July 31

Q: How do you know when you've spent altogether too much time in your pajamas?

A: I will show you.

Behold, I have worn a hole into my nightgown:

Mind you, it's a small hole, but it's a hole nonetheless.

In my defense, these pajamas were a gift from my cousins at the time of my first surgery (in June 2010), and they've seen more than the usual amount of wear and tear during the recovery of the three surgeries which have followed.

July 30

Two quotes I read on Facebook this morning, that I've been thinking about all day:

“When you surrender and stop resisting and stop trying to change that which you can’t change, but be in the moment, be fully open to the blessings you’ve already received and those that are yet to come and stand in that space of gratitude … and look at where you are and how far you’ve come and what you’ve accomplished - when you can claim THAT and SEE that, the literal vibration of your life will change.”

- Oprah Winfrey
 
"When we are able to be thankful for what we have…truly thankful, not just words we recite but a feeling of thanks from within, our world outlook changes."
 
- Unknown
 
You know how much I love a good, long run-on sentence, and Oprah does not disappoint. Also, if you know me at all (or even if you don't know me at all, but have read the last five posts here), you know how much BOTH of these quotes tell the story of my life right now.
 
Here's the thing, people: Cancer is changing me. It has been, all along, but it has picked up the pace. I have more love in my heart - and in my life, all around me - than I ever would have thought possible. (And I am a girl who has always had a lot of love going on.) I am more accepting, more patient, more loving and generally more at peace than I ever have been. I am becoming very Zen, which is so very curious to me, as I have always been more than a little bit of a control freak and a Nervous Nelly.
 
The last several months have been difficult, but it has been worth it. My surgical wounds have healed. My swelling is almost gone. I am alive, in every sense of the word. I am grateful. The vibration of my life is changing, and that is a fascinating thing to see and feel.

July 28

I'm sitting here in my recliner, listening to sheets of rain come down outside my window and... I'm, once again, struggling to breathe.

Honestly, monsoon season is KILLING me!

Well... okay, that was a strong word. It isn't actually killing me, but it sure has complicated my ability to breathe like a normal person. A 5 hour surgery + a respiratory infection + heavy, moist air = me, taking short and shallow breaths just to keep my head above water.

I tell you, sometimes I listen to myself breathing and think "I sound just like that black lab puppy that lives downstairs, just panting away."

My dumb lungs.

On the upside, as I've sat here, in the desert - inside my apartment with all windows shut tight as a drum, because by now I've learned that rain really does make a different in how well I breathe - I've been super, duper glad that I'm not at home this weekend. The higher elevation, plus the fact that it's been stormy and raining there all weekend... I tell you, there is a Grand Design. Even without the complications of the respiratory infection, my lungs have been having a tough time with the humidity. I cannot even imagine how hard it would have been to breathe up there. Isn't it great that I got sick (and stuck) here?

I tell you - even as I struggle to breathe - things happen (or don't happen) for a reason. I love my life!

The End.

July 27 - Afternoon

The verdict is in:

Ear Infection and
Upper Respiratory Infection

Who's glad she was able to see her doctor today? Ding, ding, ding! ... Me.

No wonder I'm wheezing when I breathe. And I'm SO lucky that I was able to get in. I called the doctor right after typing my last post, and they'd just had a cancellation for an appointment - the only opening they had all day.

Miracles happen, people. They really do.

I say this as a woman with an upper respiratory infection that very well could have turned into pneumonia over the weekend without an antibiotic. (Did you know that pneumonia is one of the most common illnesses that people come down with when they don't have a spleen? I did, because they vaccinated me. And yet, here I am, on the verge of pneumonia (per the doc)... but not quite there.)

Halle-freakin-lujah, I'm grateful for modern medicine. (By which I mean: cough syrup with codeine. No more coughing, lots more sleeping.)

July 27

It turns out that my lack of nausea and other stomach-related issues yesterday were NOT a fluke. Hallelujah! I am still gagging every time I try to swallow a pill (every time - yesterday I told Mom that I thought maybe I should find myself a hypnotist to see if they could make that instant reflex go away, and I wasn't kidding), but I haven't actually thrown up in a week now and I haven't felt like I was going to for 36 hours.

It's like a Christmas (in July) miracle!

But I'm still not going to be going home today, even though my sweet father drove down last night, so he could serve as my taxi driver, if I did end up feeling well enough to go. (How sweet is he? I love him!)

It seems that I've traded my stomach issues for an ear ache and a sore throat. The sore/itchy ear started yesterday morning, and by last night, my right tonsil was swollen and sore. (Yay for not having a spleen and/or immune system!)

So, instead of packing for a weekend at home, this morning I am making a phone call to my primary care doctor to see if she can fit me in today. If this is something that needs antibiotics, I don't want to go through the weekend without them.

And the amazing thing is, I'm totally at peace with all of this. I'd wanted so desperately to go home. I prayed so fervently for my stomach issues to go away - and they did. And then something else came up. Stuff just happens sometimes, and what I've learned over the past several months is that if it's too hard to make something happen - be it a lunch date with a casual friend, a relationship with anyone who's not Nathan Fillion (just cracked myself up), or a trip out of town - there's a reason that it's not working out and I should just let it go.

I realized, while talking to my girl Genevra last night, that I had let this trip go. Too many obstacles were in my way, and my health is far more important to me than a trip home. (Even though I would DIE for a taco from Eva's right about now.)

I learned an important lesson this week. (Again. Why I keep having to re-learn this is beyond me, but hopefully, this time it will stick.) The Lord is in charge, and I will be given what I need. I may not always be given what I want (in this case, strength and health to make a trip home), but I will always be given what I need (I needed my stomach issues to be gone, and they are). Time and again, He has given me what I need, whether it be through direct answers to my own prayers, or through one of many, many people in my life who love me. This week, He relieved my nausea. I know it sounds like a small thing, but to me it was signal. Also this week, He has given me peace with spending a weekend in Mesa when I'd wanted to be home. (This is not one, but two, Christmas miracles in my book, and I'm incredibly grateful for both of them.)

July 26

I woke up this morning feeling better. Both emotionally and physically. (Read: I don't feel like I'm going to puke, for the first time in over a week.) Of course, I haven't really eaten anything yet... so it could be a fluke, but I'm hoping that it's an answer to prayer and I really won't have the stomach issues today that I've had for the last week.

Wish me luck! ... If I can make it through today without wanting to throw up (or having major poop issues), I think I'll try to go home tomorrow.

Here's hoping (I mean, really, really) hoping this isn't a fluke...

July 25 - Late

My 20 year high school reunion is this weekend. ... And I really want to be there, but I don't know if I'll be able to go.

I hate the cancer. I hate it.

*FYI: I also hate recovering from surgery. And this one's been a beast.

See, the thing is... even though I'm a lot better than I have been, I am not well. I am so much stronger than I was even a week ago, but I don't know if I have it in me to make the 3 hour trip home. And I hate that.

I hate that I am nauseated almost all of the time. I hate that my bowels don't know if they're coming or going. I hate that I'm so tired that I have to take at least one (4-5 hour) nap a day. I hate that I can't stand up straight or walk like a normal person or laugh out loud.

Just for a weekend, I want my life to be normal. I want to be able to see friends from high school, some of whom I haven't seen in ten years. I want to be able to talk with them and laugh with them. I want to be able to hug people without fear of someone touching my back or side in the wrong place and hurting me. I want to be in Taylor, to smell the grass and the corn fields and the summer rain. I want to sleep in my old room with the window open. I want to hear the sounds of the ball park, and know everyone I see when I go "in to town". ... I want to go home.

There are so many things that I want, and right now - tonight - all of them feel out of reach.

Tomorrow, I promise, I'll go back to my usual upbeat and positive self. But right now, I am sitting in my recliner, tears streaming down my face, and I am thinking that it is high time that I am good and honest about how hard this all is sometimes. Too many people think I'm strong all the time, and that I'm handling this all incredibly well. Neither of those statements could possibly be true. No one is strong all of the time, and there are some things that are more difficult than others to deal with. Most of the time, I can be strong and I can juggle my health against what I want/need to do in my life. But some of the time, I can't. Some of the time, it's too much, and all I can do is sit and cry and wish for a slightly different life with significantly better health.

There are a lot of blessings that my poor health has brought me. I have clarity now that I didn't have three years ago, and in a lot of ways my life is richer now that it was before, but on nights like tonight - when I am overwhelmed by how poorly I feel and the realization that there is something that I want to do, but may not be able to do, stares me right in the face - I can't help but hate the cancer. Fiercely.

July 25 - Christmas in July

Merry Christmas!!!

(in July)

Many, many moons ago, I lived with my cousin Julie (and our friend Elise, who we called Weez ... if you'd ever heard her laugh, you'd know where the nickname came from) and we would celebrate Christmas in July. Every year, we'd decorate our apartment. Put up a tree, throw garland around the place, make fudge and sugar cookies, watch holiday-themed movies... you get the picture. Every year. We'd have a Christmas party and invite our friends and family. One year we assigned our Cousin (with a capital C) Greg to read from Luke. Another year, I made both homemade eggnog and peppermint ice cream and we had so many friends/family come to the party that it had to go out onto the lawn. The year we lived in the blue house, we had a standing invitation to anyone who knew us to come over on Friday night to watch a Christmas movie with us. We'd publicize the week before what we'd be watching (Holiday Inn, White Christmas, It's a Wonderful Life) and anyone who wanted to come over for sugar cookies and a bit of holiday cheer was welcome.

Our house was a party. Who's kidding who? ... We were a party!

And one of the serious perks of living in Utah was the celebration of Pioneer Day on the 24th. Pioneer Day is a state holiday in Utah, so I'd be off work that day (giving us more time to bake and prepare - Julie was a teacher, so she was off all summer, anyway). ... Also, Pioneer Day was one of the two times a year that fireworks were legal. For the day of, prior to and after the holiday, fireworks were legal. Julie and I used to "carol" with sparklers. Up and down the halls of every complex in our ward, we'd go. One of us would light the sparklers while the other knocked on the door, so we'd be perfectly poised, sparklers in hand, ready to get out one quick verse of "We wish you a Merry Christmas (in July)" before the sparklers burned out. We had it timed perfectly, the singing would end right when the sparkler burned out.

Christmas in July was a magical thing. It's amazing, how easy it is to feel the spirit of Christmas as soon as you start to decorate/bake/watch movies/sing holiday songs. We had a whole lot of fun in those years, and we made a whole lot of memories. Not a July 25th goes by that I don't remember sparklers, peppermint ice cream, sugar cookies, my grammy's jingle bell earrings, and the BYU 3rd Ward. Christmas is too fun to only have it once a year...

And so I say to you, my internet friends... Merry Christmas (in July), and may the rest of your year be glorious and bright!

July 25

I have the coolest and most awesome friends on the planet. (As you're reading this, friend of mine, I'm sure you are nodding your head and thinking to yourself, "Why, yes. Yes, I am the most awesome friend on the planet." And you deserve to be thinking that, because you are.)

I mean, I have people calling, emailing, texting, Facebooking me every day. ... Not the same people every day. That would be excessive. And border-line stalker-ish. But someone, or multiple people, contact me ever day to tell me that I am loved, that I am strong enough to do this really hard thing, that I am Awesome, etc.

I have friends who bring over eggs (thanks, Edholms!) because they know I prefer fresh eggs to store-bought. I have friends who run over hummus (thanks, Lizzie!) because they find out that I'm having a craving. I have friends who drive me to and from the doctor (thanks, Whit and Cassidy!). I have friends who cut up a whole watermelon every week for me, so I can have it for my bedtime snack every night (thanks, Jo!).

I tell you... I have the most awesome friends. And I'm going to stop naming names of the people in my neighborhood who've helped me or brought me prizes, because I'm sure to forget someone, and that would be no good at all.

Instead, I'll move on to the prizes that I've received in the mail over the last week. I tell you what, it's hard for me to open my mail. Too many envelopes have information I don't want (bills... you are my nemesis), so I find myself putting off opening the mail. It just sits. For days. Almost for a week sometimes. (Note to anyone who ever sends baked goods: label your box that it needs to be opened ASAP, otherwise it's apt to sit in the apartment office - and then on my counter - for 7-10 days before I get around to it.)

Well, I recently summoned up the courage to open everything that had been sitting, and would you look at the haul I got...

From Genevra, her favorite laxative. I love her, for about a bazillion reasons, not the least of which is that she knows how important the ability to poo is for me right now. So, she sent me what works best for her. Best. Friend. Ever.

And Mich is at it again. I do loooooove her and her Dollar Store packages! This is a (small) section of a super hero fold-out pop rocks candy pack that she somehow found in a $1 bin. As you may recall, Mich loves to add commentary to any boyfriends/super heroes that she sends my way. Hulk has a conversation bubble with three, Hulk-like, words: "HULK SMASH CANCER". ... Ha! I do love me some Hulk! (He was my favorite in the recent Avengers movie, it is true.) I also love me some Mich.

Would you like to see what else she sent me? That's right, an orange safety vest. For my walks. ... Like the bright red walker isn't warning enough that there's a person/obstacle moving verrrrry slowly across the road, now I have this fluorescent orange vest to wear on outings as well! Mich is so thoughtful. I love her. Best. Friend. Ever.

And would you check this out?! This came in an unmarked envelope with a Mesa address. I was nervous as all get-out to open it, because there wasn't a name on the return address. Hello, Jester'Z sent me a get well card! How in the world they know who I am, or that I had surgery (or where I live, now that I think about it...) is beyond me, but how GREAT are they to send me not only a card, but two free passes?!

Reason #1762 that I will tout Jester'Z as the best entertainment in town until the day I die. I love them! Best. Improv. Comedy. Club. Ever.

And would you look at these? My new internet friend Tracy sent me enlarged prints of the following two pictures that he took with his very own camera.

He'd posted these on Facebook, and when I commented on both of them that I thought they were awesome (seriously, would you look at all the color?!), he enlarged prints and sent them my way. That he took the time to contact a mutual friend in order to get my mailing address, to send me something that he knew I had liked (literally) was amazing to me. How kind. How thoughtful. ... How totally unexpected. Best. New. Internet. Friend. Ever.

And.... Brea. Brea came over last week (it was Mom's birthday) and she brought us a bunch of presents -enlarged prints of family pics from the bbq we had pre-surgery, balloons, cake ... and yellow roses. My goodness, they were beautiful. They opened like real roses on a bush, and they smelled like heaven. Best. Sister-in-law. Ever.

I tell you what. Cancer sucks, and so does surgery. But the love that so many people show during times of hardship never ceases to amaze me. ... Also, the swag. The swag is pretty sweet.

July 24

Today was my follow-up with Dr. G and Dr. H. As you may recall, at my last appt (you can read all about it here if you missed it) Dr. G was unsure of whether or not additional radiation treatments would be recommended at this time. He was going to check with the radiation oncologist and would let me know. Well... he didn't let me know. He had Scheduling call and make an appointment for me to come in and see both him and Dr. H. (Insert rapid heart rate here. And not because I think Dr. H is dreamy. Oh, no. I was reading all kind of things into this double appointment. All kinds of dark, cancer treatment (radiation AND chemo?!) plans into this.)

So, basically, I've been on pins and needles and an emotional wreck for a week, waiting for this appointment. The hardest thing in all of this has always been the unknown. The combination of a little bit of actual and factual information plus the imagination of a 6 year old child....  Geeze Louise, can I get myself psyched out.

Anyhoo... Today, I had my follow-ups, and.... No radiation. (For now. If it comes back, they'll do something called the Bracci method (sp?) where they'll  put four catheters in my side and shoot a radiation "seed" directly at any new tumors. ... Disgusting. But it sounds effective, so whatever.) No chemo. No treatments. Just continuing to heal from this surgery. Hallelujah!

We talked about pain management. I've been trying to wean myself off the narcotics, but that's a hard thing to do when the only OTC drug I can take is Tylenol. I've been alternating prescription pain meds and Tylenol, but without Ibuprofen to switch off to, it's been hard. Dr. H gave me a prescription for Altram, a non-narcotic pain reliever which is neither Tylenol nor Ibuprofen. I officially go on that at my 1:30 AM medication this morning. Wish me luck.

And speaking of Dr. H - and for any of you who've wondered what my energy level is like these days - let me just tell/show you... Dr. H and I are past the point in our (I know, imaginary) relationship where there's any kind of pretense.

This, my friends, is what I looked like when I went to the doctor(s) today. No make-up. I haven't worn make-up since June 20th, kids. (Which is saying something. After surgeries #1 and #2, I was reaching for my mascara by day 3 in the hospital. I am a make-up loving fool. .... And yet, I haven't held a mascara wand in my hand in over a month. This surgery has completely taken it out of me. Between my right arm that seems to be stuck to my side and a core that hurts so badly that I can't bear the thought of leaning over the counter in my bathroom... No mascara for this girl.)

And the fuzzy baby-bird hair is super attractive, too, I know. ... I put this bun in my hair three days ago. Since then, I've gone on six walks and slept nine times. Every time I go out into the wind, wisps of my hair break free. Every time I nap, a little bit more pulls out. And yet, I don't re-do the bun. Not even to go see Dr. H. He's either gonna love me or he's not. And let's face it folks, if he loves me, it'll have a lot more to do with my wit and charm than anything else. The man, has, after all, seen me in the hospital, at my very worst, on a gurney as they were getting ready to move me to another room. (He kindly reminded me of that special moment today. Bless his heart for remembering the little things. .... Oh, and for rubbing it in my face that he did, too, visit me in the hospital, it was just too soon for me to have any recollection of him having been there.) So, given that was the last time he'd seen me, the no mascara/baby-bird hair thing is a step up. Or sideways. Or something.

In semi-related news, the physical therapy on my arm is going well. Today was my third appointment with PT, and even though she stretches me in ways that I didn't know I could move in (literally), I sort of love her. My arm will come just a little above my shoulder now, if I lift it to the side - and I can get it about 4 inches higher than I could last week when I try to lift it above my head. I mean, I still have verrrrrry limited movement. But I have more movement than I did a week ago. So, all of the weirdie little exercises that she has me doing (pushing my hand against the recliner, washing walls, lifting a can of tomatoes out to my side and holding it for 3 seconds, etc.) are working. Physical Therapy is a whole new world of knowledge for me. Every time I see her, it's for an hour and she talks non-stop, telling me what she's doing and why and how it will help me get better. At the rate I'm going, we're hoping that my arm will be working again within a few weeks. I'm so excited about something (anything!) healing quickly. When it comes to my body, I'll take whatever I can get, and PT has been yielding some pretty sweet results.

And you know that a doctor-related post wouldn't be complete without some excellent nurse-foot-in-mouth humor, so, in parting, allow me to share my most recent "I can't believe you just said that" story about a nurse weighing me in.

As always, when I see the doctor, they take my blood pressure, heart rate, oxygen count. Oh, and weight. So, the nurse sets the scale to zero and has me step on. They have their default settings in metric (probably so as not to freak out patients who don't want to know what they weigh). She wrote down the metric, and then asked if I wanted to see the pounds. I said sure. She switched it to pounds, then coughed and said "Wow! You're really tall. I never would have guessed that you were that big!" .... Yeah, she said the word "big". Awesome.

* I'd like to note that I currently weigh less than I ever have in my entire adult life.

Mom and I have been mocking her outburst all night long. You wouldn't believe how many ways "I can't believe you're that big!" and/or "Wow! You're really tall." can work their way into conversation around here.

I love it when nurses have commentary when they weigh me. My other favorite nurse/scale story is when the nurse from my old doctor's office weighed me, and conversationally asked if I watched The Biggest Loser. When I told her that I didn't, she told me that I should - as she pointedly looked at the numbers on the scale.

Ahhhhh.... nurses who can't help but make inappropriate comments at the scale. They are my favorite.

And on that note, I'm off to have a bedtime snack before I hit the hay. Since I learned today that I'm tall enough to hide my true weight, I'm not at all concerned about calories after 10:00 PM. (Insert snarky laugh here.)