That's a wrap!

I have made my decision. I will not be doing the Taxol portion of the chemo treatment, meaning that my chemo is over. YAY! And yet I'm terrified! Not about the cancer. There are pros and cons to either decision I could make and I made the best one I could. I'm not really scared about the cancer coming back, or anything like that. If it comes back, we'll deal with it then. What I'm really struggling with is returning to "normal" life.
As strange as this may sound, my cancer has been a shield of sorts for me. Coming off severe depression and a nasty, painful situation with the ministry I was involved in, having cancer provided me with a blanket of sorts. For the last six months, I have been flooded with love and support. Even perfect strangers have reached out and loved on me. The wounds of the two years prior began to heal and I started to feel loved again. Emotionally, I started to feel stronger and stronger. To be honest, I felt like once my chemo was done, I would be able to take on anything that was thrown at me. But now, my chemo has been abruptly shortened by three months and I don't feel so strong anymore. I'm scared. I'm scared to face the big, scary world out there. I'm scared about how things will change.
We came to Covenant Grove Church two weeks after I was diagnosed with cancer, so from day one there, I have been a cancer patient. They have loved us and supported us and we have started to develop some good friendships there, but, like I said, from day one, I had cancer. I was the needy one. Every week, people would ask me how I was feeling, if I needed anything, how things were going. Now...now things will change and that is unsettling to me.
When I was depressed, I was tired all the time, but it was something I fought and was ashamed of. When I was going through surgeries and chemo, I was tired all the time, but it was expected, and naps were encouraged. If I had insomnia, it didn't really matter because I could sleep whenever I wanted to during the day without anyone thinking anything of it. I had help with the kids, with the house, with meals. I was incredibly blessed and spoiled. I'm scared now, now that I have to be an adult again. What if I'm still tired? What if life becomes overwhelming again and I can't hide behind my cancer?
Don't get me wrong. I didn't exploit my cancer. I tried very hard not to take advantage of people, but people are naturally more likely to help when you are sick and bald. Not so much when you look "normal".
Cancer also protected me from myself. I needed to distance myself from some unhealthy situations I was in and undergoing chemo forced me to do that. I was physically unable to put myself in some of those situations without seriously endangering my physical health due to low blood cell counts. Soon, however, in a matter of four weeks or so, my immune system will be back up to par and the choice will be mine. I will have to decide what is healthy for me emotionally and what isn't. I will have to make those choices, and they scare me. When I was laying in bed, sick from the chemo and the anti-nausea meds, I thought I could take on the world if only I wasn't so sick. Now, I don't feel so strong. I feel vulnerable, and the pains of my pre-cancer world haunt me and try to rob me of my peace.
One of my go-to verses during this cancer journey has been Romans 8:28 "And we know that in all things, God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose." My depression? For good. My cancer? For good. My broken relationships? For good. My chemo? For good. Covenant Grove? For good. ALL things. In ALL things. I just wish I felt stronger emotionally...but then, if I did, perhaps I would start to rely on myself again, and forget the Source of my strength. He is my Rock. He has been my Rock through terrible, horrible, God-awful storms. I read the following quote after my first stay in the mental hospital and have found it to be so incredibly true. "Sometimes God lets you hit rock bottom so that you will discover that He is the rock at the bottom." - Tony Evans.
I don't know what the future holds and it does scare me. But Jesus is sleeping in my boat, and I know that should any storm arise, He can quickly calm it...or He can hold me while it rages, and promise to see me through.

The rollercoaster called CANCER

Picture this. Your hair is long and thick, growing longer every day. Then suddenly all twelve inches of it are gone, off in the mail to some unknown place in Florida and the little half-inch fuzz on your head becomes your new normal...for a bit. Then you start to lose the fuzz, in patches, so you shave it all off, only your hair is still growing, in patches, so now you have little tufts of tiny little hairs in odd groups around your head. You go to a treatment and within a few days, you start to see little black specks on your pillow, in the sink, on your neck, on your chest and your head becomes more and more bald. Then the little black specks stop falling out. After a few days, they start to grow again. Your fuzz becomes longer. Scarves and hats become itchy. Then you have a treatment. The specks begin to fall again. Your head becomes smoother and smoother. Then it stops, and you notice a more sandpaper feel to your head. Your hair is growing back. You know it will grow for the next week or so and then... suddenly, you are very, very aware of the roller coaster ride called Cancer.
Imagine this. You walk three to four miles a day. Walking makes life make sense. Walking makes you feel strong, and powerful and in control. Then you have surgery. You can't walk anymore. You're barely awake most of the time. After a few weeks, you realize you can walk again, not long distances, but some, and then it's time for surgery number two and your walking comes to another sudden stop. Surgery number 3 follows closely behind, and then chemo begins and before you know it, you've put on five pounds and feel fat and fatigued. You decide to take matters in your own hands, change up your diet and start walking again. 2.5 miles the first day. It feels good, SO good to be in control again. So good, in fact, that you ignore the searing chest pains two miles in. Your heart rate must have gotten too high. You'll go slower next time. Day two, you're sore, but you feel powerful, and strong, so you head out again. 2.6 miles this time. No chest pains, but the fatigue is starting to set in. SO tired. Day 3. You notice your heart beating rapidly as you enter the shower and you wonder why. The fatigue is overwhelming, but you're stubborn. You know you should listen to your body, but...but...but...So you walk. You realize soon into the walk that this is just not a good idea, but you decide to push it, just a little. About a mile in, you notice chest pains again. DRAT! So you stop to take your pulse. Only 130. Why the chest pains? You cut the walk short. 1.6 miles this time. So tired. The laundry calls. The dishes call. The library calls (well, emails, to inform you that you forgot to include the dvd in the case when you returned it. DRAT again!). SO tired. You hate this roller coaster called Cancer. Hate it with every fiber of your being. The stubborn streak in you rears its head and roars, but you know that if you listen to it, it could silence you...forever. Your body isn't this invincible thing anymore. It's fragile, and weak and no longer in your control.
Envision this. You are plugged in to a group of people that you love, a family. Some of them decide you are no longer welcome there and at exactly that time, you get your ticket to the roller coaster ride named Cancer. You leave. Surgery. Surgery. Surgery. Chemo. Chemo. No time to process. No energy to deal. Then your energy returns, in spurts. You think about going back, at times, but you know you're in a better place now. Then you hear through the rumor mill. "They're saying you are better now because they cut you off." Say what?!! The pride in you rises up! The anger is so strong you can taste it and you decide to take your cancerous little butt down there and prove to them that they do not dictate your life! How DARE they?! You plot and plan and scheme about how you are going to prove your point, who will watch the kids, what time you will go down there, and you try to deaden the words of the oncologist. "I'm sorry, but you really need to stay away from working with the homeless right now. There is nothing wrong with them, but it is too many germs for your body to handle in one place." DRAT! DRAT! DRAT! Your pride rears its ugly head and roars, but you know that if you listen to it, it could be the end of you...forever. The roller coaster called CANCER. You'd like to give your ticket back, but you can't. You're strapped in, rolling around and around and around, and until the ride is finish, there is no getting off. You're trapped.

The best Therapeutic Thursday to date!

Today is a rainy, sticky, gloomy day here in Modesto. Gabby and I decided that for Therapeutic Thursday, we would try to take some of that gloom away for a couple people. We went to OSH and purchased two small ornamental pots of daisies, one with yellow flowers and one with purple ones. We then took these pots to Sutter Gould Oncology department, where I get my chemo treatments. I was really, really nervous about this, but I thought if I'm asking others to stretch themselves, I should be willing to stretch myself too, so I went with it. And as Gabby put it so well, "what in the world are you afraid they're going to do, Mom?!"
My plan was to pick out two patients, give them the flowers and leave, but when we got to the waiting area, there were no bald people!! How in the world was I supposed to know who was a patient and who was just waiting for someone if no one was advertising their cancer on their bald heads?! Oh, well. I decided to chance it. There was a woman who looked to be in her seventies sitting reading a book. I approached her and said: "Excuse me. I'm sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you are receiving treatment here today." She looked at me with a bit of a confused look on her face and said that yes, she was receiving treatment. I introduced myself and Gabby and told her that I have been receiving treatment there and that when we woke up and saw what a gloomy day it was, we thought it would be especially gloomy to have to do chemo on such a rainy day, so we thought we'd bring some color to undo some of that gloom. The woman was named Mirna, and she and I spoke for quite some time. I found out that she had breast cancer eleven years ago and that it had come back and she was receiving chemo injections in her hips every month. She was a very kind and personable woman and when the nurse called her back, she said thank you, and told us that she would pay it forward.
Then came the hard part. Everyone in the lobby now knew what we were doing and we had one pot left. Who in the world should we give it to? Gabby had originally planned on giving one out herself, but when it came time to choose, she asked me to do it. I noticed an elderly woman watching us and decided to go over to talk to her. She was sitting with a gentleman her age and another woman whom I assume was her daughter. I introduced myself and found out her name was Mary. She was not cheerful or kind like Mirna and to be honest, I'm not sure what she thought of our attempt to brighten her day. She took the flowers, but did not appear interested in any type of conversation. Her daughter, however, teared up when we presented the flowers, and I don't think it was allergies.
I noticed as we walked out of the waiting room that these two gifts had impacted most of the people there. Many were smiling as we left and I realized that even though only two people received flowers, a bit of the gloom had lifted for the rest of us as well.

First A/C treatment, day 5

What a gorgeous California day it is here today! I'm looking out my bedroom window at the blooming peach tree, pink blossoms waving softly against the light blue sky and suddenly the frustration of my morning doesn't seem quite so overwhelming. The cats are sitting with me on the bed, alternating between grooming themselves and sleeping. Pandora is playing soft worship music on my phone and I take a deep sigh of contentment. Odd, in contrast to my morale just a few minutes ago.
I opened the laptop a bundle of frustration. Sunday and Monday I felt SO sick! I was really queasy, and exhausted. Nothing sounded good, and when I did eat, my stomach let me know it was NOT happy with that idea! I made it to church, but as soon as that was over, I went straight to bed and slept for hours. Monday, I was really concerned about how I was going to make it through Monkey Business, the support group the kids go to in Turlock after school on Mondays. I was so tired and when three o'clock rolled around and it was time to walk the entire three blocks to the school to pick up the kids, I wasn't sure how exactly I was going to manage that. One step in front of the other, I made it, and then Pam S. came to pick us up and drove us to Turlock (HUGE thank you, Pam, for taking time out of your day for us). The nice thing about Monkey Business is that it's a support group for children who have a family member battling cancer, so no one expected me to look good, feel good, or be full of energy. I was able to close my eyes, or put my head down on the table, or whatever I needed to do during the meeting without feeling rude or disrespectful. Another beautiful thing about this group is that the parents/guardians and kids start out together and then we split into adult and kid groups and do age appropriate activities. Yesterday, the parents got to decorate cloth bags for the kids with puffy paints, markers, stamps, etc. As soon as the puffy paints came out, I literally felt my body relax. It was so therapeutic for me! Memorial Hospital has an art group I can join free of charge, but it's in the evening, and evenings just don't work very well for us because we already have something going Monday through Thursday evening. I really do need to find a creative outlet though. My mother in law and I will be taking a field trip to Hobby Lobby sometime in the next couple days to see if I can find some kind of art project to work on during chemo.
After Monkey Business yesterday, we came home, I ate dinner, then laid down on my bed to "rest" and woke up, fully clothed and half off the bed at 11:30pm. I changed into my pajamas and went right back to sleep until 5:30.
I sent an email to my oncologist yesterday asking about the nausea, because he told me that he really wanted to be on top of it so my brain didn't learn to associate chemo with nausea. He said once that happens, it's really hard to unlearn. In my email to him, I told him what I was taking and how sick I was feeling. I got an email back asking about the other med he had prescribed for me. OOPS. That one was sitting comfortably in my bedroom closet, unopened. It was supposed to be taken twice a day for the first three days, and I was at the end of day four and hadn't taken it yet. I took it as soon as I realized my oversight and have been much less queasy since.
Eating while undergoing chemo is such an odd experience for me so far. For a couple days, nothing sounded good, but today, I'm wanting things completely out of the ordinary for me. Tapioca pudding, for example. Pre-chemo, I didn't mind tapioca. I even enjoyed it sometimes, but it honestly wasn't something I thought much about. Today, though, I wanted it desperately and when we got some, I enjoyed it thoroughly. Another food oddity is mango juice. I don't like mangos. Well, pre-chemo me doesn't like mangos, but again, I was really thirsting for some mango juice this morning, so I bought some and YUM! YUM! YUM!! Right now, I'm enjoying some homemade rice pudding, freshly made by my MIL. If I keep this up, I'm going to be one of those people who gains twenty pounds while on chemo. Oh, well. If it keeps the nausea at bay and keeps me alive, I can always lose it later.
Other than the nausea, my greatest struggle has been keeping my morale up. I don't do sick well. I'm not one of those people who can just ignore how crappy I feel and carry on with life. I've tried it. It doesn't work. I end up falling apart or snapping the head off my kids and/or husband! When I can sleep my way through the illness, it helps, but on days like today, when I feel beyond tired, but can't seem to sleep, it gets really frustrating. 
In a previous post, I alluded to being in a transition stage in my life and I'm finding myself struggling with this again. I know that this chemo journey is most likely going to be for just six months and then I have the rest of my life ahead of me, but I don't know what I'm going to do with the rest of that life. In the mean time, I don't have anything I HAVE to get up for. I don't have any activities to look forward to, other than church and small group. It's hard to start something when I don't feel well, and to be honest, I have no idea what I'd like to do! I've thought about writing a "Chicken Soup for the Soul" kind of book, but I'm not sure I can get my brain to cooperate well enough for that. I guess it can't hurt to try.
Let's see. What other random news can I include here? Still haven't completely lost my hair. My oncologist said it usually happens between day 7 and 14, so I expect it any time after Friday, but we'll see.
PRAISE REPORTS:
-The kids LOVE Monkey Business. James actually started talking excitedly about it over the weekend. Funny how he went from "I will absolutely not go!" to "I can't wait!". My friend Corrie's kids have also joined, which is a nice bonus.
-The sun. I am so thankful for the sun. It really helps wipe the doldrums away.
-All of the amazing help we're getting. My mom went home to Oregon a week ago, after being here for three weeks. Jason's mom arrived yesterday and will be here for...well, I don't know how long. We'll play it by ear :-). Our life group is bringing us meals every other day, which is a HUGE help! The maid my siblings hired came for the first time on Sunday and it was so nice to walk into a clean house after church. Pam took time out of her day to drive us to Turlock, and on and on and on. We are truly blessed. Thank you to all of you!
PRAYER REQUESTS
-Please pray for my friend Corrie. Her cancer journey looks like it will be a bit longer than mine. Please pray for her and her family as they continue on this journey. It's no piece of cake and can really wear on the morale of all involved.
-Please pray for my morale, that I will be able to take this step by step and not get overwhelmed by the length of the journey ahead.
-Please continue to pray for the kids. James mentioned that kids at school are asking him a lot of questions about why I'm wearing hats and things and that he doesn't know how to answer them. I spoke to his teacher and will probably be going into his classroom to do a few minute explanation of cancer, chemo and hair loss. I'm actually really nervous about that. I'm not sure how parents will feel about their kids being exposed to that reality of life in such a concrete way, but I will be communicating with the teacher to make sure it is explained in a tactful, non-scary manner. Gabby seems to be handling everything in stride, but prayers for her as well couldn't hurt.
-Please pray for Jason, as he juggles work, caregiving, parenting, etc, etc, etc.
-Please pray for my mom. It is hard for her to be so far away when I'm sick. She has been an incredible help, travelling to and from Oregon to give us a hand, but it's not the same as living nearby.
-Please pray for my mother in law, as she spends time away from her husband, daughter and grandson to help us out.

I gave you this cancer because...

One of the most common questions that people ask when going through tough times is "Why?" "Why me?" "Why now?" "Why this?" "Why? Why? Why?" My case is no exception and many times, those questions go without answer. The other night, however, as I was laying in bed struggling with some non-cancer related issues, I believe God gave me a little insight into part of His plan for this cancer.
Most of you know the last two years of my life have been brutal. I lost friend after friend after friend. The people I thought loved me the most threw me away and I was left raw and bleeding, only to be pummeled again, with a broken heart that I didn't think could be put back together. I came to believe that I was expendable, replaceable, that the world would be, if not a better place without me, at least perfectly fine without my presence there. I believed Jason could find a better wife who would be just as good if not a better mom to my children. I believed what my "friends" showed me time and time and time again over two years: that the world was a better place without me, that I caused nothing but heartache and that I wasn't worth their time.
Fast forward to a night a few days ago. Jason was gone to Massachusetts. I hadn't slept well in days. It was late. I couldn't sleep once again and the weight of the world came down heavier and heavier on me. The thought that used to be ever so common an occurrence in my life flickered through my mind. "You don't have to stay here, you know. You could end all this pain once and for all." Without skipping a beat, I mentally responded: "NO! I am loved. Look at this quilt on the wall that was painstakingly made for me in love. Look at these drawings from my children who love me more than they could ever love another woman in the world! Look at these cards from people I've never even met who would be saddened if something happened to me! Look at these window treatments that my Mother-in-Law hung with love. Look at this overflowing basket of chocolates brought to me by people who love me, who care about me. Look at this blanket sown together with love by a fellow cancer survivor I've never even met. No. If I weren't here, the world will miss me. I'm going to fight. I need to fight. If I become too overwhelmed that I can't fight for my own benefit, I will fight for the benefit of others." And then the thought that had entered my mind on a couple of other occasions hit me again. "I gave you this cancer because I needed to put you back together." "I GAVE YOU THIS CANCER BECAUSE I NEEDED TO PUT YOU BACK TOGETHER."
I pondered that for some time. I came into this cancer diagnosis a very broken person. My heart was mush. My trust in humanity, especially fellow Christians, was shattered and I was limping my way through life. The cancer diagnosis came and people started coming out of the woodwork, showering me with love everywhere I went and slowly healing the brokenness within. I'm not going to lie. The pain is still there, real and vivid at times, but I can tell that healing is taking place. I know that God is slowly putting me back together. Like the cancer nurse told me at the beginning of this journey, everything has a silver lining. Sometimes we just have to look for it. My cancer has a silver lining. It is healing me.
I would like to encourage you all to take the time to love someone "just because". Show them that they are important in your world and don't wait until they are sick to let them know. Many people are very good at hiding what is going on inside and it is very possible that someone desperately needs to know that their life makes a difference in yours. Send them a text. Write them a card. Drop off flowers or chocolate "just because". Maybe God wants to use you today to let someone know they matter. Maybe God will use someone today to let YOU know that you matter. Love is powerful. Let's spread it.