Monday, April 16, 2007
If you can't say something nice...
you're probably living my life right now.
Seriously.
See, my family and made the mistake last week of letting down our gaurd and letting go a little. We all were so sure that Mom, was "done", that she just had to go back last week for more labs, followed by regular appointments/scans.
We were wrong. My embattled body wasn't fighting off the effects of the chemo, and Wednesday I had a harried run back to Moffit in terrible traffic, followed by and ambulance transfer to another affilliated hosptial (Moffitt was full, evidently, EVERYONE decided to have issued the week after Easter).
It's been six days. Six. That's longer than a chemo round. Without the prep time for me or the family. Talk about control issues. I can wait in the hosptial for my body to behave or go home and chance dying within eight hours.
Thankfully, once again the family has circled the wagons, both practically and in prayer. And people are praying everywhere.
But it's a reminder not to let down our gaurd, to persist in righteousness, and to keep our eyes on the prize in all things, not just what has become "Sarcoma Watch 06/07!"
God willing (no fevers), I get to go home tomorrow. It will be sweet, but we all will be wiser and warier.
Press on towards the goal today...and have a blessed Monday.
Seriously.
See, my family and made the mistake last week of letting down our gaurd and letting go a little. We all were so sure that Mom, was "done", that she just had to go back last week for more labs, followed by regular appointments/scans.
We were wrong. My embattled body wasn't fighting off the effects of the chemo, and Wednesday I had a harried run back to Moffit in terrible traffic, followed by and ambulance transfer to another affilliated hosptial (Moffitt was full, evidently, EVERYONE decided to have issued the week after Easter).
It's been six days. Six. That's longer than a chemo round. Without the prep time for me or the family. Talk about control issues. I can wait in the hosptial for my body to behave or go home and chance dying within eight hours.
Thankfully, once again the family has circled the wagons, both practically and in prayer. And people are praying everywhere.
But it's a reminder not to let down our gaurd, to persist in righteousness, and to keep our eyes on the prize in all things, not just what has become "Sarcoma Watch 06/07!"
God willing (no fevers), I get to go home tomorrow. It will be sweet, but we all will be wiser and warier.
Press on towards the goal today...and have a blessed Monday.
Labels: Cancer, Reflections
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Having a bad hair day?
I've been sent this by two friends now. With round four of chemo looming, it's a good excuse to smile. Hope you smile, too!
Attitude
There once was a woman who woke up one morning,looked in the mirror,and noticed she had only three hairs on her head.Well," she said, "I think I'll braid my hair today?"So she did and she had a wonderful day.
The next day she woke up,looked in the mirror and saw that she had only two hairs on her head."H-M-M," she said,"I think I'll part my hair down the middle today?"So she did and she had a grand day.
The next day she woke up,looked in the mirror and noticed that she had only one hair on her head."Well," she said,"today I'm going to wear my hair in a pony tail."So she did and she had a fun, fun day.
The next day she woke up,looked in the mirror and noticed that there wasn't a single hair on her head."YEA!" she exclaimed,"I don't have to fix my hair today!"
Attitude is everything.
Be kinder than necessary,for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.
Love generously,Care deeply,Speak kindly.
Leave the rest to God
Labels: Cancer
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
The oddest thing about being in a cancer center is that questions that would be considered "rude" on the "outside" are simply seen as normal here. I've joked on more than one occasion that every member of the Moffitt staff knows exactly how old I am, simply because I'm aked my date of birth every time an appointment is made, a procedure is performed, or a new medicine is hung or administered.
It's also not unusual for another patient to bluntly ask "what do YOU have?". Although synovial sarcoma of an internal organ is often hard to explain, I rarely mind. People want to share here, and any comfort I can provide through listening and sharing of my experiences is a welcome change from the constant self-focus of being "stuck" in the hospital.
Being in a life-threatening situation seems to strip people of social barriers. People say "I love you" more and they say the things that need to be said. You find out which friends and family are really "there" and who simply would say that they're there for you.
Maybe we all need a little cancer in our lives. Or maybe we just need to stop waiting for the crisis to come, to stop worrying about being rude and start wondering what another person's story is and how much they need to tell it.
It's also not unusual for another patient to bluntly ask "what do YOU have?". Although synovial sarcoma of an internal organ is often hard to explain, I rarely mind. People want to share here, and any comfort I can provide through listening and sharing of my experiences is a welcome change from the constant self-focus of being "stuck" in the hospital.
Being in a life-threatening situation seems to strip people of social barriers. People say "I love you" more and they say the things that need to be said. You find out which friends and family are really "there" and who simply would say that they're there for you.
Maybe we all need a little cancer in our lives. Or maybe we just need to stop waiting for the crisis to come, to stop worrying about being rude and start wondering what another person's story is and how much they need to tell it.
Labels: Cancer, chemotherapy
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Back to the land of the living.
To say the second round of chemo was fun or smooth would be a lie. Praise God, I didn't end up in the ICU with neutropenia (LOW white blood cells--that happened round one in California), but I did end up having to cut my course short due to neurotoxcicity. Evidently my brain threw a great party (hallucinatinons about putting Christmas presents away--a control freak even from my hospital bed!, a seizure-like episode that resulted in a fall and knee injury, and six doses of a really nasty anti-toxin that turns the majority of one's body fluids blue--if you're young enough, insert the theme to the "Smurfs" here). The mercy to me is that I don't remember any of it. My poor mom, on the other hand, thank God she was bedsitting me that night and that the doctor "just happened" to walk in during my party--he was able to witness my behavior and get help that much faster. I also had the usual fun of nausea, exhaustion, chemo brain and extreme blurred vision that prevents doing much of all except lying in bed (not one of my favorite pastimes).
Despite all this, I still can't say enough about Moffitt. What a place of compassion and professional excellence. I'm ready to take my clinical pharmacist home with me. My care was exceptional.
Enough about the cancer. My kids and husband made it to Florida and we are enjoying time together before dh starts his new job on Monday. I'm praying his eyes continue to light up when he speaks of a new work environment, even with all of the challenges ahead.
We were sneaking in an early morning pillow talk this morning. While we see God's hands EVERYWHERE in all of what we are going through--getting into specialists in record time, being able to bless friends with much needed furniture, selling a car to friends on the DAY their second car gives up the ghost--the move and treatment has been full of trials as well. I even got a beautiful note and gift from a cousin I haven't seen in ten years that moved me to tears.
However, an expected layoff (with thirteen weeks of severance pay) didn't come through with the other company, and my husband resignation also cancelled out a bonus that he had been working on for the better part of three years. We haven't had a nibble on our house in Arizona, and despite leaving our house in amazing condition; we're moving into a house that needs significant TLC. Oh, did I mention that my husband's driver's license was misplaced in the flight from Phoenix to Tampa? Praise God he has a passport.
Part of me wants a BIG miracle. The call from the doctors saying they made a mistake and that I really don't have to drag myself and my family through four more rounds of chemotherapy. The financial windfall that will make the down payment on the van we could use so much, or the TV that died on the moving truck before it even got loaded, the washer and dryer upgrade, a nicer refrigerator for my lovely new (and soon to be painted!) kitchen. I want the realtor to call TODAY with the offer on the house in Phoenix that will relieve my husband of the burden of paying two mortgages right now. For my hair to miraculously grow back overnight, for me not to have to sport my "Michael Jackson" protective mask at Target and put up with looks from deeply sympathetic to avoidingly horrified.
Then it hits me. Well, not so much hits me, but the still, small voice whispers, "My grace is sufficent for you". And when it all comes down (and it has), the miracle is Christ in me. It's eternal life. It's not having to do all of this bitter and terrified. Its knowing that me, and most of the people in my life have the choice to never be the same again through all of this. It's my friends making comments about character traits that I certainly can't see in myself (extending grace to others, Laurie?) but I know only God can be sanctifying me through.
What's next, you may ask? If you're still reading the book, it's a round of test appointments Tuesday, a new port placement (the double, cadillac-model) the following Tuesday, hopefully the boxes and furniture arrive on the 18th. Chemo starts again most likely on the 20th, and we're praying for some new brilliant protocol to try that wont' make things quite so hairy. Pray for wisdom for my sweet doctor--there's just not much research into the whole soft-cell sarcoma of an internal organ thing for anyone to work with. I am research :-).
The adventure continues. Today I choose to embrace my miracle. How about you?
Despite all this, I still can't say enough about Moffitt. What a place of compassion and professional excellence. I'm ready to take my clinical pharmacist home with me. My care was exceptional.
Enough about the cancer. My kids and husband made it to Florida and we are enjoying time together before dh starts his new job on Monday. I'm praying his eyes continue to light up when he speaks of a new work environment, even with all of the challenges ahead.
We were sneaking in an early morning pillow talk this morning. While we see God's hands EVERYWHERE in all of what we are going through--getting into specialists in record time, being able to bless friends with much needed furniture, selling a car to friends on the DAY their second car gives up the ghost--the move and treatment has been full of trials as well. I even got a beautiful note and gift from a cousin I haven't seen in ten years that moved me to tears.
However, an expected layoff (with thirteen weeks of severance pay) didn't come through with the other company, and my husband resignation also cancelled out a bonus that he had been working on for the better part of three years. We haven't had a nibble on our house in Arizona, and despite leaving our house in amazing condition; we're moving into a house that needs significant TLC. Oh, did I mention that my husband's driver's license was misplaced in the flight from Phoenix to Tampa? Praise God he has a passport.
Part of me wants a BIG miracle. The call from the doctors saying they made a mistake and that I really don't have to drag myself and my family through four more rounds of chemotherapy. The financial windfall that will make the down payment on the van we could use so much, or the TV that died on the moving truck before it even got loaded, the washer and dryer upgrade, a nicer refrigerator for my lovely new (and soon to be painted!) kitchen. I want the realtor to call TODAY with the offer on the house in Phoenix that will relieve my husband of the burden of paying two mortgages right now. For my hair to miraculously grow back overnight, for me not to have to sport my "Michael Jackson" protective mask at Target and put up with looks from deeply sympathetic to avoidingly horrified.
Then it hits me. Well, not so much hits me, but the still, small voice whispers, "My grace is sufficent for you". And when it all comes down (and it has), the miracle is Christ in me. It's eternal life. It's not having to do all of this bitter and terrified. Its knowing that me, and most of the people in my life have the choice to never be the same again through all of this. It's my friends making comments about character traits that I certainly can't see in myself (extending grace to others, Laurie?) but I know only God can be sanctifying me through.
What's next, you may ask? If you're still reading the book, it's a round of test appointments Tuesday, a new port placement (the double, cadillac-model) the following Tuesday, hopefully the boxes and furniture arrive on the 18th. Chemo starts again most likely on the 20th, and we're praying for some new brilliant protocol to try that wont' make things quite so hairy. Pray for wisdom for my sweet doctor--there's just not much research into the whole soft-cell sarcoma of an internal organ thing for anyone to work with. I am research :-).
The adventure continues. Today I choose to embrace my miracle. How about you?
Labels: Cancer, Reflections
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