Laughing Gas

The past two weeks have been a whirl wind of emotions.   The 13th of January was the four year anniversary of my mastectomy. I rejoiced in that anniversary, however it also caused me reflect.  

I thought about all the friends I have made, and lost along the way.  My sweet friends that are still fighting, every day, just like me. Our unspoken struggles, and zest to live.  I thought about how this journey has impacted my beautiful little family.  There is a roller coaster that we are never quite able to get off of, and that is unspeakably hard.

On the 13th I had what I can only call "cancer on the brain." I am not sure how to describe it other than that.  I was very much in my head, and my emotions.  I was remembering all the tests, surgeries, infusions, tears, conversations, ect.  Then, almost out of nowhere, I recalled my scans and checkups from this summer. 

You may recall that this summer during my OB checkup the doctor located a polyp on my uterine wall.  At the time I really felt it was a "no big deal polyp," a "so many women have these and its really nothing polyp." 

His recommendation at the time was for ablation surgery, to both remove the polyp and permanently remove the lining of my uterus. I researched, and prayed.  I interviewed several women both who had - and who had considered the surgery, but declined it.  

In the end I decided ablation wasn't right for me, for two main reasons - 

1. Once you have the ablation you can no longer detect cancer cells in the uterus. 
2. My body does not react like other people's (I mean I seriously just had a week long allergic reaction to fabulous lash extensions).  

I didn't think about that pesky polyp again until the 13th of this month, and then it seemed that everything went into fast forward.  I called the OB's office and explained that I just wanted to follow up on the polyp. Even as I was saying the words I realized how silly I must have sounded - until just minutes later I had an SIS ultrasound scheduled, and with a surgeon, because my doctor doesn't perform them. 

Never heard of an SIS Ultrasound? Yeah, I hadn't either.  So I researched. Basically they insert a catheter into your cervix to fill it with saline to make any polyps, fibroids, ect. easier to identify and measure.  The reports I read on the internet said that the procedure was "mildly  uncomfortable," this gave me pause to consider - because the commercial for Neulasta (medicine given in conjunction with chemotherapy) reports that it may cause mild discomfort and I knew it made me feel like I had been hit by at least one, if not two tanker trucks.  

So I called the office to be sure I was prepared for exactly what I was going to experience, and to see if I needed a driver.  I was assured that it would not be too uncomfortable, and Tylenol should cover the pain.

Then I had to wait a week.  This is probably the worst part.  Waiting for a scan, or test - that may or may not show cancer. 

Finally the day of the SIS ultrasound arrived, and there I was with a medical staff who knew me only on paper.  

The sweetest technician began talking me through the procedure. 

Here is what that went like -

                explaining, explaining,  explaining, 

                              and then the doctor will come in and take the biopsy.

The WHAT?  Why are we taking a biopsy???  Why didn't anyone prep me for THIS??? 

And then I spiraled.  

I don't know if you have ever had a biopsy taken from your lady parts, but it is PAINFUL.  Every other biopsy I've ever had (mostly from my breasts), I've been sufficiently numbed.  From your uterus - no numbing.  

I remembered how much my biopsy hurt this summer and I stumbled for words.  

I think its important to note here, that I am typically very, very brave.  I research so I can understand what I cannot control.  I pray. I focus on the task at hand and trust that God and the medical professionals will help me through it. In this case we are talking about me being in significant discomfort -by taking a biopsy.  A biopsy which may indicate cancer, and which I had zero opportunity to prepare for. 

Insert so many bad words, they were in my head - not actually spoken aloud.

Thankfully this sweet technician had an idea.  It turns out their office had just been approved to use laughing gas for some procedures.  She asked if I would be interested.

Would I be interested??  I almost giggled, yes - yes indeed.

I would be interested.

This is the first biopsy that I have ever giggled through.  I am extremely thankful for the creativeness of that sweet technician.  The biopsy still hurt, but it wasn't the same pain I remembered from this summer.

Then I had to wait again, three long days.  I prayed, I talked to God, I called upon my prayer warriors.

I waited, not patiently.  

Friday afternoon, on David's birthday, the preliminary results came in - no signs of cancer.

Thank God.  I'm so grateful. There are no words to explain just how grateful I am.  The lingering fear that comes with a cancer diagnosis, the roller coaster that I am on every minute, of every day, its intense.

As a result of all of this, I still have to have the polyp removed, and all of the tissue in my uterus.  This procedure will allow for the tissue to grow back, and hopefully will promote healthy cell growth.  They will also be sending all of my uterine tissue, as well as the dissected polyp for pathology.  

And then, as I heal - we will wait again for pathology results.

The surgery is scheduled for Valentine's Day.  

David and I have to sit down with the kids and explain this all to them - in very broad strokes of course.  We have to tell them that I have to go in for another surgery.  They are older this time and understand so much more.  

Thank you all so much for your beautiful support.  I appreciate all of the prayers, well wishes, and kind thoughts.  They truly mean the world to me.

February is going to be wrought with anxiety and anticipation. Its also going to be a time to celebrate our precious boy's 12th birthday, and Elayna's First Reconciliation.   I am acutely aware that I am blessed every day that I am here, to be a mommy, wife, teacher, and friend.

If you are like me, and intrigued by researching surgeries, here are the particulars.  

Hysteroscopic guided myosure, polypectomy, and D & C

The surgery is outpatient, and it sounds like recovery time will be about 5 days, 

I'm sending you all love and thanks.  Thank you for loving and supporting me through it.

#fightlikeamommy

#itisstillmyfairytale

#always

Sweet Release

Do you know that feeling when the roller coaster ride ends, and you assess yourself and those surrounding you for damages and realize that you are okay? 

That momentary sweet release? 

The release I get each time I get a clean scan is much the same.  It's like finally being able to breathe after holding my breath for far too long.

This week has been terrifying, I feel like I am on a roller coaster ride all the time.  It is so hard for me to know that it is not just me on the roller coaster, but that I take all of you along for the ride too.

I have pneumonia. It was walking pneumonia, now its just pneumonia.  I went to an urgent care facility on Monday night.  I was just exhausted, and couldn't get a full breath.  One of the many tests that was ordered that night was an X-RAY. 

The X-RAY clearly showed pneumonia, but also something else, slightly more dense, higher than the other spots.  I think the words fell out of my mouth, I don't even remember stringing them together into a full thought, I just knew that I had to know, "Is it cancer?"

The doctor turned, and very calmly (not at all expecting the reaction that was coming) said, "It is something that is there, and I think your oncologist needs to look at it."

I felt the tears, hot and wet on my face as I put a plan in place.  I felt my body tremble and then go still.  I formulated a plan:

• Step One - Pray, separate yourself from this situation and talk to God directly.

• Step Two- Text Polly (that's my oncologist) to see what her thoughts are.  She immediately responded that we would order a CT scan.

• Step Three - Call David.  Ugh - I can't even tell you how hard this call was.  To call my husband, after a month of beautiful pink ribbons everywhere and me giving inspirational survival speeches, to tell him that the cancer might be back.  To know that he would have to tuck our babies in with that knowledge, that fear looming.  That was when I made the very conscious decision not to call my parents. It hurts too much to be so afraid, and to not be able to do anything about the situation.  I hate seeing the fear in other people because of me.

• Step Four - Contact the prayer warriors.  For me these are both the easiest, and the hardest calls to make.  I love the prayers, I adore them, and whatever your faith is know that I feel them wash over me.  The converse of this is that by contacting these prayer warriors I make them worry.  This is literally the last thing I ever want to do, I never want anyone to worry.  Again, that's why this time, for the first time, I didn't call my parents.  I *just* had a biopsy in August and took everyone along for the roller coaster.  I couldn't bring myself to do that again this soon.

Then I went home, to my husband and my babies.  I delighted in their presence, I wrapped myself in their sweetness.

There is a surreal quality to the days and hours following a "maybe" you have cancer again diagnosis.  Its hard to put words to, but everything has a keen sense of urgency, of possible lastness.

The following day I got two calls from the urgent care facility, the first telling me that the radiologist saw nothing - not even pneumonia, the second was from the doctor who treated me that night encouraging me to follow up with my oncologist.  I can't tell you how confused I was by this series of calls.  I knew I was sick, I knew I saw pneumonia and "something" and I knew that the doctor that treated me felt the same. I knew I was afraid and doing my best not to be.

I followed up the next morning with my primary care, he is a truly great man who cares about me and my family.  He has both laughed and cried with me over the successes and set backs of the last three years.  He walked in the room and the first thing he did after greeting me was to tell me he was ordering a stat CT scan.  Oddly, this filled me with a sense of relief- he saw something too, and we were going to check it out.  When I told him my oncologist had already ordered a CT he was relieved, and said that pneumonia or not we would all be able to breathe better once the results are in.  He also told me that I was no longer contagious from the pneumonia and could I could take the babies trick or treating and return to work.

The next morning I worked through all of my anxieties, literally.  There were about 80 emails waiting for me and I thrust all my focus into working so I couldn't process that the CT was just a few hours away.

Driving to the CT was hard, David called twice to see how I was.  I know this is the hardest part for him.  We are fixers, both of us, and with this situation we just have to let go and realize that we aren't in control. In his voice I heard all of my fears reflected.

I was surprised to see how fast the CT went. In my mind it was going to take at least an hour, that is undoubtedly what I remembered from past experience.  This one was fast, start to finish in under 45 minutes.  As instructed, I texted my oncologist and called my primary care to let them know I was done.

Within minutes I got a text from my oncologist.

No cancer.

A little pneumonia.

Soon after I had a tearful message from my primary care telling me he had never been so happy to tell someone she had pneumonia, pneumonia and nothing else.

I truly have the best medical team.  I am eternally thankful for their knowledge, faith, and grace.  I am such a lucky lady.

I am savoring the sweet release of knowing that I am okay.  I have come to the realization that this roller coaster ride, it is my normal.  This is my truth.  No matter how unpleasant, this is my roller coaster.  A diagnosis of HER 2 + cancer means that this is the ride I will be on, until I am not. 

I am sending you all so much love.  Thank you for loving me through it.  Thank you for understanding my need for chemoflauge.

Smile at strangers, hug the ones you love, be the change in the world.

#fightlikeamommy

#itisstillmyfairytale

Preliminary Results

You guys are so amazing,  I truly have a community of love.

I have been blessed with more phone calls, text messages, messenger messages, comments, and hugs than I can count.  My church is dedicating a rosary for me tonight, I have been told by so many of you that you have added me to your prayer lists.  I am more thankful than you could possibly imagine.  Each and every prayer means so much to me.

I know that I was wrapped in prayer because I was able to continue to place one foot in front of the other, I could literally feel the love pouring over me.

This afternoon, while I was having lunch with my precious children my surgeon texted me. 

"The preliminary results are in, the lymph node was reactive - but shows no sign of cancer."

I can breathe, my husband can breathe - it's truly a big beautiful sigh of relief.  My mom cried, right in the middle of getting her oil changed.  My daddy and Pat are celebrating in joy.  I have delighted in the texts and messages from friends.  I am so truly thankful.

Cancer is a war that is not won with one battle.  My fighting did not end when chemo ended, and will continue.  I will continue to be an advocate and an informer.  I will continue to share my story with transparency in hopes of educating and inspiring others.

I am sending you all love and light.  Please continue to keep us in your hearts, please pray for a cure for all cancers.  Keep my beautiful mermaid Sawyer in your prayers, she is at St. Jude now.

This week has been terrifying, I am grateful to all of you for loving me through it.

Please also keep my sweet Tommy surrounded in love and light. He is having surgery tomorrow and I pray for the surgeon to have skilled hands and the healing process to be quick and painless.

I truly cannot thank you enough. 

Go be the change in the world.  Give smiles, love, and laughter whenever possible.  Tell the people you love how much they mean to you.

#fightlikeamommy
#itisstillmyfairytale

My Yearly Checkup

We could call this the “before” picture.  I snapped it moments before my lovely surgeon and her medical student came in for my yearly exam.  I was super excited to post it when I left the appointment this morning declaring another wonderful checkup.

But, that’s not what I’m doing, at least not yet.

Dr. Stephen's found a small lump, on my cancer side. Uncomfortably close to the previous cancer site.

With surreal speed she rolled over the ultrasound machine and passed it over my breast to show both the student and I what she felt, an enlarged lymph node.

An enlarged lymph node could mean anything, really and truly anything – and it could also mean THAT THING. 

So, we did a Core Needle Biopsy.  She took two samples and placed a clip so she could find the area later.  Hopefully, we will know results on Friday. 

I am not kidding when I tell you that the waiting is the worst, like truly the worst.  The pain is also not much fun.  

I laughed a little when I re-read the aftercare instructions.  They read that there may be “some tenderness,” this is much like the Neulasta commercial saying that you may feel “some bone pain.”

For right now we are all in a little state of shock, this is not at all what I thought would come of today’s appointment. 

You are all my prayer warriors and my well wishers, and now that this news has settled in and the waiting begins I wanted to update you so you can keep all of us in your thoughts and prayers.  

Tommy & Elayna do not know, I don’t want them to worry unless we need to.

Go be the good in the world, hug your babies, tell the people you love how much they mean to you. Go to an animal shelter or rescue organization. Find your tribe, love them hard.  Most importantly, know your body.  Early detection saves lives.

Sending you all love and light.

#fightlikeamommy

#itisstillmyfairytale

On turning seven

“Mommy, I will be seven in four days!”

Your words instantly pulled at my heart strings and caused an unexpected flow of emotion. 

Those numbers, seven and four, that is how old you both were when I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  Those numbers will remain forever ingrained on my heart.  

Seven and four, that is when our little world was knocked off of its axis.  I look back at the pictures before my diagnosis and see an innocence that is not present anymore.  I hate that my sickness took that from you.  I hate the little things that it robbed me of.  When I was diagnosed we were watching Bubble Guppies and Star Wars Cartoons, playing with Little Tykes Toys and Cars, and then suddenly you had outgrown those sweet playthings of childhood.  I look at you both now and see tiny adults, with your own opinions and personalities growing and expanding so quickly. 

Cancer did give us many gifts, but I know that more than anything it left a mark within your spirits that has changed all of us.  It taught us the importance of love, faith, and kindness.  To never take anything for granted, and to appreciate everything.

Seven in four days, wow.  I cannot wait to see you grow into adults, raise children of your own - It is my deepest desire.  

I am so lucky to be here, so lucky to see all of these beautiful milestones.  We had princesses come to your party again this year.  I imagine that by next year you will want something a little more adventurous, maybe Boomerang or skating.  I am so very proud of the beautiful little lady that you are quickly becoming.

______________________________________________________________________________

Sometimes I find myself lost in the wonder of survivor hood.  I feel very guilty for not updating as often as I once did. The truth is that I am indulging in living.

It warms my heart to have so many of you reach out to see how I am.  “Every day is different,” is my go to answer. I still have an ache deep within my hips, sometimes it is hard to get up, harder than I would like to admit.  Hard enough that I was given a handicapped placard for my car.  At first I didn't use it, it made me sad to even look at it.  Now I pull it out more often, especially after a long day.

I am elated to know that the pain is not cancer, but instead the after effects of chemo that just make me achy from time to time.  I do my very best not to complain, because I am here – living, breathing, loving.  I have a chance at life anew, and there isn’t a day that goes by that that miracle is not lost on me.

There have been many wonderful occurrences since my last update. 

We are doing to Disney – and we are flying first class.

This is a true miracle, and one that I am breathlessly excited about.  As a family we have never been on vacation, and the kids and I have never flown.  We have never stayed in a hotel, or been farther than a days drive from home (and our animals).  I cannot wait to experience the pure magic that is Disney with my family.  It is going to be amazing.  I still need help booking our fast passes if anyone is interested.

We got a puppy!  His name is Sir Lancelot, and he fits into our family perfectly.

The kids are doing beautifully in school this year.  Elayna won the Kindness award for the second year in a row.  Tommy has maintained perfect grades and is excelling in all of his subjects.  I am so proud to be their mommy.

As a side note, Tommy recently called me mom.  When he realized he had said mom, not mommy it brought tears to both our eyes.  I took him in my arms and told him that even if he is getting older, I would prefer to be “Mommy” for as long as possible. He smiled, and said that he just wanted to hear how it sounded.

I am having surgery again at the end of the month.  This procedure is purely cosmetic.  If you have seen me in the past year or so you know that my port scar is changing.  The best way to describe it is that it looks like a bullet wound, which as I was reminded by a beautiful friend is stunningly accurate. Cancer hit me like a bullet to the chest.

Although that is an awesome conversation starter, I hate it.  I am not sure why it has spread the way it did- almost into my body, but my plastic surgeon is willing to fix it for me.  Since I have met the deductible for the year it won’t cost us anything out of pocket.

This procedure will just bring all of the skin flush, I don’t think it will change the actual appearance of the scar (but I am hopeful).  The other thing is that I will be awake!  I was awake during my port removal – you may remember that my amazing friend Courtney had them play New Kids on the Block for me during the entire procedure.  I wonder if Dr. Stanwicks would be willing to do that for me too? 

I cannot begin to tell you all how much you mean to me.  From time to time I still receive get well cards, and prayer cards.  Sweet texts and private messages, they all mean more to me that you could possibly imagine.  This year I have met many new warriors, too many.  My heart both swells and breaks each time I am introduced to a new survivor.  I am thankful beyond words to know them, to be entrusted with their stories and friendships, but heartbroken that they will need to endure the beast of cancer.

Continue to hold us in your hearts.  Never forget to smile at strangers and hug the ones you love.

#fightlikeamommy

#itisstillmyfairytale

Remembering My Final Chemotherapy Infusion

It occurred to me yesterday morning that I had never posted the bulk of the pictures from my last chemotherapy infusion.  I have been so open and honest about my journey with cancer, but these pictures are different.  These pictures speak to my soul in a way that is difficult to put words to, even now it is hard to see through my tears to see the computer screen.

There is immense joy in these pictures.  Look at us laughing and smiling through tears of absolute joy.  I cherish the joy in all of our smiles, even when there are tears making our eyes sparkle. I made it through 17 chemotherapy infusions and five surgeries, I promise that I could not have done that without your help, without your love.

Cancer is hard.  I didn't have any tangible experience with Cancer until it was me going through it, it was like all of life's true struggles - you just kind of get thrown in.  There isn't a pause button, or time to stop and catch your breath.  From the moment of diagnosis there is one goal, to survive.   For me that drive was so strong, and re-enforced each and every time I looked at my babies.

They were so young when I was diagnosed, Elayna was 4 and Tommy was 7.  My biggest fear was (and is) that Cancer will steal me from them, that they wouldn't remember me.  I remember spending hours in the beginning of my journey with cancer trying to conjure up my first memories, the earliest ones to test myself and see if I could recall anything from their ages.  I found that my memories were all fairly scattered and blurry until about age 10.  That struck a terror in me that I never talked about, but that I am sure was apparent to anyone who was watching.  I did my best to fill our days with love, laughter and magical memories, just in case.

It was about halfway through my infusions that I got the notion that I wanted to dress up like a princess for my last treatment.  I mentioned the idea to my sweet friend Christine and immediately a plan flew into action.  It is pretty spectacular to have someone like Christine in your life.  She set a a series of events into motion we invited everyone to come celebrate dressed as a princess, or dragon slayer, or just as themselves to celebrate my victory.  My last chemotherapy treatment.

I remember explaining my idea to the nurses at the Virginia Cancer Institute, I can remember them smiling and saying that it was okay.  I don't think they had any idea just how big the celebration was going to get.

I am so very thankful to be here a year later writing this post to you.  I have poured over these pictures for the last two days remembering being cloaked in so much love and kindness.  I am so blessed to be counted as a survivor.  Thank you all for your love, for your friendship, for your words of encouragement, for your prayers, and most of all for your kindness towards my family.

Today was breathtaking, it was a spectacular anniversary of my last chemotherapy infusion. The kids finished the week at Vacation Bible School.  If you have been following our journey you may know that it always seems that VBS weaves its way into our lives in the most magical of ways.  This week Tommy and Elayna had to look for God Sightings.  God Sightings are when you see God in your life. My beautiful, brave little six year old stood before an entire congregation and told them my story.  I wasn't there, so I don't know what her words were - but I do know how proud her brother was of her for talking about it. He was beaming when he told me.

She made this to go on the display for all of the parishioners at church to see this week.  

Please continue to spread light and love in the world, be the change that you want to see. 

#fightlikeamommy

#itisstillmyfairytale

Special thanks to Rachel Kurtz for the amazing pictures, you truly captured the essence of the day!!