Mind their own business!

It is after 10:30pm. I've already taken a sleeping pill, and yet I'm here on the computer, typing. I was laying in bed, when a memory from thirteen years ago hit me and I really felt a strong need to type this blog post. I don't know which one of you needs to hear this, but I sense that this is something I need to share.
Thirteen years ago, shortly after Jason and I were married, I went through an incredibly difficult time emotionally. One night, I cut on myself with a razor over forty times. The cuts weren't deep, but they were a sign of a serious problem. Jason drove me all the way from our apartment to a hospital in Portland, OR about 25 miles away. Jason was a paramedic in Portland at the time, so for privacy concerns (he didn't need his co-workers asking him why his wife was in the ER), we were put in a room and they closed the curtains. Unfortunately, the social worker thought the closed curtains were a sign that we had already been helped and we waited a LONG time, I believe it was about an hour and a half, before the social worker realized that no one had been in to see me yet and finally came in to talk to us. By that time (45 minute drive + 1.5 hr wait), I had calmed down and was back in a "rational" frame of mind. Because I had already begun seeing a therapist the week before and didn't want to harm myself at that immediate moment, they sent me home with no treatment whatsoever. No lock up. No meds, and I don't believe they called my therapist either.
Fast-forward to last October. I downed a bunch of Ambien in a suicide attempt. I was taken by ambulance to Memorial Hospital, then transferred to Doctor's Behavioral Health (Mental Hospital), where I was put on a suicide watch for two days. I saw a psychiatrist there twice, for about ten minutes each time. I declined meds, and was released, with no follow up. I was not under the care of a therapist or a psychiatrist and no appointment was made for me by the staff to see one.
Why am I telling you these things? Because I want you to understand that if you have someone in your life who is struggling with depression, who is hurting themselves in anyway, you CANNOT count on the institutions or the hospitals to make sure they are safe and/or getting the treatment they need. I also want to point out that most people with mental illness, be it anxiety or depression (I can't speak for any other mental illnesses because I haven't experienced them), are incredibly overwhelmed. Even the smallest decisions of day to day life can seem insurmountable. When you can barely drag yourself out of bed and can't decide what you want to eat, or even if you want to eat, calling the insurance company, finding out what your coverage is, then calling several doctors before you find one who is accepting new patients, then making an appointment, getting to that appointment and then explaining what is going on with you is about tantamount to summitting Mount Everest! If you have a loved one who is steeped in depression or overcome with anxiety, offer to help them navigate the world of insurance and doctors. You may not want to be "pushy" or "interfere in their business" but I'm going to say it again: the institutions will not keep them safe. They may help you figure out how to keep them safe, but if you check them in and leave it at that, more times than not, they will not get adequate help. I honestly don't know where I would be today if I didn't have the help and support of my husband through those incredibly challenging and dangerous times. So be nosy. You just might save a life.

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.

Taxol?

Next Tuesday, the 28^th, I am scheduled to begin my Taxol regiment. I want to cry. The Adriamycin/Cytoxan has been brutal and I so desperately want to be done. I want this “cancer” portion of my life to be over and be able to move on, to what, I don't know, but on from this.
I've been wondering if I should do the Taxol at all. At times, when I think about it, it seems like overkill, but when dealing with something that could take my life, is there such a thing as overkill? I sent my oncologist an email today with several questions, asking him to explain to me why he felt I should undergo further chemotherapy and what the long-term repercussions of this particular chemo could be. I also asked him what he thought of the “forks over knives” view of things, particularly that a vegan diet can slow or even stop the growth of cancer. This was his response:

There is no guarantee of benefit with any of this therapy. It is possible you were cured as soon as your surgical wound was closed in the OR. It is possible we could treat you with chemotherapy constantly with a variety of drugs for many months and the disease may still come back. Clinical trials would suggest that with your particular disease parameters there appears to be statistically greater benefit to adding Taxol (that tends to be much easier to tolerate than Adriamycin and Cytoxan) than without. Unfortunately at an individual level, this benefit can only be expressed qualitatively and not quantitatively. It is like saying there is a 23% chance of rain this afternoon; if it rains, do you only get 23% wet.
2: There is a potential for permanent nerve symptoms about the hands and feet but that tends to be uncommon and mild.
3: My challenge to schools of thought such as "forks over knives" is to show the data in humans in similar clinical setting as you that specifically support what is being promoted. There are no data to say a vegan diet can be even remotely compared in efficacy in therapy for breast cancer.

Having said all that, the choice of what to do is yours. This issues cannot be effectively and adequately be discussed in an email like this. I would be happy to sit down with you and discuss all this further before you decide whether to continue with chemotherapy or not.

So the reality is that no one really knows if I need the next twelve weeks of chemo, and I want to run screaming for the hills, or bury my head in the sand and pretend that if I do nothing, all of this will go away. And maybe it would. Maybe it's already gone. But then again, maybe it isn't, and while the thought of spending my summer hooked to an IV isn't exactly my idea of a great time, it may, in the end, buy me years more of life.
I'm tired. I'm tired of being drugged up, tired of feeling weak, tired of fighting to muster the energy for every day activities. These months of chemo tagged on to two years of severe depression are taking their tole, and I'm just bone-weary tired. I do see the light at the end of the tunnel. I know it's there and I will be basking in its glow sooner than I know it. In the mean time, I ask for your prayers and rest in the strong arms of the One Who will get me through.

Comfort in the storm - Final A/C treatment

It is 3:30 am. In six hours, a nurse will be accessing my port and beginning the premeds for my final Adriamycin/Cytoxin chemo treatment. Following that, I will have twelve weekly treatments of Taxol, beginning in three weeks. My stomach is clenched in anxiety and dread and my mind is playing a revolving tape, sometimes in the background, sometimes on the forefront. "God, please don't make me! God, please help me. God, please don't make me! God, please help me."
As I was praying this prayer a few minutes ago, I was struck by the story of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. Now don't get me wrong. What I am about to go through, and what He went through are hardly comparable, but as the dread of and anguish over the events looming just around the corner rob me of my sleep and steal my peace, I am reminded of a time nearly two thousand years ago when a man, the Son of God, was in anguish and robbed of peace. Here are two separate recountings of the same event.

Luke 22:39-46: "Then, accompanied by the disciples, Jesus left the upstairs room and went as usual to the Mount of Olives. There he told them, “Pray that you will not give in to temptation.”He walked away, about a stone’s throw, and knelt down and prayed,“Father, if you are willing, please take this cup of suffering away from me. Yet I want your will to be done, not mine.” Then an angel from heaven appeared and strengthened him. He prayed more fervently, and he was in such agony of spirit that his sweat fell to the ground like great drops of blood."

Matthew 26:36-46: "Then Jesus went with them to the olive grove called Gethsemane, and he said, “Sit here while I go over there to pray.” He took Peter and Zebedee’s two sons, James and John, and he became anguished and distressed. He told them, “My soul is crushed with grief to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.”He went on a little farther and bowed with his face to the ground, praying, “My Father! If it is possible, let this cup of suffering be taken away from me. Yet I want your will to be done, not mine.”

Then he returned to the disciples and found them asleep. He said to Peter, “Couldn’t you watch with me even one hour? Keep watch and pray, so that you will not give in to temptation. For the spirit is willing, but the body is weak!”

Then Jesus left them a second time and prayed, “My Father! If this cup cannot be taken away unless I drink it, your will be done.” When he returned to them again, he found them sleeping, for they couldn’t keep their eyes open.

So he went to pray a third time, saying the same things again. Then he came to the disciples and said, “Go ahead and sleep. Have your rest. But look—the time has come. The Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Up, let’s be going. Look, my betrayer is here!”

A few things jump out at me in these passages. The first one is this. Jesus, in His anguish, was brutally honest. "I don't want to do this!! Please don't make me do this!" but He also never lost sight of Who He was and what He had come for "I want your will to be done, not mine." In response, God the Father sent an angel to comfort Him. He didn't remove the suffering that Jesus was about to endure, but He gave Him the strength to endure it. Sometimes we pray in our anguish that God will remove the storms causing us pain, but instead He provides us the strength to walk through them.
Something else I noticed in the reading of Matthew's version of events is that Jesus didn't beg God the Father once. He, too, had a "tape" playing: "God, please don't make me. God, please don't make me. God, please don't make me." His anguish was deep. His pain was soul-wrenching. His plea was strong and heart-felt. And when He was done pouring His broken heart out to God, He got up and did what He had to do, for you and for me.
There is much about the Bible, Christ and Christianity that I do not understand, but this I do know. Jesus loved us with a love beyond compare. He faced an agony so intense because He knew what was ahead. He knew He would be brutally beaten and hung on a cross. He knew He was about to have the weight of the sins of the entire world cast on Him. His soul was in anguish, and still He went through with it...because He loved His Father and because, together, they loved us.
When you are going through something that is ripping you to shreds and you think that God just doesn't understand, think again. He does. He understands completely, but maybe His ultimate plan is not to save you from your pain. Maybe His plan is to walk with you through it.

April 2, 2011

Today has taken me back in time to a day a little over two years ago, April 2, 2011. I remember that day vividly because it was one of the happiest days of my life. I remember thinking that day that life really couldn't get any better. This picture was taken that day, and I was happy, happy, happy.
It was the day of the very first Love Modesto I ever attended. A small group of us from Church in the Park made up our own project last minute and we drove around town in the CITP truck delivering ice cold water to strangers. Then we got some tacos from Taco Bell and delivered them to some of the homeless in town. I had developed two new friendships that were tighter than any friendships I had ever had and was certain they would be friends for life. I was happy, so happy! I would wake up every morning SO excited to be alive! I couldn't wait to see my friends, to volunteer at the park, to, well, live! I had recently lost fifty pounds. I looked good. I felt good. The world was my oyster. I felt like a kid again and was on top of the world. Little did I know what was lying in store for me.
Fast-forward two years to today, April 27, 2013. Love Modesto has come around again, a day I look forward to every year. There is just something about thousands of people coming together to love on their city that makes me smile. Today, though, it's bringing with it some painful memories.
Two years and twenty-five days later, I'm twenty pounds heavier and two boobs and a head of hair lighter. Since that blessed, amazing, joy-filled day two years ago, I have lost those two "forever" friends (and several more). I have attempted suicide once and been in the psych ward twice. I have been hospitalized for seizures we thought might be a brain tumor and turned out to be psychosomatic (we think. We still don't know for sure what caused them).  I have lost my ability to walk and then regained it. I have been diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder with Reoccurring Episodes, and then stage 2 Breast Cancer. I have had two major surgeries and a minor one and three rounds of chemo. A "millionaire benefactor" for CITP turned out to be a con-artist and swindled several of our friends out of thousands of dollars and left many of our dreams for CITP shattered into pieces. Jason's best friend died. Someone very dear to us was raped. Jason's grandma and grandpa died. Jason's job has been a mess of law suits, counter-suits, slander and uncertainty. I nearly lost my marriage. I was kicked out of the ministry that I loved with all my heart. James was hospitalized for pneumonia a couple times. 
On that day a little over two years ago, I had no idea, no premonition of the things to come. Sometimes I think I would love to know what the future holds. Today, I am thankful that I had no idea, because there is no way on earth I would have been able to handle the load of knowing what was just beyond the corner for me.
It is my natural tendency to remember the excruciating pain of the last two years that lingers on into today and oftentimes I want to sit there, to dwell in it, to grieve over it and scream about it, but I'm trying, today, to remember what else happened during the last two years.
My dad, whom I thought was my harshest critic and whose approval I have sought my whole life, has been one of my strongest supporters and has made his love and acceptance known on multiple occasions over the last two years. My husband has shown me the true meaning of unconditional love and my marriage has been restored. I have learned in a way that can only come from hands-on experience what grace really means. I have developed a love for and understanding of the mentally ill that I never had before. We have moved from an apartment into a house that we love and that is truly a home for us. We have been brought to a church that displays love in action. My children are thriving in a great school. I have hugged and loved on hundreds of homeless people and been blessed beyond measure for it. I have learned SO much about friendships, boundaries, and self-respect. I have made new friends from various areas of life, people I never would have met had I not had to go through the storms of life. I have been blessed by several incredible doctors, decent insurance and a new chance at life.
I'm not going to claim that I am happy today because I'm not. I feel tired, and old, and emotionally, physically and spiritually scarred. I'm not going to claim that if I had to do it all over again, I would go through everything that I've been through to be where I am today because I wouldn't. I don't know if I will ever get to that point. I would love to think so, but I'm not there today. I miss April 2, 2011. I miss that happy-go-lucky, ecstatic-to-be-alive girl. If I could go back in time to that day, I would. I feel like I've aged decades over the last two years and I am tired to the core of my being. My body's tired. My mind is tired. My heart is tired. My spirit is tired. I miss the naivety of the me of two years ago. I miss the heart that took people at face value and believed every word they said. I miss the me that woke up every morning excited to see the world. I don't know if that person will ever be back. I hope so. I pray so.
I started this blog posting hoping I could turn it into one of those "life was super hard, but it was all worth it" Chicken Soup for the Soul types of posts, but I just can't. Earlier this week, however, I was reminded of are lyrics of a Petra song. A friend and I were texting about life and I had mentioned that I really missed working with the homeless and didn't understand why God had benched me at this stage of my life. When he got my text, the Petra song "No Doubt" was playing on his iphone. The irony of that was not lost on either of us. It was one of those total God moments and so, as I walk down memory lane of the last two years for the thousandth time, wondering if the pain of it all will ever go away, I play this song, and hope.

No Doubt, by Petra

(Verse 1)
There are times when you fell like you can't go on
There are times when you fell like giving in
And there are times when you feel like you can't try anymore
There are times of trouble in believing
This test of your faith will last
As long as it takes to pass
Till you have no more doubt you'll endure
And you faith will emerge true and pure

(Chorus)
No doubt it'll be alright
With God it'll all work together for good
No doubt in the end it will be understood
No doubt it'll all work out
With faith He can move any mountain for us
No doubt in the power of Jesus
And after all is done we find out
All we really need to have is no doubt

(Verse 2)
There's a time to take a reckless leap of faith
There's a time to be cautious and wait
And there's a way of learning from the past
That this time of trouble won't last
And sometimes we want to think we know
The ways He will choose to make us grow
But it's never the way of our choosing
And we can't always see what He's using

(Repeat chorus)

There will be winters in the seasons of our soul
With a cold and bitter wind that chills our lives
But our faith can be building a fire
That will warm us till spring time arrives

(Repeat chorus)

I'm going through chemo

I realized something this morning: I'm going through chemo.
Duh! You say, but honestly, the reality of it hit me today. I've been struggling this week. To be honest, I've been struggling badly. This last round of chemo has hit me really hard. It's not physically much harder than the last two, but mentally, I can't seem to get my head above water. I'm really struggling and I hit a low last night. When I awoke this morning, I realized that I had, in a sense, been denying the fact that I'm going through chemo. Oh, I knew I was, but I was trying to continue living my life as if I weren't. I made a game out of finding beautiful scarves, doing my makeup daily, wearing cute earrings, and of course the smile, always the smile, because Gosh Darn It, this cancer stuff wasn't going to stop me!! I made sure I found a way to volunteer at church, and didn't skip services even if I had to bring a puke bag with me to get through it. Only now, it is stopping me, or at least having a huge impact on my life.
It's getting hot out, so I'm bringing out my summer clothes, only they don't look right. I've put on weight. My chest is MESSED UP (three surgeries and expansion halted mid-way will do that). The meds are wreaking havoc on my mid-section and the fact of the matter is I don't look good and there is little I can do about it. I wanted to make my way through chemo looking gorgeous and unfazed by it all, but I can't. Chemo IS affecting me. I'm bald, bloated and honestly, freakin' pissed off! I hate feeling out of control. Out of control of my body. Out of control of my life!
I seriously contemplated quitting my chemo. My oncologist was on the fence in the first place about whether or not I should follow my four rounds of Adriamycin and Cytoxin with the twelve rounds of Taxol or not. After discussing it with us, he felt it would be best to add on the Taxol. So I have one more A/C treatment, and then twelve, yes TWELVE weekly rounds of Taxol. Twelve rounds. How in the world am I going to last through twelve more rounds of chemo?! One at a time. One measly round at a time, and eventually, it will be August, and I will be done, and I will cry. I will cry and cry and cry because I will have made it. I will have survived and it will all be a distant memory.
Until then, I will put on my baggy t-shirts, flash my bald head around, and hold on for dear life because there may be pain in the night, but JOY comes in the morning. Right? Right?

I typed this blog entry and then went looking for a picture to post with it. As I scanned picture after picture after picture on Google of people who were going through chemo, babies, the elderly, men, women, all kinds of people in various stages of cancer, I quickly began to realize that I am blessed. I have an end date to my chemo. I have a "life beyond". I have thirteen more treatments, yes, but I have ONLY thirteen more treatments, and then I can expect a relatively normal, cancer-free life. This season is a blip on life's radar for me. It is not the end of the road. It's just a bump. That's all. A bump. I am going through chemo, and I am blessed.

Countdown

Tomorrow begins the countdown to chemo. As I was preparing to head to bed tonight, I noticed a shift in my thinking, and realized that it had gradually been coming over me all day. I like to claim that I don't dread my chemo. I mean, it's not that bad really. My stomach gets a little upset. Food doesn't taste good for a few days. I sleep for a few days, get sores in my mouth, and have blanks in my memories for a couple days (from the ativan they have me take I think). Honestly, though, it really isn't that bad. Yet I sit here with tears streaming down my face as I type because I don't want to go! I just feel so out of control when chemo time rolls around. I try SO hard to stay positive, to look at the bright side of things, but when this time comes around again, I can't help but become overwhelmed by the anxiety. Most of the time it transfers to Church in the Park anxiety. It's funny, in a "not really all that funny" kind of way. Perhaps interesting is a better word. It's interesting that as chemo time approaches, the urge to return to the park becomes overwhelming. The urge to prove that I control my life and no one else does. The thing is, though, I don't. God does. I answer to Him and I know He doesn't want me there right now. I also know that it's not really the park I want. It's to be free of the cancer, and the chemo and to put this challenging chapter of my life behind me.
I know I am privileged to have access to this treatment. I know it is a blessing to have this diagnosis now rather than twenty or thirty years ago. I know this cancer is healing my emotional wounds. I know that I don't have to be strong, that I can sleep when need be and that everything will be taken care of by Jason, my mom, and the many others who are pitching in. I know my husband loves me and will continue to love me no matter how sick I am. I know every day is a good day, and some days are great, but the fact of the matter is this good day is hard. This good day is full of tears, and chemo isn't all that peachy. It's hard. It's brutal really, and I'm tired of being strong. I want to scream to the world: "I can't do this anymore!!! I don't want to lose a week of my life to medicated sleep. I don't want to miss out on a week of my kids' life. I don't want to watch my husband work himself into the ground, handling work, and then everything else while I lay in bed and watch tv or sleep. I DON'T WANT TO!!"
And now that I've had my little temper tantrum, I will order my medications, arrange the necessary childcare, and put all the other pieces in order. Then I will get up on Wednesday morning, put on my makeup, gather up my things and go get my treatment with a smile on my face because, after all, I'm alive, I'm loved, and soon, my treatment will be over. My hair will grow back and life will continue on its merry way.