with amazing embroidery and embellishments on them....). I want Levi (and everyone else) to say, WOW! I want Levi's jaw to hit the floor, knock a hole in it, and then bounce back up when he sees me. I want everyone at this wedding to look at Ashley and my brother first (of course), then look at me and say, how the hell did she just beat cancer? She doesn't look sick....and, how the hell does she look so good. :-)

It's a goal. We'll see. Either way, I know I'm doing what's right for my body, and for me. I feel so much better knowing that I am taking these steps toward my future. And, towards my kids' future. What else is there in life?

Comments:

Jill said...

Good for you!!!

May 27, 2009 at 9:14 AM

 Simply Exquisite said...

Amen to that! I agree..good for you sweetie. You can do it, I know you can kick butt in any way. Mom read it with me and wanted me to say how proud of you she is :)

May 29, 2009 at 8:46 PM

Later:

Kim Update

Oh - I wanted to update you on Kim. I had dinner with her on Saturday, along with her wonderful friend (and MY new friend) Erin. She looks fantastic - she's still in a lot of pain from the lung biopsy (the procedure was, um, invasive - 2 inch hole cut in two layers of muscle, moving of the ribcage, etc....) but she's a trooper. We had a wonderful time, and the kids were fabulous! She starts chemo tomorrow, and she'll be on the Oxalipalantin that I was on (no 5FU this time). Here's hoping that she has a better time of it than I did.

The kids and I are going to see her on Sunday for her son's birthday party. I can't wait. I feel this visceral need to make sure she's okay. She has plenty of support and plenty of people to help her out, but I feel like I am having a real impact on her, in that I can relate (somewhat) to what she's going through. Additionally, we just get along and laugh when we're together, and any cancer patient will tell you that laughter truly is the best medicine.

I will let you know if I get any further updates. Here's a prayer for Kim and her family, as well as the many others (Betty, Liz, Wanda, Tina) battling this bloody disease. Stupid cancer...

Comments:

Tina said...

Thanks for the update on Kim...I've been checking her blog to see how she's doing. I'm keeping her in my prayers.
Tina

May 27, 2009 at 3:01 PM

MAY 24, 2009

A look back.....

For a while, my brother has been telling me that I need to go back and re-read the posts from the early portion of my journey, and haven't been able to. I didn't WANT to, quite frankly. I didn't want to go back, relive what I was feeling, see how I was/was not dealing with everything. And yet, with the passing of my one year cancer-versary yesterday, I feel like this would be a good time to go back, revisit those days, and try to look at them from this new vantage point. Maybe I'll gain some insight, learn something, remember things that I have since forgotten (because let's face it, chemo brain doesn't exactly allow for good memory-making!), and be able to talk about those days. 

So, here is my very first blog post. I read through some of the other ones this morning as well, documenting the surgery. Wow. I, of course, started crying reading them. I am so so so glad that I decided to start this blog - it's truly like a document of my journey, but it has helped me to not only tell others what's been happening - it's also a place for me to revisit my journey and to think back on it.

I think, in all of my blogging over the past year, I can honestly say that I haven't been constantly honest with you all. I haven't lied, but I have hidden some of the darker moment, the more personal information, and the stuff that I didn't think fit the criteria of a cancer blogger with an attitude. So, it's my hope that, as time wears on and I read through more postings, I can give you some more insight into the fear, the terror, the uncertainty, and the gloomier side of fighting cancer. This isn't to frighten you, or to make you feel badly for me. In my current role (and yes, I feel like this is a role I am made to take on) as advocate, I need to make sure that other cancer patients realize that they aren't the only ones feeling tired, scared, terrified, sad, angry, frustrated, etc. And, while I won't be chronicling all of the thing that each cancer patient will go through (I was very lucky not to have to fight with my insurance, have radiation or an ostomy, etc.), I can relate on SOME levels, and that might help one person. If so, this was ALL worth it.

Reading my first several blogs (and, I had forgotten Sharon and my mom had updated this as well - thank you for that, again!), it was a pretty emotional time. I remember the day I was diagnosed like it was yesterday, and yet, reading through this blog posting was like watching someone else experience it. It was honestly very surreal - as if I was reading someone else's story and remembering it as my own at the same time. 

On the day of my diagnosis, Levi and I went to the hospital and we were pretty upbeat. I wasn't impressed by the lingering effects of the bowel prep, but I knew that it would all be over soon. (Or so I thought). Waiting in the front lobby was hard - I had to keep jumping up to run to the bathroom every 3-4 minutes, so people were looking at me funny. I remember watching this really goofy game show, thinking of my grandmother who would have LOVED it, and just praying that they would call my name to get this thing started. 

Going into the colonoscopy, they got me prepped, and as I said in my first blog post, the biggest fear I had was the IV. Silly now, but there you go. They got that in, and wheeled me into the room. Thank goodness Levi was there. He has been my rock through this whole thing, and it really started on this day. He and the nurses kept me laughing, and kept my mind off the equipment in the room. 

After the procedure, I remember kind of coming out of the anesthesia, being groggy and wanting to go back to sleep. I remember understanding that we were in a hallway with several other people who were also recovering. Levi remembers listening to the sound of multiple people passing gas - when they perform this procedure, they insert air into your intestine to give them a better view of the colon. Well, they try to pull as much of it out as possible - the rest comes out as farts. Very classy! 

I honestly don't remember what the nurse said when she came in. I don't remember her words exactly, and much as I have tried to recall her wording, I can't. But, the message was clear - 98% sure you have colon cancer. I then remember just sobbing on Levi's shoulder. I forgot about all of the other patients, and as I think back on it now, I wonder what they were thinking. Were their family members getting similar news? Or, were they grateful that they weren't us? 

I don't remember much after that. I vaguely remember walking to the truck. I remember asking Levi to stop at Burger King on the way home, and then not being able to eat anything. 

I think that, when you get news like this, your brain goes into a sort of survival mode. You can only process so much information at once, and this is pretty big news to absorb. I know at one point I was thinking, it's my mom's birthday. I can't call her today and tell her this. But, it happened.

Once home, again, there isn't much I remember, other than fielding calls from multiple doctor's offices, trying to coordinate appointments, information, details, names, numbers, prep diets, etc. Because it was the Friday before Memorial Day weekend, they were trying to get everything scheduled for the Tuesday and Wednesday after the holiday. At one point, I was literally on both my cell phone and my home phone, with the call waiting ringing in on both lines. 

I just found out last weekend that my mom was out to dinner with my brothers for her birthday, and was on her way home when she realized that she hadn't heard from me. She had tried to call me a couple of times during the day, but when it got to 6 or 7 her time, she started to get worried and called Levi. Levi didn't want to tell her the news, but she persisted and got the information. I apologized to her for that - I didn't want her to learn that this way. But, as I was on the phone with people trying to coordinate my PET scan, my surgery, follow-up visits, diet restrictions, medical history, etc., I wasn't able to call her. Yet. 

That evening, Levi and I took the kids to dinner, as planned. It wasn't the happy, joyous celebration that we had planned for. It was a mournful dinner, full of despair and fear. The server we had that night was one of these chatty waiters, trying to be your friend instead of your server. To this day, I can't go to this restaurant and be seated in his section. I ask to be moved. It's not him - it's me. (Well, it's sort of him - he has greasy hair and a used-car-salesman kind of demeanor...)

Saturday was hard. As I was getting ready to pick my mom up at the airport (she flew in on 5/24/08 and didn't leave to go home until about a week ago), I was in the shower and completely broke down. Sobbing. On the floor of my shower unit, crying hysterically. Did I need to plan my own funeral? Do I need to go pick out a casket? WHO'S GOING TO LOVE MY KIDS THE WAY I DO??? How do I tell my kids now how much I love them, so they can carry that with them throughout their lives? How is Levi going to handle this? How are my parents, brothers, family? Where do I want to be buried? It all came to a head, and I needed to cry. 30 minutes later, I finally got out of the shower, then realized that I hadn't washed at all. Back into the shower and on auto-pilot I went.

I picked my mom up at the airport, and she and I both sat there crying. We came home and made a game plan. Keep your spirits up, learn what you can, and keep moving forward.

One this I did on this long weekend was TOO MUCH research. If you have been diagnosed with colon cancer, or anything, DON'T GO TO THE INTERNET LOOKING FOR INFORMATION!!!! Not right away. It will terrify you. It will overwhelm you. And, it won't help your outlook. The first couple of places I went said in big, bold lettering "Colon Cancer is the #2 cancer killer in the country." Click - off the computer went, except to blog. 

I was very lucky to have a cousin that is a PA in an oncology office, and we called her so many times in those first few months, just to run things by her, get another opinion, and to have a feel that we knew what we were doing. Kathy, your help during this time was invaluable, and I can't put into words how much you helped mom and I. Thank you!

I will go more into how I did during the surgery, PET scan, etc. in another post. Right now, the kids and I are heading to the mall to play on the big playground, to get my haircut, and to have a picnic lunch (yes, at the mall.....PB&J, chips, and juice bags....yum!). I am going to live today with all the fire I can, and enjoy it. And, I'm going to cherish what I have, because I know as well as anyone that in a moment's notice, it can all be taken away. Thank God mine wasn't. 

<3

Comments:

Carol Urban said...

It was so hard for me to start reading the blogs of the other cancer patients.

It was devastating to me to read how someone else was suffering. I wanted to be able to make it go away for all of you but I couldn't.

I cried for all of you. I prayed for each of you. And most of all I loved you and your families.

I remember all of the tests leading up to the colonoscopy and initial diagnosis of colon cancer. I remember exactly what the doctor and the nurse had to say to me and Phil. I remember the other patients getting very quiet while we cried.

May 24, 2009 at 3:49 PM

 Tina said...

Wow, brings it all back. I was sort of calm after the colonoscopy, I think because of the "happy drugs". I was awake during the whole procedure, so I saw the tumor--but I hoped it wasn't what I thought it was. The doc only said that it wasn't supposed to be there. Then I remember hearing the nurses talking outside my recovery room looking for my husband. One nurse came in and started saying something, and I just told her I hadn't talked to the doc yet, because I didn't want to hear anything important from her--I wanted it all straight from the doctor! Afterwards, when we were leaving (after several wonderful hugs from a nurse!)I told Rich he had to stop being such a gloomy-gus!(poor guy!)It was partly the drugs,and partly that I held out hope the tumor was benign.
I'm so glad I found your blog right away. And I agree about not reading too much info on the internet. It really scared me, and I stopped right away. Each person and each cancer is so different. You just have to wait and see how it affects you personally.Glad you are enjoying your weekend!
Tina

May 24, 2009 at 6:22 PM

Later:

World-wide?

Have I gone world-wide? Quite possibly. I happened to look at the map on my blog, and I have people checking my blog from Tel Aviv, Israel, and Auckland, Australia. Holy cow.

If you are actually checking out my blog (and not checking it to try to spam me), please comment. I would love to know WHY you came to look at my blog. Are you dealing with the same thing? Do you have experiences? Can you share them?

Holy cow. I am so blessed...

Comments:

Daria said...

Michelle,

Well I'm not from some exotic place but straight up from Canada.

I've been following your blog for some time now.

I follow numerous cancer blogs.

Not only do I offer support, I also get so much support ... it's unbelievable.

All the best to you,
Daria

May 24, 2009 at 3:16 PM

 Jill said...

I'm always here reading :) But I'm not very far away, lol. Thanks for sharing your story :)

May 25, 2009 at 8:47 AM

 Whidbey Woman said...

Some hits are random, some are repeat visitors. It is always fun to see where folks come from. I am a 'regular' from the west coast of the US.

May 26, 2009 at 5:42 AM

MAY 23, 2009

A new birthday of sorts

I woke up this morning with a feeling of giddiness, happiness, and sheer joy that can only be likened to the same feelings I wake up with on my birthday. It's a sense of appreciation for what I have, what I have to look forward to, and a time to reflect on what I have learned. 

As I was getting ready to take the kids to the Memorial Day parade this morning (something we missed last year because of the diagnosis - stupid cancer!), I realized that I am happy today is here. It's a feeling of triumph, of victory, of sadness (as I think about my friends that are still battling this bastard), and of nostalgia. 

I had to wash my "I Will Win" tee shirt last night. I wasn't going to wear it today, and yet, that felt wrong. I don't want to upstage the vets and those serving today at the parade, but today's a Memorial Day for me in many ways. Not only do the kids and I get to show our support of our country, our vets, and those amazing people that risk their lives daily to keep us all safe and protected (fireman, police, military, etc.), we get to show support for MY fight. I will wear my shirt with pride, along with my button that states, loud and clear, "I Am A Colon Cancer Survivor!" 

And, who knows - maybe I'll meet someone who is wondering about their symptoms? Maybe I can make a difference in someone's life today. Maybe I'll make a new friend. And, maybe, I'll enjoy this gorgeous day with my beautiful babies and just bask in the fact that I AM ALIVE.

And, yes, I will still celebrate my birthday next month! :-)

Comments:

Carol Urban said...

Great thought to wear the shirt knowing someone may ask you about it! Way to go!

May 23, 2009 at 10:04 AM

Later:

And, it worked...

Wearing my shirt and pin, and having the kids wear their team shirts, got people's attention. I had several people ask me about it, comment on the shirts, ask the kids where "Michelle" was (their shirt fronts say Michelle Will Win!), and then comment, congratulate me, and ask questions. It was well worth the load of laundry I had to do to wear this shirt today!

The Cancer Treatment Centers of America was at the Memorial Day parade today, and I spoke with them, got in touch with a 3-year colon cancer survivor, and made some great connections. I also had several non-vendor people stop and ask me when, how, etc. I even had people in the parade stop and congratulate me, give me a hug, etc. It was unbelievable.

A hell of a way to celebrate my cancer-versary, for sure. And, it's only 12:40. Who knows what the rest of the day is going to bring!

Comments:

Carol Urban said...

Wonderful! I am so happy that the cancerversary wasn't the downer you expected. I say go with the positive.

May 23, 2009 at 6:16 PM

 Jill said...

^^^ditto!!!

May 25, 2009 at 8:36 AM

MAY 22, 2009

You have GOT to see this!

Please go to this website and watch the pictures scrolling on the top.

And here.

Yes, that's me and my babies. (Insert mother-bird-fluffing-her-wings here...)

:-)

Comments:

Whidbey Woman said...

What a cute pic!

May 22, 2009 at 11:46 AM

 Carol Urban said...

Love your glasses. They look really cute on you. You three look so happy!

TWC's website is very well done. I applaud their efforts! I am impressed.

May 22, 2009 at 4:07 PM

Later:

Epiphany, of sorts...

I think I came to an epiphany last night. I think I have been putting too much stock into this cancer-versary thing. I have been dwelling on it, like it's a milestone birthday that I have been dreading.

When I realized that, I also realized that I don't dread birthdays. (I dread my brothers' birthdays more than my own - that means that they are getting older, and by proxy, I'm getting older....anyways....)

I don't dread turning 30, 40, 50, etc. I celebrate my birthday. (Who wouldn't - I was born in the bicentennial year, on the longest day of the year, and my day is always full of sunshine and celebration, as the arrival of summer is finally here!) I consider birthdays nothing more than a day to celebrate being alive. And, I'm going to treat my cancer-versary the same way.

Yes, it sucks that I have cancer. Yes, it sucks that my life has been turned upside-down. Yes, it sucks that I will have to be dealing with this for the rest of my life.

But I HAVE the rest of my life.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what I am going to focus on. I got a chance that so few others get - to live my life understanding, in no uncertain terms, how very precious life is. I had, at the age of 31 (young, really, in the scheme of things), a life-altering experience that has allowed me to see the beauty where others only see darkness and ugliness. I have been given the gift of understanding that I need to really listen, hear, see, smell, touch, taste, feel, LIVE life. I need to look for the upside of everything, because there are more than enough downers in the world.

Is this a front? Sort of. I am still scared shitless. I am still the kind of person that will take this disease with a healthy dose of reality, and understand that I could relapse. The cancer could come back.

But, it might not.

So, while I will go forward looking at life optimistically but realistically, I offer you one piece of unsolicited advice. Please don't wait for a life-threatening or life-altering experience before you start to see the beauty in the small things. Rain is generally considered to be a downer - today, I see the beauty in the silver, fluffy clouds. Last night, I sat outside on my patio and watched the rain fall. I watched the birds shake the droplets off their feathers, much like a dog would. I see my kids marvelling in the water falling from the sky.

Is this an epiphany? I don't know. I know that I am at peace with my diagnosis, for now. I know that I haven't been at peace for a while. I have been pushing through the fear, the anger, the emotional roller-coaster by trying to save others from this disease. I can make a difference but I can't do it alone. So, I will do what I can, when I can, and know that I am doing something positive towards these causes I care about. I will love and cherish the people that I have met throughout this journey, because most of them are also dealing with the same issues. I will support them, love them, and hopefully help them in some small way.

In the meantime, I am going to enjoy what I have, enjoy what I have been given, and celebrate the fact that I am, officially, as of tomorrow, a cancer survivor. I am a thriver. And, my favorite - I am a CANCER ASS-KICKER! I love this title, and while I know it may offend some people, it's something I am damn proud of. To me, survivor is a good word. Thriver is a good word. But, Cancer Ass-Kicker captures the fight, the struggle, and the life behind what I have done. And I'm so proud to be here.

Love to you all...

Comments:

Amanda: said...

Awesome :)

May 22, 2009 at 3:46 PM

 Carol Urban said...

I AM SO PROUD OF YOU!!!

May 22, 2009 at 4:20 PM

 Nancy said...

You have just taken a huge step to the world you now hold in you hands.You sound like you have just passed a milestone in this cancer free world you now are Blessed with.I truly like how the words are showing just how you have grown with this terrible monster that took over you life for a short time but that you have regained that life back.You stay strong...the words you use are only the words your heart feel and it only shows how your words are your feelings and are well said.Oh and i checked out the other web sites you talked about and the pic. are truly awesoome.they are price less.my love every day sweetie to all of you.

May 23, 2009 at 5:14 AM

 Tina said...

I've been following your struggle, wondering how I will deal with it when the time comes. I knew you'd have that "epiphany" eventually. You are a very wise woman. Thanks for helping me thru.
Now ENJOY your weekend and LIVE your life to the fullest!!!

May 23, 2009 at 7:34 PM

MAY 21, 2009

Cancer and kids

I saw a post on another blog about being single and dealing with cancer. While I can't speak to that experience, I can speak to being a parent and dealing with cancer. I thought it might be worth while to tell you how we/I deal with/dealth with my cancer. And, the explanation to the kids.

Julia had celebrated her 6th birthday in April. Kevin's 2nd birthday was just a week away. I was diagnosed with cancer. My biggest fear, after the obvious concern about life and death, was how I was going to talk with my kids about cancer. My mom, Levi and I spoke about this a bit, and we knew that with Julia, the less details would be better. We didn't want to lie to her, and we didn't want to NOT tell her the truth by sugar-coating it, but I did need to have her understand why so much was going to change.

In kindergarten, Julia learned about germs, sickness, the immune system, etc. At the time of my diagnosis, she was constantly asking about germs, and whether something was going to make her sick, etc. So, I took that lead, and plagairized a bit from a Disney/Pixar movie that my son was watching a hundred times a day at the time, and told Julia that Mommy had cancer.

The conversation went something like this:

You know how germs make you sick? Yup.

Well, cancer is like REALLY bad germs inside Mommy's body that make her sick. The doctor is going to take the cancer out of Mommy's body during surgery, so I'll be pretty sore for a while, and you'll get to visit me in the hospital.

(Luckily, if you can call it that, she remembered my gall bladder surgery and the C-Section a few years earlier, so she could relate to this.)

She was okay with this - with my mom coming down to stay with us, there wasn't too much change to the kids schedule - they stayed at daycare during the day, and either Mom or Levi picked them up at night.

Once we knew I was going to have chemo, we sat Julia down again and explained to her that there were still some of the germs insde my body, and the doctor was going to give me a medicine to make me better, like the medicine the doctor gave her when she was sick. So far, this made sense to her. Then came the hard part - I had to try to explain to her that this medicine was going to make Mommy sick. Ack.

So, taking a cue from the movie Toy Story, we told Julia that the chemo was like little green army men that were going to be in my body, waging a war against the cancer cells. Because they were going to have a war in there, it was going to get tough on Mommy, and her body was going to be run down. I might lose my hair, I might be really tired, and I might get sick. but, this meant that the drugs were working. And, you know what - she was okay with this. My mom had the brilliant idea of picking up a bag of little green army men (complete with tanks) that we could all carry with us. To this day, I have three little army men on my desk at work, as a reminder of what I have been through. Julia cleaned out her desk at school the other day, and I noticed that she had army men in her mess of school-stuff. Julia kept these army men at her desk, and she would bring them out on the weeks that I had chemo. The teachers could always tell when it was a chemo week, because her demeanor would change and she would become quiet and much more emotional. However, having the army men on her desk seemed to help her.

She has since asked me questions - how did the cancer get there? I have thus far dodged the tough ones that I have been dreading - will the cancer come back? -will I get cancer? -will you die?

I have to say that I think she has handled this really well. Kevin wasn't old enough to really understand cancer and what that meant. For that, I am grateful. Julia, though, understands and tells people that she meets that her Mommy had chemo-cancer (this is what she calls it) and beat it. :-) Julia has taken this in stride, and we were fortunate enough to have family and friend support in a manner that allowed the kids to be kids during this, rather than forcing them to become caregivers, etc. The most beautiful thing about this journey has been seeing that my kids were allowed to keep a fairly normal schedule.

There are still some concers that I have about the kids. What kind of effect is this going to have, long-term, on them? How will they see me, themselves, etc. in the future, as they learn more about cancer in school? When will those hard questions come up (because I know they will)?

I wonder how others have handled explaining cancer to their young children? And, how they handle it as the kids grow older. I went to the library after I was diagnosed, trying to find books that would help me in explaining this to my children. There were some - not many, that I could find. And, most of them revolved around breast cancer, which, while a worthy cause, doesn't always translate well to other cancers.

I think this is a topic that needs to be addressed. The Wellness Community has several programs dealing with this, and I haven't had the chance to attend them. I think I might, in the future. My kids will always have a mom who kicked cancer's ass - that will never stop or change. And, I have the sincerest hope that, in some way, this has a positive effect on them. I know Julia thinks it's normal for Mommies to have chemo-cancer, and to win. I also know that at some point, I might have to tell her that not all Mommies win, but I'll cross that bridge when the time comes. For now, I am happy to have my children live in a world where everyone that battles cancer beats it, and continues to live life to the fullest. It's a wonderful dream, and hopefully a world that isn't that far off.

Comments:

Carol Urban said...

I found it extremely difficult to tell my sons and they are adults!

Ralph, my oldest, was 24 when I was diagnosed two years ago. He was the first person I saw after the consultation with the surgeon who told me I didn't have long to live.

He gave me a big hug and said, "Mom, we are gonna beat this!" And we did.

It was harder with my youngest, Joe. I drove to his house and spent a few hours with Chrystal and the kids. When he came in I told him I had something important to say which I couldn't do over the phone.

When I told him I had cancer he turned around and walked out the door and went out to work on his truck. That was his way of working it out. He didn't say another thing. I went out and hugged him and told him I loved him.

I think it was especially hard on them hearing that their mother had cancer.

May 21, 2009 at 6:04 PM

MAY 19, 2009

Hiccups - friend or foe?

Are hiccups one of the latent side effects of chemo? Lately, I have been having small episodes of the hiccups. I wonder if it's just me, or if it's something else wrong.

Isn't it funny (not ha-ha funny, but odd funny) how before cancer, you kind of explain away things that are wrong with you. Once I was diagnosed, though, I tend to look more deeply at issues that I am dealing with that aren't normal. Pain in my hip - did the cancer spread to my bones? Headache - tumor in my brain? Hiccups - latent side effect? (really, I think it's just my body being wierd.)

I think this is something that all cancer patients must learn to cope with. There is definitely a fine line between realistically handling your diagnosis (and the potential recurrence) and panicking about every little thing. I want to pay heed to my body, to the signs it's providing me with and make sure that I catch things early. However, I also want to be rid of the doctor's appointments, the doubt, the constant worry that niggles at the base of your brian each day when you wake up.

How do you handle this issue? Have you figured out a way to deal with the concerns? Do you HAVE concerns?

Comments:

Jamie said...

My first week of chemo gave me the hiccups big time. Sometimes I couldn't even finish one hiccup before two more would come. They would last for up to an hour. I felt no nausea, no stomach upset in general, but when the hiccups would kick in they would sometimes make me feel like throwing up (after several in a row without stopping).

Hiccups sound so innocuous. I didn't know they could be such an awful side effect.

The next treatment, the Doc gave me some meds for hiccups. I took them 'just in case' and didn't get hiccups that time. Since then, I haven't used them at all and the hiccups haven't returned for some reason.

Have you been to http://www.crazysexycancer.com/ ? (I'm not associated with the site, I just found it inspiring).

May 22, 2009 at 6:06 AM

Later:

Not yet a celebration....

I have so much to do this weekend. Probably a good thing, being that I don't want to dwell on the cancerversary. Here's a confession - I'm not ready to celebrate yet. I feel like it isn't something I can celebrate. I feel like I haven't fully come to grips with what I have been through over the past year, and I am nervous to celebrate my remission. Don't get me wrong, I am happy that I am IN remission. But, I still worry about the cancer. Has it come back? Will it come back? What will I do if it does?

I feel like I don't want to mess with karma. I don't want to jinx myself. I don't dare admit to myself, completely and totally, that I am cancer-free. I feel like I am giving the cancer permission to come back if I do. I am usually an optimist, and I am not generally a superstitious person, however, I feel like it's bad luck to celebrate. I worry that if I celebrate being in remission and cancer-free, I will be so much more disappointed if the cancer recurs.

As I've said before, I don't think I've dealt with the anger related to my diagnosis, either. There has to be anger. How can there NOT be? I unknowingly had this demon enter my system and try to take it over. For a stubborn, control-type New Yorker, this pisses me off. Don't try to do something without my permission in my body. Don't you DARE. And yet, it did. It grew in there for who knows how long, and it took a doctor sticking a tube up my ass to find out.

Then, I had to not only put my life on hold, but I had to uproot the lives of my kids, my husband, my parents, my brothers, friends, family, colleagues, my employer and co-workers, etc. I had to make the dreaded phone call - "Hey, Happy Memorial Day, how's things? Good to hear - by the way, I have cancer." I don't think anyone that hasn't had to make that call has any idea how hard it is. I can't imagine what it's like to take that call.

And, there are other things that I worry about. Things like, with colon cancer, you have a higher rate of ovarian cancer, breast cancer, uterine cancer. So, do I need to have those things taken care of now, as a pre-emptive measure?

Will my kids/brothers/parents get this disease?

I had hoped to donate my eggs to my brother, with the hopes of providing him with a child of his own. Can I do that now? Is it safe? Smart?

There are other things, too. I know I got this disease for a reason. Am I doing what I'm supposed to? How do I do more? How do I do what I love/want/need to do without putting my family further in the hole?

I think there are so many things that people can't tell you to think about, b/c they don't know it themselves. The only people who seem to understand what I am feeling are other cancer patients. Especially my kin in the young adult cancer community. We all face these issues. There are so many things that young adults need to deal with when diganosed.....these things go WAY beyond medical issues. Dating. Sexuality. Long-term planning. Insurance. Credit. Mental health. Funeral arrangements. Children. Marriage. Life.

So, while I am happy that I have made it through the chemo, the surgeries, etc., I am still apprehensive about the rest of it. What's next? Who knows. That scares the crap out of me. I thought I had a good handle on my life this time last year. Then, the c-bomb dropped. If that can happen without notice, what else could happen? It's been a hell of a year - I hope this next 12 months goes a lot more smoothly.

*sigh* Stupid cancer.

Comments:

Jennifer Witham Buck / Graceful Expressions said...

I still remember that day we got the phone call - Kevin and I were driving to Chicago and I knew something was up...
I spent that entire weekend in prayer...
we will be thinking of you this weekend, and we are so proud of you for kicking the cancer and your fight and just being michelle. We love you!

May 21, 2009 at 7:02 AM

 Amanda: said...

Hang in there, sweetie. Hopefully this will be the hardest cancer-versary, and the rest will be a piece of cake :)

May 21, 2009 at 7:37 AM