Well, the
countdown to the big day begins. Tomorrow is kind of a big deal: I have a
CT scan in the morning (at the buttcrack of dawn - 7am), then results just
after lunch. *sigh* Just thinking about it makes my tummy turn.
But, it will be just fine.
I'm pretty confident that things are going to be fine. There is no reason for me to suspect otherwise. My CEA has been steadily under 1.5, which is right where it needs to be. I'm excited to be able to celebrate the success of this battle, and to ring the "end of chemo" bell tomorrow afternoon at CTCA. And, I'm excited to move to the next step in this war, and to start the Xeloda. (Ok - I'm not excited about a new chemo drug, let's be honest. I'm excited about being done with IV chemo...)
So, today is fairly busy. I've got to get laundry done, straighten up the house, get my meds list pulled together, make sure I have my list of questions for my docs tomorrow in order, get the kids packed for their overnight stays at Mom and Dad's, etc. I try to keep the day before chemo for the day-before errands and to-do's, so that my mind isn't on what's about to happen.
Oh - I did get more information about the television interview I did last week; it's scheduled to air tomorrow night. If you're in the Phoenix area, it will air on Channel 3 during their 9:00pm show. (I knew it would air on the night I have chemo.....) We are hoping that Channel 3 will add a link to the interview on their website, and CTCA has offered to burn me a DVD of the interview. Once I come out of my chemo coma later this weekend, I'll see if I can post a link here.
Let's see - what else? I think that's it for now. I do have other things that I want to post about, but I'll do that later. Will definitely post tomorrow.....meantime, I'm asking for all the good mojo you can send my way.....let's do this!
I'm pretty confident that things are going to be fine. There is no reason for me to suspect otherwise. My CEA has been steadily under 1.5, which is right where it needs to be. I'm excited to be able to celebrate the success of this battle, and to ring the "end of chemo" bell tomorrow afternoon at CTCA. And, I'm excited to move to the next step in this war, and to start the Xeloda. (Ok - I'm not excited about a new chemo drug, let's be honest. I'm excited about being done with IV chemo...)
So, today is fairly busy. I've got to get laundry done, straighten up the house, get my meds list pulled together, make sure I have my list of questions for my docs tomorrow in order, get the kids packed for their overnight stays at Mom and Dad's, etc. I try to keep the day before chemo for the day-before errands and to-do's, so that my mind isn't on what's about to happen.
Oh - I did get more information about the television interview I did last week; it's scheduled to air tomorrow night. If you're in the Phoenix area, it will air on Channel 3 during their 9:00pm show. (I knew it would air on the night I have chemo.....) We are hoping that Channel 3 will add a link to the interview on their website, and CTCA has offered to burn me a DVD of the interview. Once I come out of my chemo coma later this weekend, I'll see if I can post a link here.
Let's see - what else? I think that's it for now. I do have other things that I want to post about, but I'll do that later. Will definitely post tomorrow.....meantime, I'm asking for all the good mojo you can send my way.....let's do this!
Later:
As I sit
here, on the couch winding down from the day, my mind inevitably goes to the
events that will take place tomorrow. How could it not? I've been
able to keep myself busy for most of the day, but when I finally have time to
sit down, I start to wonder about the "what if's"....
What if things go well tomorrow? Will I be able to tolerate the new chemo? Will this new chemo keep things in check?
What if things don't go well? What happens at that point? Do we still have chemo available to use?
I can't control what's going to happen tomorrow. As much as I want to, I've had to (begrudgingly) admit that whatever happens tomorrow is already done. Worrying about things isn't going to help, or make a difference. But, how I approach the testing, the results, and what happens due to results is something I can control. Do I go in, worrying and wondering and terrified? Do I go in blindly optimistic?
I'll likely go in terrified, but confident. Worried, but hopeful. Knowing that I'm in the best place I could be, surrounded by the most love anyone could ever ask for, and so grateful for the chance to share this amazing experience with you all.
I have had a lot on my mind lately. A survivor friend lost one of her best friend's to this disease this past weekend. I have another friend fighting for their life. I keep meeting people that are battling something (don't we all have our own demons, be them cancer or something else?), and it makes you think.
Today is Kim's birthday. She would have been 33 today. Seeing her picture pop up on my facebook page always startles me. Not in a bad way; just in a way that makes me think.
As this test tomorrow approaches and I'm thinking about my friends, it seems unfair, in a way, that I'm here. Survivor guilt sucks. I'm infinitely happy about surviving as long as I have. I'm damn lucky to be here, and I get it. I'm grateful to have learned to be grateful for what I have, and for who I am. Many people don't learn to really love their life, and to understand that it's the small things that matter, until much later on in life. I have a much greater appreciation for life now than I ever have; I see the tiny things that others may not notice as monumental. Holding a door open for an elderly couple makes them smile. Listening to my children giggle as they tug on the dog toy. Watching my babies interact with their daddy, and feeling lucky that they are my family. The beauty of the Arizona sky as the sun sets behind the White Tank Mountains. The chirp of the birds as they celebrate the cooler temperatures here.
The big memories and the large events - yeah. Everyone remembers those. But, for me, it's the absolutely innocent beauty in the small pieces of life that strike me the most.
Anyways, survivor's guilt. It's an awful range of emotions. I'm so happy to be alive....I don't want to fight, but I know I have to. And yet, as I continue to fight this battle publicly, and as I meet more people battling this disease, I end up losing some of them. Some are friends. Others are acquaintances. Some, I've never met. I feel each loss as a personal failure (even though I know it's not), and it spurs me to continue fighting. I think of these amazing warriors when I'm out talking with people. I use their stories to teach others. I take lessons from each of them, and hope that I can honor their memories with the work I do to help others.
I wonder why I'm still here, and they aren't. Each one of them, like all of us, had qualities that made them special. They left behind children, spouses, parents, siblings, families and friends. None of them deserved what happened to them. There is no logical reason why they aren't here, but I am. The guilt, when I start thinking this way, is overwhelming.
But, I know that I can't dwell on thoughts like that. I can't explain why I'm still here, anymore than I can explain why they aren't. I can't sit and wonder, anymore than I can stress out about what's coming tomorrow. It won't help. I need to acknowledge the feelings, give them credence, and let them go.
It's hard, though. These thoughts can be kept at bay while I'm busy, but when things in life calm down and my brain starts sorting through everything, it's hard. Like the proverbial pink elephant in the room that starts to trumpet to remind you he's there, these thoughts start to take over the conversation in my head and dominate everything.
People have their own ways of dealing with things like this; mine vary, depending on my mood and my energy level. Some days, it's taking the time to meditate and open my mind; other days, it's listening to rock or metal and allowing my emotional release to take place through music.
Today was meditation. Yesterday was music. Being able to talk freely through this blog, and to put the thoughts into words, is always helpful. I worry about putting things out here. Will you all think I'm being negative? Will someone take what I'm saying as how *they* should feel? (Please don't - I'm not, in any way, a model for this disease....) Will I concern folks? What will my parents and brothers feel when they read this?
Know that I'm in a good place, emotionally. Over the past 6 months, I've learned how to work through the bad parts of this journey to get to the good stuff. In the words of Rodney Atkins, if you're going through hell, keep on moving; you might get out. And, I will.
Being back at work has been an eye-opening experience. People stop by, and tell me how good I look (which is good for my ego....). I think that people have an expectation that I'll look gaunt, tired, or "sick." There is such a stereotype about what a cancer patient should look like. Yes, I'm (almost) bald. But, on my off weeks, I feel almost normal. With the exception of being tired (and bald...), you wouldn't know I'm battling a potentially deadly disease. I make dinner, do laundry, help the kids with homework, work, run errands, spend time with family and friends, build my business, and love my family. I'm living. Every single day, I'm living.
I'm not sure how to end this posting, and I'm not sure I knew where it was going when I started it. It's rambling, and it's long, and it's scattered. I should probably put a disclaimer at the top. I don't know that I will. I feel like these are the posts that will help another survivor the most. It seems like so many of the blogs that I follow are almost saccharine; they are good, but it's rare that you see a post from someone where they talk about reality. Life is messy enough. Living life while you're battling cancer? Yeah - that puts a whole new spin on things. And, for those of us in the "AYA" catageory (adolescents and young adults), it's especially hard. Raising kids while you're fighting cancer is awfully hard. How do you explain to your kids about scans, bloodwork, CEA levels, chemotherapy.....no 10 or 6 year old should understand those terms.
But, they do. I hope that they will be better adults because of it. I hope that they are more compassionate with others, more forgiving, more loving. I hope that my husband understands how fully I love him. I hope that my parents know how indescribably important their support is, and how it has given me a better understanding of parental sacrifice and love.
I hope that my friends understand that their love has changed my life. I have met people recently that I don't know...they have told me that they follow my blog. That's a little disconcerting - I don't see myself as important enough to warrant that kind of attention. But, their support is welcome, and necessary. The unending mojo and prayers from everyone, all over the world, is completely humbling and totally overwhelming.
But, I've said it before. If anyone has the support behind them to beat this thing, it's me. I've got the best medical team a girl could ask for. I've got the love of so many people coming at me every single day that I can feel it. I've got access to the most recent information and the most up-to-date medical data.
I'm in a fantastic position to beat this thing. Tomorrow, we'll know for sure if I'm on that path. I'm off to bed, and to try to keep calm.
My army, you are amazing. You inspire me daily. I am so, so glad you're mine. Let's do this. Keep on moving, people. Keep on moving....
What if things go well tomorrow? Will I be able to tolerate the new chemo? Will this new chemo keep things in check?
What if things don't go well? What happens at that point? Do we still have chemo available to use?
I can't control what's going to happen tomorrow. As much as I want to, I've had to (begrudgingly) admit that whatever happens tomorrow is already done. Worrying about things isn't going to help, or make a difference. But, how I approach the testing, the results, and what happens due to results is something I can control. Do I go in, worrying and wondering and terrified? Do I go in blindly optimistic?
I'll likely go in terrified, but confident. Worried, but hopeful. Knowing that I'm in the best place I could be, surrounded by the most love anyone could ever ask for, and so grateful for the chance to share this amazing experience with you all.
I have had a lot on my mind lately. A survivor friend lost one of her best friend's to this disease this past weekend. I have another friend fighting for their life. I keep meeting people that are battling something (don't we all have our own demons, be them cancer or something else?), and it makes you think.
Today is Kim's birthday. She would have been 33 today. Seeing her picture pop up on my facebook page always startles me. Not in a bad way; just in a way that makes me think.
As this test tomorrow approaches and I'm thinking about my friends, it seems unfair, in a way, that I'm here. Survivor guilt sucks. I'm infinitely happy about surviving as long as I have. I'm damn lucky to be here, and I get it. I'm grateful to have learned to be grateful for what I have, and for who I am. Many people don't learn to really love their life, and to understand that it's the small things that matter, until much later on in life. I have a much greater appreciation for life now than I ever have; I see the tiny things that others may not notice as monumental. Holding a door open for an elderly couple makes them smile. Listening to my children giggle as they tug on the dog toy. Watching my babies interact with their daddy, and feeling lucky that they are my family. The beauty of the Arizona sky as the sun sets behind the White Tank Mountains. The chirp of the birds as they celebrate the cooler temperatures here.
The big memories and the large events - yeah. Everyone remembers those. But, for me, it's the absolutely innocent beauty in the small pieces of life that strike me the most.
Anyways, survivor's guilt. It's an awful range of emotions. I'm so happy to be alive....I don't want to fight, but I know I have to. And yet, as I continue to fight this battle publicly, and as I meet more people battling this disease, I end up losing some of them. Some are friends. Others are acquaintances. Some, I've never met. I feel each loss as a personal failure (even though I know it's not), and it spurs me to continue fighting. I think of these amazing warriors when I'm out talking with people. I use their stories to teach others. I take lessons from each of them, and hope that I can honor their memories with the work I do to help others.
I wonder why I'm still here, and they aren't. Each one of them, like all of us, had qualities that made them special. They left behind children, spouses, parents, siblings, families and friends. None of them deserved what happened to them. There is no logical reason why they aren't here, but I am. The guilt, when I start thinking this way, is overwhelming.
But, I know that I can't dwell on thoughts like that. I can't explain why I'm still here, anymore than I can explain why they aren't. I can't sit and wonder, anymore than I can stress out about what's coming tomorrow. It won't help. I need to acknowledge the feelings, give them credence, and let them go.
It's hard, though. These thoughts can be kept at bay while I'm busy, but when things in life calm down and my brain starts sorting through everything, it's hard. Like the proverbial pink elephant in the room that starts to trumpet to remind you he's there, these thoughts start to take over the conversation in my head and dominate everything.
People have their own ways of dealing with things like this; mine vary, depending on my mood and my energy level. Some days, it's taking the time to meditate and open my mind; other days, it's listening to rock or metal and allowing my emotional release to take place through music.
Today was meditation. Yesterday was music. Being able to talk freely through this blog, and to put the thoughts into words, is always helpful. I worry about putting things out here. Will you all think I'm being negative? Will someone take what I'm saying as how *they* should feel? (Please don't - I'm not, in any way, a model for this disease....) Will I concern folks? What will my parents and brothers feel when they read this?
Know that I'm in a good place, emotionally. Over the past 6 months, I've learned how to work through the bad parts of this journey to get to the good stuff. In the words of Rodney Atkins, if you're going through hell, keep on moving; you might get out. And, I will.
Being back at work has been an eye-opening experience. People stop by, and tell me how good I look (which is good for my ego....). I think that people have an expectation that I'll look gaunt, tired, or "sick." There is such a stereotype about what a cancer patient should look like. Yes, I'm (almost) bald. But, on my off weeks, I feel almost normal. With the exception of being tired (and bald...), you wouldn't know I'm battling a potentially deadly disease. I make dinner, do laundry, help the kids with homework, work, run errands, spend time with family and friends, build my business, and love my family. I'm living. Every single day, I'm living.
I'm not sure how to end this posting, and I'm not sure I knew where it was going when I started it. It's rambling, and it's long, and it's scattered. I should probably put a disclaimer at the top. I don't know that I will. I feel like these are the posts that will help another survivor the most. It seems like so many of the blogs that I follow are almost saccharine; they are good, but it's rare that you see a post from someone where they talk about reality. Life is messy enough. Living life while you're battling cancer? Yeah - that puts a whole new spin on things. And, for those of us in the "AYA" catageory (adolescents and young adults), it's especially hard. Raising kids while you're fighting cancer is awfully hard. How do you explain to your kids about scans, bloodwork, CEA levels, chemotherapy.....no 10 or 6 year old should understand those terms.
But, they do. I hope that they will be better adults because of it. I hope that they are more compassionate with others, more forgiving, more loving. I hope that my husband understands how fully I love him. I hope that my parents know how indescribably important their support is, and how it has given me a better understanding of parental sacrifice and love.
I hope that my friends understand that their love has changed my life. I have met people recently that I don't know...they have told me that they follow my blog. That's a little disconcerting - I don't see myself as important enough to warrant that kind of attention. But, their support is welcome, and necessary. The unending mojo and prayers from everyone, all over the world, is completely humbling and totally overwhelming.
But, I've said it before. If anyone has the support behind them to beat this thing, it's me. I've got the best medical team a girl could ask for. I've got the love of so many people coming at me every single day that I can feel it. I've got access to the most recent information and the most up-to-date medical data.
I'm in a fantastic position to beat this thing. Tomorrow, we'll know for sure if I'm on that path. I'm off to bed, and to try to keep calm.
My army, you are amazing. You inspire me daily. I am so, so glad you're mine. Let's do this. Keep on moving, people. Keep on moving....
Comments:
Not
rambling at all...and I was listening the whole time. I just wanted you to know
that....
September
27, 2012 at 3:42 AM
jamie said...
this
is so powerful . . . sending all the positive vibes i've got in my arsenal.
September
27, 2012 at 8:32 AM
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