December 31

On January 1, 2012, I wrote the following:

It's a whole new year. Nothing's the same, yet nothing has changed. I can't put my finger on it. I can't articulate it well (which is a shame, seeing as I know a whole heck of a lot of words and can't seem to string a sentence together that expresses how this new year feels to me). All I keep thinking is that everything's the same, yet ... it isn't the same. At all.


I'm curious to see where 2012 takes me. I'm full of trepidation and yet ... hope.

To paraphrase a quote I heard once upon a time, way back in High School English, before I had any idea what this might mean: The amount of joy we feel is, literally, commensurate to the amount of pain we have felt. 2011, literally, brought me more pain than I'd ever seen before. Commensurately, it also brought me more joy than I ever could have imagined.


Here's to hoping that 2012 will be more than a sci-fi hallucination. Here's to hoping that it's a continuation of the joy, and that 2011 put a cap on the pain.

I am truly hopeful that this will be my best year ever. I look forward to the people I'll meet, to the experiences I'll have, to the love that I know I'll feel.

I love my life. I always have. But every year, I love it (and the people in it) even more.

Happy New Year, folks! Let's make it a doozy!


Q: How adorable am I, that I was hoping that 2011 would put a cap on the pain in my life?

A: So adorable. (And hilarious. See if I ever make a wish like that again!)

The pain - the physical pain - that I have been in this year is incomparable to any pain that I had known before. (And, people, this is coming from the woman with the 22.5 lb tumor. I'd had to relearn how to walk twice prior to this year. ... And still, nothing could have possibly prepared me the physical pain of 2012.) I still live in hope that there will come a day that I don't start to hurt where I used to have a kidney if I stand for too long, or sit for too long, or lie on my side for too long. (Or am alive.) But I know that day won't be tomorrow. I'm pretty sure it won't be next month, and I wouldn't be surprised if it took a full year or more. And that's okay.

Because while, it's true that I have known pain this year... I have also known joy. A greater joy and a bone-deep peace that I never could have imagined prior to that pain.

The all-encompassing love that I have felt this year has changed me. The love that I have been shown, the love that I have felt for so very many people whose lives have cross-sected with mine, has changed everything in my world.

This line in my Jan 1 post kills me: "I am truly hopeful that this will be my best year ever. I look forward to the people I'll meet, to the experiences I'll have, to the love that I know I'll feel."

My goodness gracious, how that line came true! (Maybe I should start referring to myself as The Prophet Laur again.) It has been my best year ever. I have met the most incredible people (many of you through this little corner of the www). I have had the most amazing experiences. I have felt more love than I can begin to quantify.

I have the most wonderful life, with the most incredible people in it.

On January 1, I was full of trepidation ... and hope. I was truly hopeful that 2012 would be my best year ever, and it has not disappointed.

Was 2012 a difficult year? You can bet your booties, Granny. It sure was. ... But it also been Awesome, with a capital A.

I am so grateful for both the trials and the triumphs of 2012. I'm so grateful for the emotional and physical difficulties that came through a full six months of knowing that I had cancer - before I found out that it was bad enough (again) that they needed to go in and operate (again), asap.

I'm so grateful for the financial struggles that I had this year, because they led me to write the infamous post of June 16th. That post not only brought in the working capital I needed to face medical bills on top of months of not working, but it showed me that the world is kind (and proved to Dr. G that people do not suck).

I'm grateful for a body that works as well as it does. I am grateful for pain that is a small reminder of how bad it has been, because remembering where I have been helps me to know that I can go anywhere the future takes me.

I am grateful for my friends and my family - for their service and their generosity - and for the kindness of strangers.

My life is truly blessed.

2012 is a year that I will not soon forget. (I'm pretty sure they'd have to take out pieces of brain to lose the memories of this puppy. And considering where my tumors have always grown, that kind of surgery is highly unlikely.)

This has been my hardest year. This has been my best year. ... And I love that those two are so deeply intertwined with each other. (Which is not to say that I wouldn't love it if 2013 proves to be a different kind of awesome than 2012 has been. It would be absolutely fine with me if I could have the awesome without some of the struggles of the past few years. But you know what? I'll take whatever I can get. Time is precious and life is a gift. These things I know, in the very center of my soul.)

In parting, in this last post of the year, I repeat my closing line from the first post of the year:

Happy New Year, folks! Let's make it a doozy!

December 27

A big shout out to Jennifer O., who gifted me with a bag of candy that I could chain eat. All. Day. Long.

That's right.

I stress ate an ENTIRE BAG of Ghirardelli Peppermint Bark while I was at work today.

I heart working in a loan department at year-end. (The next person who says something smart about "banker's hours" is gonna get an earful and a half from me!)

The good news is, I had a little bag of heaven with me at my desk today. For all twelve hours I was there. (I gobbled down the last two squares minutes before walking out the door.)

Soon, I will have eaten all of the candy in my house and in the bank. After which, I'm afraid that I will have to enforce a Candy Rule similar to the Potato Chip Rule of 2011. ... Until then, I have three bags of M&M's, one bag of peppermint Tootsie Roll suckers, a handful of gourmet chocolates, and a pound of See's at my disposal. (Here's hoping that'll be enough to fuel the last two business/work days in 2012!)

December 25

I love that, this morning, I sat in the same room that the above picture was taken in (circa 1980) and opened Christmas presents with my family.

Four of six kids were home, in the house we all grew up in.

My sister had a sleep-over last night, and we talked until we fell asleep.

I got up at 6:00, because it was CHRISTMAS, and I couldn't stand being in bed anymore. (Yes, I'm 38. What of it?)

It was great to laugh - FOR HOURS - on Christmas Eve with my brothers, my sister and my parents.

Man alive, I ate a lot of ice cream. (My jeans aren't the only pair of pants that are too tight right now. Wish me luck when it comes to finding something to wear to work tomorrow!) We went through a few dozen tamales (and I brought a dozen home with me). I don't even want to think about many cartons of egg nog were downed yesterday.

We laughed. We cried. We ate fudge and we threw away the cookies that were burnt.

It was awesome. Christmas at home always is.

December 24

It's Christmas Eve.

I've spent the day with my mom and sister.

Mom and I watched It's a Wonderful Life first thing this morning, then Kate came over and we went for Caroling Round II (and bought out the tamale guy at Bashas'). We made the traditional Christmas Tree Pizzas, and we've eaten ourselves sick.

We have made merry, all the live-long day. There is nowhere I'd rather be, and no one in the world I'd rather be with.

December 23

Today may have been one of my favorite days of my life.

It's up there in the Top Ten, for sure!

Why? Because it is Christmas. And I am home. (I love it here!)

Kate, Mom and I sang Hark, the Herald in the Christmas program this morning. (My voice only cracked one time. I'm considering that a win. ... Not sure if the congregation would agree with me, but I know my history and the fact that I was able to sing loud and fairly high for two verses and only had one minor fail is pretty good, considering.)

I was able to visit with friends I grew up with who were also home for Christmas, and hug all my sweet little old ladies in 1st Ward before I went to RS, where my mom taught the lesson. (Read: Where we sang Christmas hymns for almost the entire hour.)

After our block was over, we headed home for a quick lunch, and then Mom and I ran across town so I could go to the ward I grew up in. (My parents' ward was divided just over five years ago and the bulk of our original ward was thrown into the 8th ward when The Stake President Who Shall Not Be Named redrew the boundaries.)

I had decided a couple weeks ago that my Christmas present to myself was going to be going to 8th ward, and it was exactly the perfect thing to give myself. We walked into the chapel and there was Pam Craner, saying "Welcome home!", as she threw an arm around me. ... And it did feel like going home. I love those people!

I hugged more people in an hour than I have in... oh, probably the last year combined (I'm not even kidding). I said (and heard) more "I love you's" than I can count.

After church, we picked up Katie and the three of us caroled our way through the neighborhood. We were out for hours, visiting and singing with our friends.

Tonight, Mom and I were talking, and she said it had been great to be able to see me with my people. (She called them that, "my people".) They are mine. All of the people I visited with today, in all of the places that I saw them. I love them, and they love me.

I love so very many people. I've been blessed, my whole life, to be surrounded by fantastic, kind, good-hearted people, but these people... They are the support system of my childhood, my adolescence, my late twenties and my early thirties. They are part of who I am. I love them!

I love this day.

I love my life!

December 22

People, I think it really is my diaphragm that's causing my singing voice to fail!

(Yes, you should be reading that in a high-pitched, excited voice. I'm super excited to have a probable explanation. ... We all know that I love to get new information, esp as it relates to how my body works. Or... uh... doesn't.)

Yesterday, I had emailed a friend (I'm using that word pretty loosely here, considering I've only talked to him one time in my life... but the man is a science teacher and when I wondered who I could ask about such a thing, his name popped right into my head), asking if he knew about how diaphragms work, and specifically, if he knew how big an unextended/empty diaphragm was. (I was curious as to how much real estate I'd lost when they took that 5x5 section out.)

I'm going to copy/paste his response here, because it was most informative:

- Your diaphragm is a muscle that contracts and relaxes, which in turn makes your lungs inflate/deflate, kind of like a bellows (you know, those old-timey things people would use to blow air on the fire).

- Each person's diaphragm muscle is a different size depending on the size of their thoracic cavity (or, in other words, how big around the base of their rib cage is).

- The diaphragm literally seals off the thoracic cavity (base of the ribs) from the abdominal cavity. If there is a hole going all the way through the diaphragm, then it wouldn't be able to pressurize the thoracic cavity as effectively, meaning the lungs would have a more difficult time being expelled of air (which is necessary for singing).

- If the piece of diaphragm removed did not go all the way through, then at least it is weakened in one spot, leading to the same result, only less severe.

Hope that helps! If there's anything here where I got you confused, let me know so I can clarify.

(How great are teachers? I love them! ... Honestly, they talk differently than any other group of people. I heart not only the detail in his response, but that he encouraged me to let him know if I got confused (who, me?) and needed clarification.)

So, what I don't know is whether Dr. G took a whole section out (leaving a hole) or if he just took a piece out and then stitched me back up. Either way, it appears that I have an explanation for why I can't seem to keep enough air pressure to sing the way I want to. (And am I the only person out there who was surprised to learn how the diaphragm works? WHO KNEW it was a muscle? ... Not me. All of those years in choir, being told to "take a deep breath and fill your diaphragm" led me to believe it was, like, a whole other chamber one could pump full of air. Bodies are so interesting!)

I'm curious as to whether the diaphragm is a muscle that will get strong enough to compensate for having a chunk of it missing. I'm hopeful that, in time, I'll be able to sing without my voice dropping out on me. ... In the meanwhile, I'm choosing to focus on just being grateful that I can hit a high note again - that I can sing at all - because those few months without the ability to even hum along were pure torture.

*I'd like to take a moment now and announce that I'm singing in church with my mom and seester tomorrow. They have been warned about my voice just dropping out. The good news is, Katie is also a soprano and we'll be singing the same part, so if my voice is suddenly gone, she'll be there to back me up. Phew!

December 21

It's been six months. Today.

Six months ago, today, I went in for the Mother of All Surgeries.

(Now that I call it that, I can't help but think that I hope I didn't just jinx myself. ... Oh, well. Only time'll tell.)

It's been six months, and I'm still having a hard time taking a deep breath.

Look, I will show you.

This is an incentive spirometer:

(My mom and I lovingly refer to this little guy as "the torture machine".)

It's a pressurized chamber. You stick the tube in your mouth and inhale. As you suck in, the little arrow rises and you can see what kind of strength you have in your lungs.

Please note that the arrow is at 3,000. Believe it or not, that's where they want me to be able to hit WHEN I HAVE JUST HAD SURGERY. (Abdominal surgery, no less. When it hurts to take a shallow breath, let alone try to move this arrow to 3,000.)

Here is a recent pic:

That's right. It's been six months. (SIX MONTHS!) And I still can't hit 3,000.

Good grief.

Methinks the medical staff may have had some unrealistic expectations of my ability to take a deep breath six months ago.

Speaking of how I (still) have a hard time taking/holding a deep breath...

Have I told you that I've noticed that I'm having a hard time singing these days? I mean, at least I can sing now. (It took about three months for me to have the breath control to sing - at all. In the fourth month after surgery, I was able to sing if I was only dealing with a 4-5 note range.) I'm now at the point that I can hit an E again. ... But I can't hold it.

I can sing one, maybe two songs, and then my voice starts to crack all over the place. It's funny, because I don't feel like I'm out of air. I don't get the gaspy, need-to-take-a-breath feeling, but I'll be singing along and all of a sudden my voice will just fail. I mean, the note totally drops and the tonal quality is GONE. I have no control over getting a note back where it needs to be, until I stop singing, take a breath and start over.

I think it may be that 5x5 chunk of my diaphragm that Dr. G took.

That's the only thing I can think of, anyway. I need to do a little diaphragm research and then I'll return and report my findings. ... In the meanwhile, I thought I'd do a little torture machine show and tell. (As an aside: I average between 1,000 and 1,500 in the first few weeks after surgery. So, really, even though I still can't take a deep breath, I'm doing more than twice as well as I was a few months ago.)

December 18

Holeeeeeee moly, people!

So, get this. A few weeks ago, one of my FB friends posted the following status:

It is official. I have chosen the photo for my Christmas portrait surprise. Let the Magic begin. :)

This was my response:

I don't even know what this means, but I'm still filled with giddiness and delight! I do love posts with the words "Christmas" and "surprise" in them!

Fast forward from December 5th to December 17th, when I picked up my mail and found this in my mailbox:

That's right. It's ME! I was the Christmas portrait surprise! ... And I thought I was giddy before!

In the words of my beloved mother, "Who gets a portrait for Christmas?!" ... Cancer Girl. That's who!

Seriously, how amazing is that?! My friend Vicky (who, I'll have you know, I have never actually met in real life... she is one of the many sweet and kindred souls who found their way to me after the infamous post of June 16th) drew this. By hand. With five different pencils. It took over 15 hours.

To say that I am touched would be the understatement of the century.

I am honored. I am humbled. I am grateful. I am amazed. I wonder, sometimes - quite often, actually - why so many people are so good to me. My goodness gracious, I lead such a charmed life!

Vicky was kind enough to send along photos she'd taken of the work in progress. (You'd better know I'm posting them here! Far be it from me to withhold a work of art from the world... esp if that work of art is... uhm... me. You know, just in case Nathan Fillion is trolling the web, looking for a detailed step-by-step portrait-in-the-making of his one true love. I wouldn't want to let the man down.)

Stage 1

Stage 2

                                                                  Stage 3

                                                                    

Stage 4

            Stage 5

                                                                                                                         

 

Stage 6

I am just tickled pink. I love this soooooooo much!

What a thoughtful gift. What a labor of love, really. ... And the woman has never even met me! (Which makes me love the gift - and her - even more.)

Stage 3 is my favorite. I'm not sure if it's the side-by-side comparison with the picture she was going off of, or if it's the Cruella DeVille look that I'm rocking. Hard.

Vicky, thanks again. (And again. And again.) I love it! .... And, honestly, I don't know that my hair has ever looked better. Do you think I could put you in charge of that every day for the rest of my life? I would love nothing more than having these flowing "book cover girl" locks with me everywhere I go. I'm not kidding, even one little bit. Could we work something out?

Merry Christmas to me, from a friend I've never met...

Man alive, I love my life!

December 17

Yesterday, one of the girls I used to work with posted the following on my Facebook page:

Been thinking about you and wanted to let you know that we put you in our Sunday bulletin at our church. Much love.

I tell you what, my people are amazing.

A couple weeks ago, I stopped by my brother Kirk's work to drop something off to him. He asked if I wanted to come in and say hi to my old boss. (He works for the company I'd worked for before I went to the bank.) I went in, so I could talk to Rich. As we walked through the center, I was stopped by two women who I used to work with. They both asked how I was doing, and then in the next breath, told me they've been praying for me. Every day. Rich was in a meeting with senior management, so I waited a few minutes for him to be available. He walked out of O'Neal's office, head straight for me with tears in his eyes, and as he hugged me, told me he had been praying for me - every day - and that my name is on his church's prayer roll every week.

Last Friday, I went to a Christmas party at my church, and one of my favorite sweet old ladies asked me to sit by her until her husband came back from the dessert table. He'd asked her who they'd been praying for every day, and she wanted to make sure we were introduced so he could put my face to my name.

Everywhere I go, people tell me they have been praying for me.

It is the most amazing and incredible thing to me, how very many of my friends and family have kept me in their prayers.

I've said it once, and I'm sure I'll say it again: I am convinced that I have been saved by the faith of my friends and family.

Thank you, to all of you. For everything you have done. For every kind word that has been expressed. For every prayer that has been offered in my behalf.

I am so grateful for the experience of having been desperate and sick enough to merit letting pretty much every single person in my life know what was going on with me. The love, the generosity, the kindness and the outpouring of blessings I have received this year have completely and utterly blown my mind.

Thank you. Thank you, all of you. For everything.

I am grateful beyond measure. So humbled by your love, and by your faith, that I can hardly type this without crying.

I truly do have the most incredible life. Thank you - all of you, thank you - for having been part of it.

Decenber 14

Because I am exactly the kind of girl who likes to share those moments when I crack myself up, I am going to show you this:

I just got dressed and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. I looked in the mirror and thought, "What in the world happened to my face? I have red splotches EVERYWHERE!"

Oh yeah, I licked the bowl, the beater AND the scraper when I made that cake this morning. And it's red velvet cake.

Hahahahaha...

Hallelujah that I remembered that I'd had cake batter for breakfast this morning. ... I was right on the verge of having a freakout about having come down with some weird illness that was going to send me the doctor on this day I took off, so proud of myself for taking a day that was NOT doctor-related!

I scare myself sometimes. (And possibly, you, too... now that I look at that pic and realize you can see straight up my nose. Sorry about that.)