what I saw...

It was completely by accident I noticed.  A reader was going back through my posts as my site meter indicated and as they clicked, so did I.  Page by page we skimmed back through my blog, piecing together the days and weeks of the past couple of years.  

It was almost like the Facebook movies that are popping up all over our feeds- but a blogger movie instead.  Realizing its been almost a year exactly since I had stable cancer, and that I've been in almost perpetual treatment of some kind, really hit home. The weeks and months I've spent squirreled away in the back bedroom, too fatigued to move. The months of first Xeloda, then Tykerb and how they reordered the days of our life. 

It struck me, that while I am still recovering from surgery, the bonus is that I haven't started treatment outside of Herceptin right now.  My system is about as clear as it could be considering all its been through.

So what might I be able to resume?  

Rick was traveling for the day for the first time in months it felt like.  He was out of the house by 7 and Crosby and I were on our own.  

And here is where I'd love to wow you with how clever and cunning I was… but that isn't remotely what I found myself drawn to.

I decided to make dinner- from scratch.  Stroganoff with pasta, glazed carrots, and brownies for dessert. But first I had pans to clean and arrange.  And ingredients to scrounge for.  And as I moved through the kitchen, my eyes were wide open for the first time, to all that has gone undone.  Left behind.  Abandoned and hurriedly skimmed over with hazy eyes.  

Clearly, I've been in survival mode.

So I cooked- slowly-but steadily planning everything out.  I cleaned, sorted, organized.  Still making sure I didn't lift too much, or stoop too much, or overly tax myself.  

Somehow, I managed a full day out of bed.

It was late afternoon when Crosby started barking at something by the front door.  I saw nothing but snow for the longest time and then my eyes noticed movement.  I snuck up to the window with my cell phone and eked out one fuzzy image.  But I got it.

A Robin...

...a very fat and round Robin.  It sat there huddled against the ground for the longest time and then finally staggered up off its big "fat tire" of a belly, and managed a quick flight across the street where I lost sight of it.  

It was a frigid day in early February- temps well below zero.  How had this bird stayed alive?  Against the odds, somehow, that bird was surviving what seemed to be insurmountable odds.  

What did a "worm-eating" bird find to eat instead?  What about a fresh water source?  Most water around here would be frozen.  

I could only marvel and wonder.

And smile- it was officially my first sign of spring- and a huge boost of hope to boot.  

 Dinner was ready shortly after Nolan got home on the 430 pm bus.  

I could barely hold my head up I was so bone tired afterwards. But it was the best kind of tired to be.

I crawled into bed early while the boys were at church. I treated myself to one more brownie, then slept soundly long into the night. 

large tires… or in case you need a laugh...

These two have been my constant companions.  Friday night, they snuggled on Superman's side of the bed, not wanting to disturb me, but sensing it was where they were supposed to be.  

Just the night before Colton had come into my room wanting to talk about my surgery.  

"Did they find bad cells in your tummy they are taking out?"  

"No, no bad cells. We're taking out the part that helped grow you into who you are.  Since I have the two most perfect boys, I don't need those parts to grow more babies- you are it!" 

"Ah" he says.  "So do you have bad cells any other place?"

I try not to sigh too loudly, or pause too long.  He is so astute- he will interpret the subtlest nuances.  

"Well, I do have some in my lungs."

"Oh… so you do still have cancer."  

"I do."  

He nods his head solemnly.  

I've said enough.

He's heard way more than enough.  

I remember to thank God again, for the gift of coming home to be right where I am supposed to be.  

We both sleep peacefully late into the night. 

In case you need a laugh… 

Two things that helped me immensely Friday night.  The addition of ibuprofen in between my pain meds, and this Ice Bag.  The pain meds most definitely have an effect on me.

I have quite a lot of bloating and swelling around my midsection- you could argue I look 4 months pregnant or so.  

So it made complete sense when I was handed this ice bag at discharge time.  I quickly skimmed the label…

Ice Bag

Large/Tires.

YEP!  That was the perfect one for me!! 

I fell asleep with the large ice bag on my large tire and it helped ease the discomfort for hours.

post-surgical

Friday morning finds me pre-op, sitting in my bear paw suit that has a blower attached to it shooting warm air over me.  Dr. Cristina Tinguely has already come to see me and said momentarily we would begin.  Between my nurses getting me ready, the anesthesiologist, and my friend Suzanne who peeks her head in the room and wishes me well- I feel ready.

I have to say it felt like a "privilege" of sorts to get to do a surgery- because they think I am healthy enough to withstand it, and that will never grow old. 

Each time I meet a new doctor I tell them "I'm healthy with a side of cancer."  And here comes my word into full presence… I truly didn't feel like a cancer patient this day… I got to become just another surgical candidate and that felt good. 

The hardest part of the whole day was signing the paper that acknowledges I will be "sterile," after this procedure.  Staring down the word "sterile," caused me to pause, and yet the signs are all there that this chapter of my life is closing.  So I hastily sign away and throw thankfulness up for the gift of two healthy boys, and how much being a mother means to me.  

Yesterday just seemed to go as smoothly as it could possibly go.  I firmly believe it was all the prayers.  As they came to get me to take me to surgery, I felt little anxiety.  I walked as they asked and laid down on the surgical gurney as asked.  They started attaching and adhering monitors everywhere and then the Anesthesiologist gave me something to put me out.  He complimented me on how I was doing, and I managed my last words, "you have no idea how many people are praying over all of us today.  I'm just resting in that knowledge."  I saw lots of heads nodding in agreement, and I heard several people acknowledge that prayer helps in mighty ways.

After the procedure I was sent to the recovery room and I actually woke up almost right away.  I don't remember precisely what she had to say, but Dr. Tingeuly was standing by my bed talking to me for a bit.  I was groggy, and yet each time I opened my eyes, I was more alert at the same time.

Dr. Tinguely told Rick my uterus looked "big and boggy, and no wonder I had such cramping and bleeding."  She says we'll monitor the uterus closely in case something needs to be done in the future.  

I do so wish I could share a picture of her with you.  Maybe on my follow up visit?  She is cute, kind, smart, and my incisions were so neatly done.  

In no time it seemed, I was being moved to the last recovery room.  My friend Suzanne, was working there.  She got busy right away making me toast and getting me something to drink.  My blood pressure was running low, so I just sat in the recliner resting and they kept a watchful eye over me.  It took awhile to find the right amount of pain meds to squash most of it, but eventually they did.  Plus it was truly a comfort having Suzanne nearby. 

Here I am just hours after surgery.  I was pretty ashen, and yet I felt okay.  

The anesthesiologist came for one last visit.  He was in street clothes and announced he was taking his six year old son to the Monster Truck Jam that night.  He lit up when he talked about his kids, and it was a great way to conclude my stay.

With some help, I shuffled off to the dressing room and put my own street clothes back on.  Superman who hadn't left my side, drove up and helped me inside and then we drove off into the Friday evening sunset.  

So thankful for your prayers- I hope you know what a difference they make in my life.  Blessings and love to you all. 

surgery day

The garbage truck rumbles in the distance.  Colton's alarm goes off at 6 am as he has school patrol today.  We're supposed to wake to a - 17 degree temperature, or as they called it on the news, "a normal cold day, for January." Yes, only in Fargo-Moorhead is -17 considered just another day.

All these normal things go off around me, but it is anything but a normal day for me.

In just a little over two hours from now I will be heading over to Sanford for my surgery.  Medically speaking, I'll be having a salpingectomy and oophorectomy.  Or as more commonly known, I'm having my tubes and ovaries out. 

Looking back, I realize, I never shared about the day I met Dr. Christina Tinguely.  I had her husband once, Dr. Matthew Tinguely as an oncologist who was on call in the ER.  He was the first one to admit me and he stuck with me all night long running tests to be sure the pressure in my chest wasn't anything too serious.

I know after meeting Christina Tinguely she said to me right away "Oh Amit, referred you to me.  I liked her right away.

She was calm and confident.  Even though she already had two surgeries planned for this day, she went ahead and scheduled me in as well, not wanting me to wait any longer.

So if all goes well, little to no adhesions are found, than I should be able to have a successful laprascopic procedure.  However, if she goes in and finds too many adhesions, she would have to change her course and go with a midline incision and then I would have to stay in the hospital for a couple of days.

I'm missing my early morning coffee.  I have no make up to do, or clothes to coordinate- loose and comfortable is in order for the day.

But its been an uncomfortable week.  The bleeding profuse.  The cramping painful.  This feels like a necessary surgery.  While I am not prepared for instant menopause with no replacement hormones on the agenda… I wouldn't have been able to go on for long in my current condition. 

A few weeks of recovery and then we will begin a new drug to help stop my cancer cells from growing and spreading. 

Jesus Calling, January 31

I am your strength and shield.  I plan out each day and have it ready for you, long before you arise from bed.  I also provide the strength you need for each step of the way… My Presence watches over you continually, protecting you from both known and unknown dangers...I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go."  

~All shall be well~ 

Will be back as soon as I can to update everyone.  Thankful for your prayers! 

Rooster @ Roseau…

Colton's hair has always had a cowlick in back that makes the back of his head look like a mini-Dennis the Menace.  Or maybe Alfalfa from The Little Rascals.  He takes great pleasure in showering before bed and waking up to see how "high" his rooster tail is for the day.

I'd say he earned his nickname from his coach honestly.  Rooster it is.  

This mom delighted in all his Rooster ways this weekend in Roseau, MN which is merely miles away from the Canadian border.  Its legendary when it comes to its hockey history and continues to draw crowds to its tournaments every weekend.  

Friday morning we loaded up the bus and arrived in Roseau about 3 hours later, just in time to get our boys ready for their first game that night against Lake of the Woods. We played in the North rink which has the same reputation as our own North rink- much colder than the South rink.  

What it is about riding the bus and getting off to go and play hockey, and then you can't find your legs? Our boys were there in spirit, but their feet and minds had clearly been "frozen" somewhere along the way.  We lost our first game.

Day 2 we awoke to sunshine and cold with the promise of snow arriving later in the evening. 

This time we got to play on the South side and boy did that bring us some luck.  Luke, the other goalie,  got to be in net and our boys came from a deficit all the way back to a tie game.  But instead of playing overtime, we went straight to a shootout! I felt so much for Tara, the mother of Luke. Its so hard to see your child feel the pressure of making sure no goals get past them in a 1 on 1 situation.  

But Luke, The Wall, did just that.  And our forwards buried one more puck on the other side than the other team did on our side, so we won in the shootout, over Hermantown, who was rumored to be a ranked team.  Those wins always feel extra good. 

"The barn."  Full of hockey history and nostalgia. 

That afternoon it was Colton's turn to be back in the net.  I shuddered as we got down by two goals almost right away.  We were going to have to play "come from behind" hockey again and that is so nerve wracking to watch.  But come from behind we did, and with seconds left in the second period we were all tied up.  

Although I wasn't quite fast enough to capture it, when we finally went up 3 -2, Colton celebrated by doing a snow angel out on the ice.  Oh my stars, that kid, so cracks me up.  

And this little sweet one?  Watches Colton's every move.  So when he was down on the ice doing his angel?  She laid right down and did her own version in the stands- the crowd loved every second of it.  Her little eyes, seek out Colton, and light up every time she sees him.  Its almost too cute for words.   

After 2 big wins, an afternoon spaghetti feed at the Legion, and entertainment provided by the "Hanson Brothers," we were off for some fun with bowling.

Colton's coach entered his name as "Rooster," and the kid was literally beaming.  He bowled, danced and sang with the music and clearly had a wonderful time.  It was a pure joy to get to see him so thoroughly enjoying himself.

And I got to hang out with so many fun people.  This is my friend and neighbor, Anne, and I love that we have our boys on the same team this year.  Anne watches out for me always and is a true angel - as were so many other people this weekend.  Whether they helped carry in our bags, or helped get food, or encouraged Colton, or simply asked if I needed anything, it was all so deeply appreciated by Colton and I.  We are extremely grateful for the love and support we felt and continue to feel by our hockey family.

Sunday morning, after out final game and a bummer of a loss, we hit the road knowing we were about to run into blizzard conditions.  We had no idea how far we would make it before maybe having to stop and find a place to stay, but we were determined to head out.

This was our view most of the way back.  White.  Everywhere you look, the wind simply whipped the fallen snow into a frenzy of wispy, whirling, white, that clouded our vision and ability to see the sides of the roads.  

This was my view- and its not because the bus windows were dirty.  It was simply that white outside.

While every highway around us was officially closed, somehow we managed to get onto Highway 10 without running into a barrier of any kind.  We could actually see the road and the sun was eerily shining through all the haze and fog of the snow.  Had we been in a car or truck, I don't know that we could have made it through.  But the bus, and our driver, were unstoppable and we made it through a harrowing ride home safely.  

Colton and I wrapped in warm blankets and hunkered down in bed to watch tv and rest.  Our heat was turned down to 62, as there was a gas-line explosion in Canada that affected the supply of gas to our area.  We all need to conserve until they can get the supply back up to meet demand.  Its unfortunate the weather is so cold- well below zero- but we are bundling up as much as possible.  

Mom seemed to have a good weekend.  I talked to her several times throughout.  She even managed to figure out how to go off the third floor , and go down the elevator to the main floor.  She got her mail, and walked around a bit.  She also loved having her sisters come visit, and one of my cousins.  She loves the company and the distraction to the monotony she feels.  I could hear in her voice that some energy has returned, and maybe even some strength.

Will look forward to visiting her soon.  

Infusion, Dr. P, tomorrow, surgery still planned for Friday.  

gratitude amidst the mess… and the gift from our hockey family...

For some reason the day treatment unit seemed quiet yesterday.  There were very few people in the rooms surrounding mom, few sitting in the waiting rooms, and a very calm environment throughout the day.  

Mom seemed eager to get on with the procedure and let them try not once, not twice, but three times to hit a vein for her iv.  It was shortly before 9 when she was all ready to go back to the OR.  I sat in the MRI waiting room, chatting with a friend waiting for her doctor's appointment.  It was a lovely distraction.

Merely 45 minutes later, I was paged to the back room to wait for Dr. Teigen.  All the consult rooms were full so I ended up in the MRI sedation bay again, giggling at the thought of all the time I've spent there.  What better place to hear how mom's procedure went?

Dr. Teigen strode into the room and got right down to it.  "The procedure went well, your mom is doing fine.  She will be in recovery the next hour or so, upstairs.  It was a bad fracture, but I got it all.  I would bet, based on her history now, with her bones as soft as they are, she has at least a 50 percent chance of the next vertebrae down, breaking as well.  But then we'll just fix that one too.  

He is confident, without sounding arrogant, and I appreciate his insight and experience.  

The tech's tell me now would be a good time to get something to eat.  So I go off to the cafeteria and grab a big salad.  

I finish early and wander over to the main entrance.  As I pass by the long hallway joining the clinic with the hospital, I see a man gazing out the window at the flame I had taken a picture of just last week.  His whole body is turned away from the hall, and as I approach, I notice its shaking.  I can see from a sideways view, the man is quietly crying, his body racked with sobs attacking in waves.  He is curled in a ball, his feet tucked up underneath him.  

I'm choked with my own tears, and yet it doesn't seem right to intrude on his moment.  I simply walk on, uttering a quick prayer, for his sorrow, and the idea that my own loved one is fine today.  I feel God's presence and my fragile heart takes strength from the surge of gratitude I feel.

Moments later I am back in my mom's room and she is snoring away, loudly.  I have to laugh as I realize, clearly she is comfortable when she can sleep so deeply, oblivious to all going on around her.

I sit silently, waiting for her to rouse herself.  Its so quiet, very few patients near her again.  So its no surprise when a gentleman approaches our nurse, Vickie, with a question.  

He is mild mannered.  Soft spoken.  Something about his delivery has me wondering.  He explains that his wife had been in a room down the hall earlier in the day.  The doctor had brought them a picture, and they had forgotten it.  His wife desperately wanted to see it now.  Could they look in the room or would it have been placed somewhere?  Our nurse offers to help, but explains the room has been cleaned and nothing is left in there.  And where is his wife?

And then he says the words that brings the whole experience to new life.  She was admitted after the D&C and the picture of the inside of her belly before the procedure would bring such comfort.

Sweet Jesus.  As my mother lays snoring, I am reminded again, that others have had life-changing days today.  And while I've been through hard, and exhausting and challenging, my mother is doing fine today.  I'm overflowing with gratitude.  This was the perspective I needed, and it seems I got the message loud and clear.

Mom wakes eventually, sits up, walks with help to the bathroom, eats a late lunch, and gets dressed.  Just like that, she is ready to go, late in the afternoon.  I get her out to her ride back to Bethany, hug her and know she is in good hands.  

I come home for the night.  Feeling more convinced I would be able to go to Roseau with Colton.  I curl up in bed, exhausted and much like mom, I manage to sleep soundly while the phone rings, and visitors come and the doorbell rings and the dog barks.  

I awaken as Colton tosses me an envelope.  I groggily open it and find this beautifully handwritten note inside:

Tears stream.  All the tension, all the worry, everything, melts away.  Our hockey family has rescued us yet again.  We feel so fortunate to be surrounded by so many who care about us.

THANK YOU to our PEEWEE B FAMILY!  Words can barely express the gratitude we feel for such a generous and extremely thoughtful gesture.  You've touched us immensely and we couldn't be more proud to part of such a great group of people! 

I've just talked to mom.  She is groggy, but feeling okay.  She plans on hanging out in her chair, resting.  Colton and I are packing and Grandpa Jim just brought us snacks, and will stay with the dog.  

Thank you all for your prayers that continue to nourish and lift us so.  

"… the heart to conquer it…"

“Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers but to be fearless in facing them. Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain, but for the heart to conquer it. Let me not look for allies in life's battlefield but to my own strength. Let me not cave in.”   Rabindranath Tagore quote

The phone woke me early out of a sound sleep.  Due to another blizzard, there would be no school yesterday.  I was supposed to go with mom to her follow-up doctor's appointment, but would be unable to do so.

So I busied myself with getting the ornaments off the Christmas tree.  I spent the afternoon writing thank you notes- very belated thank you's.  But I finally felt I was back in the groove of a "normal" day.

Until the next phone call from my mom.  After she explained the kind of pain she was still experiencing, Dr. Teigen had another MRI done.

Mom has another compression fracture, right below the one he fixed last week.

He determined it would be in her best interest to have another vertebroplasty right away- today.

Our plans for the next few days started to crumble on the spot.

Colton and I are scheduled to go out of town on Friday for three days, on a bus up to Roseau.

Rick and Nolan need to go to a tournament for the weekend too.

We had someone coming to take care of the dog.

But how?  And who?  And oh boy… my poor mom.

Suddenly I feel like "that family."  One drama after another and we can't seem to dig ourselves out in a reasonable fashion.

I'm off the hospital to spend the day with mom.

I'm clinging to that which I cannot see, cannot know, cannot feel, resting in Him, with the belief, that all shall be well.