tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12632818983514139512024-03-07T10:58:32.578-05:00Kicking Ass and Taking NamesI'm a survivor, not because I've beat it, but because I fight it.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.comBlogger136125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-74544467085850147302016-10-10T21:51:00.001-04:002016-10-10T21:51:25.934-04:00Fred & Ethel (And maybe, Myrtle, too).I've debated as to whether to post this or not. I've gone back and forth for a week now since getting confirmation, longer since suspicion. I've managed with a small core group of support, but the last couple of days tell me I need more. I need my friends around me. So here's the update, as much as we know at the moment anyway.<br />
<br />
A month-ish ago, swallowing started getting more difficult. Not to the point of full blockage, but to the point of being hyper-aware every time I swallow anything, even saliva, and coughing or choking on meals if I'm not super vigilant. While that alone doesn't sound like that big of a deal, know that there was a new growth this summer, I was instructed to let my team at MDA know if this sort of thing happened. So, after dealing with it long enough that I was fairly confident that it was some weird psychosomatic episode brought on by fear, I called. Or rather, I emailed.<br />
<br />
My care team's great. My nurse practitioner in the Survivor Clinic called me as soon as he read the email. He didn't dismiss me. He listened to my symptoms, he listened to me say it might be psychosomatic, and then he told me that he didn't think it was. He had me make an appointment with my local GP to go ahead and get an exam ASAP, and instructed she and I from there (basically, if she palpated and felt anything, ultrasound STAT) plus labs.<br />
<br />
So I did exactly that. Got an appointment with my GP the next day (she's awesome that way), and she immediately sent me for ultrasound. So, it was exam on Wednesday, ultrasound Thursday, labs on Friday. Monday evening, my GP called to let me know she had gotten the results and, based on the previous reports she had, it looked like Ethel had grown, and that I very likely had a new, bigger growth, and she was calling and faxing MDA right then.<br />
<br />
Granted, that was at nearly 6PM, so I didn't hear from MDA till the next day. And, of course, there was a hurricane trying to make life even more interesting. However, the NP did call (while I was standing in a 2 hour line to get a propane tank filled - sorry, everyone who had to listen to that conversation!!) and let me know that he thought that what they were calling a new growth might actually be Fred, who's been stable for 4 years, quadrupling in size, and Ethel growing some. So, instead of waiting till December to fly to Houston for biopsy and exam, I am now going October 26 for biopsy, ultrasound, exam, and swallow/speech consult.<br />
<br />
I don't actually know what any of this is really going to mean. What I do know is that I'm effing terrified. I don't know if my thyroid cancer is freaking out and growing way faster than it should, or if it's some secondary cancer, or, miracle of miracles, it's bizarro benign growths. Regardless, it's pushing on my esophagus, and that's never a good thing.<br />
<br />
So that's where I stand. And why I'm freaking out. And why I may cry randomly. And why I'm just flipping exhausted. And now you know.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-65568097655471096262016-07-11T15:42:00.002-04:002016-07-11T15:42:45.663-04:00Update of SortsAs most of you probably already know, I was at MDA for my checkup last week. They'd started scheduling me for Friday appointments in the survivor clinic, because that's the slot for out of town patients that they feel are stable and won't need more follow up than their annual appointment. Because of this, I also went alone; flying from Ft. Lauderdale to Houston isn't terribly cheap, and hey, it gave me an opportunity to have some time with a friend, and time alone in a hotel room. Sure, it's stressful, but also a bit of a break for me. And, I mean, since I've been going, it's been pretty much a non-issue - one teensy little tumor we call Fred, about the size of a pinhead. Normally, it's bloodwork, an ultrasound to check Fred's size and make sure he's not growing (and make sure he hasn't gained any buddies in there), then a meet with the docs in the survivorship clinic to verify that all is well.<br />
<br />
This year, I walked in with the most minimal of anxiety. I had convinced myself that everything was A-OK, so no reason to worry. When the tech was doing the ultrasound, it seemed like he was measuring things on the wrong side, and was paying more attention than I expected around my trachea. Still, I thought, no big deal. Hung out in the Hospitality Suite with some other people, talking, sharing, drinking coffee and eating cookies while surfing Facebook and texting with friends to distract me. I mean, I was anxious enough that the most I ate was half a muffin and a couple of bites of cookie, but I didn't even stress that.<br />
<br />
I had plans to talk to the NP about the possibility of starting HRT for my hot flashes and night sweats since I was 4-5 years out, for the most part, and Fred had stayed stable. However, when he came in (and he was so friendly, and so sweet), he asked a couple of questions that triggered something in the back of my head - trouble swallowing? (well, yeah, kinda, but I assumed it was my imagination.) Any other symptoms? (That's a par for the course question... not really? TSH has been fluctuating?) Then we moved onto the testing that had been done - Bloodwork looks good. Fred hasn't grown. However, there was more this time. There's now this... thing... in my thyroid bed, tough to reach via needle, but big - over 1.5cm. Of course, there's a lot that was said after that that I'm still trying to process. What it comes down to is that benign things don't usually grow this fast, especially given history, and that, on imaging, it looks malignant. Bloodwork is questionable, but that's not 100% definitive. Usually, even when there's something, they are comfortable letting it slide for a year. This time, though, I've been told I'm only going to be able to wait 6 months, max, and they really want to bring me back sooner. There's a question as to what exactly will happen, and when it will happen. The NP is conferring with the head Doc today, and I will have a plan of action by the end of the week.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I'm a ball of anxiety. This isn't good, but we're not certain exactly how not good it is. I'm trying to stay busy, I'm trying not to think, I'm trying to keep it together, but it's hard. Inaction is the most difficult thing for me. Not having a concrete plan is the most difficult thing for me. I'm assuming this isn't easy for Hans, either, but he's Hans, and he's being a sweet, caring rock. the kids seem fine, but we're also not alarming them. Hans told them what was up before my flight got in so they wouldn't be weirded out if I was acting odd, but that's it.<br />
<br />
We haven't really <i>told</i> anyone in person, mostly because I just don't feel like recounting the same information over and over and over, and there's just not a whole lot of concrete information to give. But please, don't take it personally if I didn't tell you individually - this is just a lot to deal with, and hit like a truck in a fog. I'm cool with texts, emails, PMs on FB, but I'd appreciate if everyone doesn't call - talking on the phone is hard when I'm okay, and I'm most decidedly not okay right now.<br />
<br />
So there it is. When we know more, so will everyone else.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-25520838673502166082015-11-30T15:56:00.001-05:002015-11-30T15:56:09.142-05:00It's the Little ThingsIt really is.<br />
<br />
Like when something upsets you in a way that you don't want to talk about (because, really, who even cares? Some people suck. Best to just pull an Elsa and let that shit go.), so you go set up your Christmas tree so that you can see the twinkling, blinking, colorful lights. And then, you realize that you can see them reflected in at least three surfaces, so you can see the lights from multiple angles.<br />
<br />
Or when you go to pick your kid up from a volunteer deal and grabbing dinner, and drive through your neighborhood together, oohing and aahing over everyone's festive lights. And then, you pull into your driveway and realize that your husband insisted you pick the kid and dinner up because he was scheming with the other kid to hang lights on your house to make you happy.<br />
<br />
Sometimes it's just the smell of fir in the air, with a bite in the breeze, hinting of winter (because, after all, this is South Florida). Or cookies baking. Or the knowledge that family is coming.<br />
<br />
Whatever it is, take pleasure in the small things this holiday season, whatever your small things may be.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-52945053098690689292014-07-19T09:02:00.001-04:002014-07-19T09:02:48.507-04:00I don't wanna go....I've reached that point where I just don't want to go. That point where I want to say, "Nah, it's not that big of a deal if I just skip everything, right? I mean, will it kill me? If so, how fast?" Seriously, fear and anxiety are powerful. So very, very powerful.<br />
<br />
Right now, I'm vibrating. It started last night while I was eating dinner. I took a bite of pizza and felt the vibration start between my eyes. It was so bad, I thought it was the beer I had, but one can of Dos Equis with 2 pieces of pizza is not enough to make me completely drunk and give me vertigo-like symptoms. I'm 99% sure it's a physiological manifestation of the anxiety.<br />
<br />
Because of it, I didn't sleep last night. And for that, I have to apologize to Hans. I never know what is worse - getting out of bed, then getting back into bed, both of which will surely wake him up, or staying in bed on my tablet, with the light possibly waking him up. So, I usually stay in bed and try to just read something on my tablet until I pass out. Which is exactly what I did last night. Except, I would feel like I was passing out, put the tablet away, put my head down, then the brain would kick into overdrive again. Three or four times I repeated this cycle. I finally fell asleep, but back awake for good at 6, and still with the vibrating.<br />
<br />
And when your whole body is vibrating, almost everything is annoying. It is so hard to not just be angry at the world. I'm trying, though. I'm trying to remember that not everyone is out to get me. I'm trying. I'm trying.<br />
<br />
So now, I have to go clean my kitchen, because it's not going to clean itself (dammit! Why won't it? I wish it would) and pack my bag so I can travel the five hours to Houston for GIANT NEEDLE IN THE NECK. And I'm going to try not vibrate off the face of the earth.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-1870948469535875602014-07-18T11:07:00.003-04:002014-07-18T11:07:38.040-04:00The Snake PitThat would be my stomach. I could take a chill pill, but the emotional stuff is also exhausting me, so taking one would just knock me out. While that sounds like a great idea, I also have a life in addition to having to deal with this cancer crap, so I need to function and get things done.<br />
<br />
Today, for instance, I need to take Al to the library to get the books she needs to read for school summer reading. Because, you know, school starts back on August 8, and she hasn't read any of her three books yet. Heck, she didn't even CHOOSE her three books until yesterday, when I made her physically sit down with me and choose. And I have to clean the house. Because kids in and out for the last three days, plus me being gone for the vast majority of the day the past three days means that normal stuff hasn't gotten done like it should, so things are kind of a mess. And yesterday when I was home, I did yard work because I knew about today's rain forecast (and it's pissing down, as predicted). And then there's the packing for the trip to MD Anderson, making sure that I have all the medicine that I need, with the bottles for doses and everything else. And packing the kids. And snacks and drinks and, and, and... .<br />
<br />
So yeah, I have to dig in deep, fight both the emotional exhaustion that has manifested as physical exhaustion, and the anxiety that is mounting. It's weird, though - I can feel it increasing. I can literally feel the pit of snakes in my stomach growing, from one little guy to a whole writhing knot. I can feel it flush up from my chest to my neck, then to my face, and into my hairline. I can feel the anxiety like a vine, inside and out. But I can fight it. I can do all the things, and keep busy, and watch silly TV (Thanks, How I Met Your Mother, for entertaining me!), knowing that I just have to make it through Monday.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-52954575207000577612014-07-17T13:30:00.000-04:002014-07-17T13:30:53.307-04:00Weekend EveThursday. Usually the day I'm trying to get all my ducks in a row for the weekend ahead. Today, I'm just trying to focus enough to accomplish the things I absolutely must: orthodontist, cat food, pick up prescriptions, back to the ophthalmologist for Heather, home to clean and do laundry. I have to focus. Tunnel vision to accomplish the absolutes. Otherwise, I just sit here and research and obsess. And obsess and research. And I don't even know what I'm researching right now, really. I'm just... researching. Everything. Nothing. Just reading. It's comforting, actually, in that odd way. It's better than what I did two years ago - sitting here, watching Grey's Anatomy and crying - though.<br />
<br />
Still freaking out. Still about GIANT NEEDLE IN THE NECK. Still can't quite get past that. That's good, too, though. Because beyond GIANT NEEDLE IN THE NECK lies the unknown, and the unknown is absolutely terrifying. Like, paralyzing fear terrifying. So I'll just fixate on GIANT NEEDLE IN THE NECK, and how much that terrifies me, and worrying about whether I can take my xanax when I wake up that morning, then take the ativan that has been prescribed for 10am. I'll keep worrying that I won't be with it enough to understand what the doctor is telling us. I'll keep worrying about the before stuff. Because the after is too much to face just yet.<br />
<br />
I think my immense phobia of needles, and hence this incredible fear of GIANT NEEDLE IN THE NECK, may even be a defense mechanism in this situation. You know what, though? I'll take it. Because, like I said, the after is just too far reaching to think about just yet. There are implications that I can't face. Or it could be a little nothing, and I could come home with a tiny bandage. But I don't know.<br />
<br />
So, for now, tunnel vision. A lot has been accomplished on today's list. Now to do more and concentrate on that.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-78318854802859716512014-07-15T10:00:00.000-04:002014-07-15T10:00:08.126-04:00Meet Fred.<br />
<span style="color: #363636; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; line-height: 14.291199684143066px;"><i><div>
<span style="color: #363636; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; line-height: 14.291199684143066px;">6/25/12</span></div>
Multiple ultrasound images are performed of the thyroid beds and anterior neck lymph nodes. The patient is status post thyroidectomy. The right-sided thyroid bed seems clear to us. On the left, we see a very small nodule of 0.3 x 0.2 x 0.2 cm that is too small to further characterize</i></span><div>
<span style="color: #363636; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; line-height: 14.291199684143066px;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #363636; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; line-height: 14.291199684143066px;"><i>6/27/13</i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #363636; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; line-height: 14.291199684143066px;"><i>In the left thyroidectomy bed, there is a 3 x 7 x 4 mm lymph node.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #363636; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; line-height: 14.291199684143066px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #363636; font-family: Arial; line-height: 14.291199684143066px;">Meet Fred. He's small. But he keeps growing. He's the reason for the GIANT NEEDLE IN THE NECK.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-56330253932786739192014-07-15T08:06:00.000-04:002014-07-15T08:06:13.711-04:00Stressful CountdownIt's a week till I get to have a needle stuck in my neck and find out what the hell is going on with Fred. I'd be lying if I said I'm not freaking out. I'm totally and completely freaking out. The reminder for the appointment came yesterday, and I made sure I had my ativan for the biopsy ready to go.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, I'm cleaning and just getting ready, and trying to hold it together. I'm doing okay at it, too. I just try to watch TV instead of thinking about GIANT NEEDLE IN MY NECK. Because GIANT NEEDLE IN MY NECK freaks me out more than anything. Seriously. As in, I told the nurse, when she said the doctor had decided to do the fine needle aspiration biopsy, "Really? Because I would be okay with him just going ahead with surgery. I'd honestly rather surgery than the biopsy. Honestly." And I meant it. Because A) I have had this biopsy shit before. It's highly unpleasant, no matter what load of crap they tell you. And B) I worked in a clinic where I assisted with the needles (though the doc I was with was sticking them in freaking spines!!!) that they will be using, so I know how big these things are now. Really know. Ordered and stocked and prepped the treatment room know. So no. GIANT FREAKING NEEDLE IN MY FREAKING NECK! Not a fan. Not even a little bit.<br />
<br />
Breathe, Kerry. Breathe.<br />
<br />
Okay, better.<br />
<br />
Yeah, I'm lying. I'm not better.<br />
<br />
Part of me is worried about the outcome, too, but really, whatever. I mean, all the rest is old hat. Cancer is cancer. I have cancer. I have had cancer, dealt with cancer, lived with cancer, for eight years now. Having to deal with that isn't the problem. GIANT NEEDLE IN MY NECK is the problem. GIANT NEEDLE IN MY NECK is keeping me awake.<br />
<br />
Okay. Off I go to get on with my day and try to act like a normal human being for a while.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-165140814455565242014-07-08T14:59:00.001-04:002014-07-08T14:59:50.713-04:00Anniversaries and UpdatesJuly is my Cancerversary month. Eight years ago, I went in at the end of June for a routine ultrasound, then went on vacation with Hans in Kentucky (thank you, Kris & Paul - we had no idea how important that trip would be when we took it!) July 14, I went in for a biopsy, and July 18, they called me in to tell me it was cancer. This year, on July 21, I get to go in for another biposy on a nodule/tumor/thing that we have been watching for 3 years, so the oncologist can decide what to do with it. It's like history is repeating itself, only this time, I'm a bit more prepared.<br />
<br />
So, as a bit of healing exercise, I'm going to copy and post some of my original blogs.<br />
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
7/10/2006<br />
<br />
Today sucks. Absolutely sucks.<br /><br />I went to the endo this afternoon to get the results of my bloodwork and thyroid u/s, fully expecting to hear what I've heard for the last 8 years - slight increase in TSH, so we can increase your levoxyl - and then head out the door and home to Heather's therapy session.... Yeah, well, not today. Instead I find out that my thryoid has nodules that are "suspicious calcifications" and have to be biopsied. Then, as if that, with my insane fear of needles, wasn't enough, the dr, not lightly, throws out the C word. Yep. Cancer. God, is there ever ANYTHING worse than a dr saying you may have cancer to you? Because honestly, I really can't think of anything so far. And I'm not even saying that I think I *have* cancer. I'm just saying that the day a dr looks at you and very seriously puts it out there as a more than every day, hanging out in the sun and eating charred meat chance is scary as all living hell. You don't know unless you have had that conversation. And if I have, you know EXACTLY what I mean. I was sitting there in an exam room with my two little girls, hearing this man tell me, "Hey, not to freak you out, but the reason we;re doing this is because there's a very real chance you have cancer." Yeah. Ok. I'm cool. Not.<br /><br />Friends here are telling me I'm handling this really well, but I think I'm just numb. I mean, me, cancer? Surely not...... but then again, there is all sorts of cancer in both sides of my family, and the fact that in the area where I grew up there has been a more than normal number of cancer cases. How many people in the Hart County area, specifically the AirLine/canon area have either died of cancer, have cancer or are cancer survivors? Those of you that know the area, think about it. I'm betting all of us from there know more than our fair share of cancer, am I right?<br /><br />Then there's this whole needle thing. See, I'm terrified of needles. Not kind of afraid, or even afraid of the pain. I mean, my idea of hell is someone driving a needle into an organ. I would love to be a nurse, but there is no freaking way i could ever pierce someone's skin. My KIDS are better with needles than I am. And now I get to go, alone, and have some stranger drive a needle into my THROAT while another stranger scrabbles around there with an ultrasound transponder thingy so that the needle stranger can see what s/he's doing and making sure to stab every one of those calcifications..... Yeah. Freaking. The. Hell. Out.<br /><br />I don't know.......<br />
<br />
7/16/2006<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, I had this all typed out and then my computer decided to go all wonky on me, so I have to start over. I should heed the words of a wise man who once posted that we should all save our work as we do it! Don't you know, though, that normally I do? It just so happens that I wasn't really thinking earlier today when I was typing. Oh well....So just some random thoughts and ramblings that have been rattling around in my brain. Things that have occured to me or that I have concluded this weekend, nothing more, nothing less.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Friday was the biopsy. Man, let me tell you, that was an experience. I was a nervous wreck. I mean, seriously, you have no idea. I was sitting in the chair in the waiting room and felt a vibration. I thought that my phone was ringing because I put it on silent, but no - it was just me shaking so much that I was literally vibrating the chair. When I finally went back to get my Xanax and sign the last of the paperwork for the procedure, I was shaking so hard that I was actually having a hard time holding my cup of water. Thank God for Beth - I could not have done this without her there holding my hand and being so supportive. She was so good to me.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So they explain to me that the doc is only planning on biopsiying (is that how you spell it?) one of the nodules and that it will take 3 needle sticks. They seem to think that telling me exactly what's going to happen will calm me. Luckily, the nurse realizes before we actually get into the procedure room that this is not the case with me this time. She gets the doc to not tell me anymore than he absolutely must and is such a peach that she covers my eyes with a cloth, too.They numb you with lidocaine which hurts like a bitch! Seriously, of the procedure itself, that was the most painful part. Talk about stinging! i got through it, and it was on to the real show. Now, just because they numb you doesn't mean you don't feel anything. It just means it doesn't exactly hurt. I felt every time the doc stuck that needle in my neck, and while I won't say it was painful, it was certainly disconcerting. It was like having someone poking you in the voicebox hard with their finger. So, we do the three times, with this sickening squirting sound between each (that's them putting the cells onto the slides....). Suddenly, Doc Whoeverheis tells me that he's going to have to give it one more go, and that this one is going to cause a good deal more pressure. Um, yeah, that was probably the understatement of the hour. It very truthfully felt like he was putting the needle all the way through my neck that last time. Again, while not painful per se, still quite uncomfortable. That, however, was the end of it, and soon I was on my very unsteady feet, with Beth keeping me in an upright and locked position.Home we came, and Beth deposited me on my couch with my computer, magazines, book and phones all on the table beside me.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was about noon when we got back, and evidently, after she left, I felt the need to make a few phone calls. I say evidently because I have no recollection of this. I remember Hans calling at 2 to say he would be home soon, and then I remember waking up at 4:30 wondering where he was, but not being quite coherent enough to really care.... Amazing, considering the only things I took were an Ativan Thursday night and a Xanax Friday morning. I slept all day Friday, all night Friday night and was still out of it, though unable to sleep much, all day Saturday. This was a very good thing, too, because they definitely didn't prepare me for the amount of pain I was going to be in. Honest to crickets, I couldn't do anything involving my chest up on Friday without it hurting, and even still Saturday I was in a fair amount of pain, even unable to turn my head to the right side. I woke up this morning feeling much better, but sneezing, coughing and yawning still make me flinch more than just a little....</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I should have results by the end of the week, but regardless of what they are, I think I'm prepared to take it in stride. At least, that's what I thought this morning. Maybe the anti-anxieties were still in my system enough that that was the reason the knot was gone from my stomach, because on our way to pick up the girls, a certain song came on the radio that made my stomach knot back up. However, regardless of the results of the tests, life will go on, and I should be able to survive this without issue. Still, I'm a lot more afraid than I'm trying to let on. Hans thinks I'm borrowing worries being too concerned about this, and he's probably right. Still, I have a husband and two little girls that count on me every day. The thought of something being wrong so that I'm not here for them is just more than I can bear.....</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wow, I really am rambling here. I have one more bit of news, though, that probably won't mean a hill of beans to most of you. I don't care - I'm proud of me and am going to share anyway!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> This morning I had to take off my Old Navy Women's Plus 18 jeans, which, when I bought them in March were the first jeans I'd had in years that fit comfortably without being tight, because even with a belt they were falling off!! I couldn't tighten the belt enough to get them to stay up without them looking really bad because they were all bunched up! And this is with monthly bloat! Yay!!! You can have NO idea how exciting this is for me, because only a few short months ago, I really needed to be in 20's and was just too ashamed to buy them, so I was wearing pants that were uncomfortably tight!!!!!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">So that's it in a nutshell. In closing, though, I want to say how grateful I am for all the thoughts and well wishes from everyone, and I want to thank my mother in law for coming and getting the girls and taking them home with her for the weekend. It would have been nigh on impossible for me to take care of them Friday afternoon, and I am so grateful!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">7/18/2006</span><br />
Got my biopsy results today....<br />
.... and it's cancer. Papillary carcinoma. SO I get to call tomorrow to make an appt with the surgeon to have my thyroid removed, then I'll have two radioactive iodine treatments.......<br />
<br />
More info to come, and ask any questions.... .I'm just kinda drained right now....<br />
<br />
7/19/2006<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My blog yesterday was kind of curt and cold, and for that I am sorry. Last night I was in such an odd state of mind, I can't even describe it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For those of you interested, here is some more in depth information and a course of action.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I mentioned last night, my particular cancer is Papillary Carcinoma of the thyroid. The nodules that prompted the biopsy I had lsat Friday were found during a fairly routine ultrasound of the thyroid. There are/were multiple nodules (about 14 altogether), Ranging from .3cm - 1.7cm. There were two that were greater than 1cm (the standard for biopsying), one being 1.1cm and the other being the 1.7cm. The remaining dozen range in size from .3-.7cm. The biopsy was performed only on the largest tumor, and 4 samples were withdrawn.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With thyroid nodule biopsies, there is a 75% chance of definite benign results, a 20% chance of indeterminate results (meaning either there isn't enough sample tissue to concretely determine whether cancer is present or not, or there is a chance of medullary cancer which is much harder to identify) and a 5% chance of it being a definite malignancy. Well, as usual, I'm in that small minority percentage. With papillary carcinoma, the cancer cells have a very specific look of the nucleus being noticeably enlarged. If it's papillary carcinoma, it's pretty much cut and dried, no questioning whether it's a false result or not.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> After meeting with my endocrinologist yesterday, I had to digest the fact that I have cancer. However, I am comforted by the fact that this cancer is highly treatable with a 100% recovery rate if found in stages 1 and 2. We don't know what my staging is as of yet, and won't until after the surgery, but it is at least at stage 2 for certain.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Tomorrow Hans and I are meeting with the surgeon to discuss my treatment. The prescribed course of action right now is a total thyroidectomy followed by two treatments with radioactive iodine to kill any remaining thyroid tissue and find if there is any cancer remaining. While the surgeon is doing the thyroidectomy, he will also check for lymph node involvement.after all these treatments and my thyroid uptake scan, we will find out if there has been any metastization.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">So that's the game plan for now....</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">7/20/2006</span><br />
Hans and I met with the surgeon today. WE both were really impressed with his knowledge and expertise in thyroidectomies, as well as the fact that he is proactive and aggressive in his removal of thyroid cancers.<br /><br />He did a complete examination, including looking at my vocal cords, and then had Hans and I meet him in his office for the consultation. He answered all of our questions thoroughly and without any hint of sarcasm (not the word I want to use, but I can't think of the one I do want right now....). He is the foremost in the area, and one of the foremost in the state in total thyroidectomies, and has a very high success rate of removing all cancer.<br /><br />He's going to remove the entire thyroid as well as the lymph nodes in the (I think this is the right terminology) central compartment. THe reasoning for removing the lymph nodes is that they are not vital to bodily function, and if the cancer has metastisized, that would be the first place it would goal. He told us that his goal is to get me as cancer free as humanly possibly with the first operation so that I, hopefully, never have to go through this again.<br /><br />He has me scheduled for surgery on July 31, but they have me on the cancellation list as well, so I could possibly go in even sooner.<br /><br />THe one thing that is bothering me just a little, and my THyCa support buddy verbalized it to me even though I hadn't yet, is that I feel like they're holding back a bit of information. Maybe not, and if they are, it is probably just from a liability point of view or a, "let's not jump the gun" point of view. Still, to make the decision to remove lymph nodes right away doesn't seem completely routine, and leads me to wonder if there is something showing on the ultrasound that they just haven't said anything about yet..... However, I am off to do a bit of research about this now....<br /><br />Another concern, and I know that this is unavoidable as it is just part of the treatment, is that they will be taking me off my Levoxyl the day of surgery, and until I my treatment is over, I will remain off of it. I am not looking forward to becoming more hypothyroid than I have ever been in my life, that's for certain!<br /><br />So in a nutshell, there it is as I know it to be at the moment. I may not have made a lot of sense, and please, if anyone has any questions or concerns, voice them - I'm open to feedback!<br />
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<br />
Eight years. Eight years, and back. Well, technically, I've been back for three years. Fred (the nodule/tumor/whatever) has been growing for three years, and we've just had to watch him and wait for him to get big enough for them to biopsy (for typing and staging) and possibly excise. So on the 21st, I'll find out if Fred gets evicted or not, and what his flavor is this time.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-26858409918628188032014-04-29T08:54:00.001-04:002014-04-29T08:54:10.062-04:00Anybody Got a Flashlight?So usually I can manage everything on my own just fine. I compartmentalize all my feelings and keep everything where it needs to be. I make everything just work. Sure, I get mad and yell, probably more than I should, but I keep it all together for the most part. Amazingly well, I think, for someone who so rarely allows themselves to lean on anyone else. Not right now, though. Right now, I feel like someone trying to keep a pile of leaves in place in a wind storm, only, I'm a pile of leaves myself. I'm flying apart.<br />
<br />
I went out to a group function last night because, usually, when I'm just a little down, being around friends helps. This time, it didn't. My words were tinny, forced, my laughter felt too loud and inappropriate. It just wasn't... right. I wasn't me. I wasn't really there. And when I left, I was exhausted and drained and spent, more than is normal for me. The whole time, I kept thinking, "I have to try harder! I have to be clever! No one actually likes me! Maybe I can just dive under these tables...."<br />
<br />
Home wasn't any better.<br />
<br />
I'm trying to hold everything together, alone. Because, evidently, there's nothing to hold together. At least, that's how it appears to the outside. There's no reason for stress, no reason for worry, no reason for me to feel the need to curl up in a ball and cry uncontrollably. And yet, that's all I want to do.<br />
<br />
Maybe it's a drug interaction. That's a possibility I hit on yesterday. I'm taking both Neurontin and Zonegran, and, evidently, combining the two can lead to increased depression. But really? I think that's just compounding stressors. There's shit going on. There's stress. There are things that are bothering me, and I'm largely alone to deal with all of it, whether in reality or just in my own perception because I'm unwilling to ask for help. I'm alone. Alone in a crowd, maybe, but alone nonetheless.<br />
<br />
It's dark in here, and I need a flashlight, but all the ones I have, the batteries are dead. Anybody got a flashlight?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-46369371496500022462013-05-15T22:08:00.000-04:002013-05-15T22:08:44.898-04:00Stream of consciousnessPlease forgive me if this turns into a rambling mess with more twists than a mountain trail...<br />
<br />
I want to write. I have words that beg to come out of me, mostly at night, as I'm trying to sleep.<br />
<br />
I've attempted writing over the past months. But, I get a couple of sentences typed out, then re-read them and realize they make no sense whatsoever. So I try again, with the same results. Over, and over, and over, until I grow so frustrated I could scream. And sometimes, I do scream.<br />
<br />
It's not that I don't know what to say or how to say it; in my head, at night, alone in the dark, I can compose coherent, cohesive, cognizant prose. But now, when I try to make those words flow from my head to my fingertips, there's a disconnect. Suddenly, I forget everything.<br />
<br />
Lately, I'm even forgetting how to spell. And I don't mean I'm mispelling words that are comple or complicated. I mean I'm misspelling things I should not misspell. Words the composition of which should be as effortless to me as breathing.<br />
<br />
I'm forgetting a lot of things these days. I have to write things in multiple locations now to remember them. I spend my day in fear that I have forgotten something I've scheduled, so I check my wall calendar, my day planner, my online calendar, and the fridge (for sticky notes). I go places and forget why I've gone there. Even with my grocery list, I'll forget the whole reason I went to the grocery. I'll be mid sentence and forget what I'm saying. I can't remember any of the doctor's or medications' names when I'm asked. I completely go blank. I go to look something up, and by the time I've opened the new tab to do the search, I've forgotten. It's bad. I use the wrong words, or can't think of words.<br />
<br />
This post, for instance. I started this post at 8 this morning. It is now 9PM. And I'm wrapping it up. I don't know that I've done anything more than whine about pain and frustration, but at least I think I feel a little emotionally better.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-61822356307786913442013-03-07T18:07:00.001-05:002013-03-07T18:07:42.077-05:00Pseudotumor CerebriSo, it occurs to me that I have mentioned my latest diagnosis, but I haven't really told anyone much about it. I haven't explained what it is, how it was diagnosed or what it means long term. Maybe I should do that now. Maybe I should start from the very beginning... .<br />
<br />
Okay, so since last spring, my migraines had been increasing in severity and frequency. I was also beginning to experience some memory issues, but nothing huge. At that time, we were dealing with finding out that the last treatment for the thyroid cancer hadn't worked, and that there was still a tumor in my thyroid bed, trying to get the appointments at MDA set up, and getting our ducks in a row in the event that I would need more surgery. It was natural to just chalk it all up to stress, you know?<br />
<br />
But by the end of the summer, when things had slowed down, we noticed that the memory issues had not resolved with the decrease in stress but were, in fact, getting worse. I started telling my doctors - rheumatologist, GP - I even made an appointment and started seeing a psychiatrist because I thought it might all be due to being depressed. And there was some depression and anxiety, but not really....<br />
<br />
So anyway, I have thislist of symptoms that I'm taking to all my doctors. I kept the list with my medical info, and handed it to whichever resident I saw at each appointment, and then to the attendings when they would come in. Same list each time. Literally.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Tremors</li>
<li>Memory Loss</li>
<li>Cognitive decline (trouble spelling, doing simple math, forgetting or "losing" words)</li>
<li>Eyelid twitching</li>
<li>floaters in field of vision</li>
<li>increasing migraines that don't respond to meds</li>
<li>branch patterned goosebumps on right arm</li>
<li>exhaustion</li>
<li>muscle cramps, especially in hands</li>
<li>peripheral vision decline</li>
<li>mood changes/depression/anxiety</li>
<li>nipple discharge (sorry, guys!)</li>
<li>no libido</li>
</ul>
<div>
Each time, I handed them this piece of paper with this list on it. Each time, they would pay attention to one, maybe two, items on the list, and dismiss the rest, then either tell me I'm stressed, depressed or just tired. It was so far beyond frustrating. Finally, I got my rheumatologist to refer me to neuro. Her only reasoning? Increasing migraines. Fine. Whatever. I got my referral nonetheless.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In the meantime, though, I got this headache.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At the beginning of September, I noticed that, instead of having migraines almost every day, I was having a near constant migraine. By our anniversary (9/16), it was constant. And debilitating. As in, I was doing nothing but laying in bed, crying, because it was honestly the worst pain I had ever been in. It got so bad that I was debating whether to call my GP or go to the hospital. The only reason I chose the GP was because the thought of waiting in an ER in the kind of pain I was in was just unfathomable. Bright lights? Lots of noise? No, no thank you. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So anyway, I go to the GP. Get a doc that says, "meh, migraine, here, let's give you these migraine meds to try." I go, get the rx filled, take it in the store (because I was honestly in that much pain - I wasn't driving, Hans was, which is rare, too). Nothing. No relief. Call back the next morning, get told by the MA that was taking the call that no one was going to write me an RX for narcotics (bear in mind, I never asked for narcotics. I'd already tried the fioricet I had been given, and some other painkillers that I have been prescribed, and when none of them worked, I didn't bothering taking additional doses of them because it was pointless), and I should go to the ER. As nicely as I could, I asked to please speak to either the attending or one of the residents, as I had been told when I was in the day before, to call if the headache had not improved, and it hadn't. This time, I got a very caring resident who, once I made it clear that I wasn't, in fact, drug seeking, asked me to come back the next day to see her. With her, we tried a couple more migraine meds, hoping that maybe we just hadn't found the right combo. She also ordered a head CT, that I went and had done that very day (because no one wants to put off a head CT when there's clearly an issue). Of course, it came back clear. Still, the headache persisted. Not headaches. Headache.Singular. This was the middle of October, and I had had this headache nonstop since the middle of September. I went to bed at night with a throbbing head. I woke up in the morning with throbbing head. The only thing that seemed to be bringing a modicum of relief was a combo of <a href="http://www.drugs.com/toradol.html" target="_blank">toradol</a> or <a href="http://www.drugs.com/diclofenac.html" target="_blank">diclofenac</a> and <a href="http://www.drugs.com/mtm/compazine.html" target="_blank">compazine</a>, along with just hiding in bed as much as possible. It was no way to live.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Finally, it was time to see the neurologist. Again, I handed over my list. Again, I explained my concerns. Again, I detailed all the steps we had taken to that point to remedy the situation. Again, it fell on deaf ears. It was suggested that I go see a colleague of hers - a headache specialist - for botox injections. Because that's <a href="http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/behindtheheadlines/news/2012-05-11-botox-gets-nod-for-migraine/" target="_blank">a normal treatment for chronic migraine</a>, and, after all, at 34, I could use some wrinkle work (her words. I just <a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2011/04/wild-animal-simple-dog-goes-for-joy.html" target="_blank">simple dogged</a> at that one). I asked if there was anything else she could recommend in the meantime, as I wasn't terribly excited by the thought of taking these heavy duty meds just to control symptoms for a few hours - and let's be clear here: the headache was not <i>going away,</i> it was simply being lessened to a point that I could almost function. To appease me, she ordered an MRI. Again, I went down and got it scheduled for ASAP (I think I had to wait a day - the imaging center at Ochsner Kenner really is fantastic!). A few days after ( a Friday at 5:30, to be specific), I got a call from the GP, who had been the one that my MRI results were sent to, for some unknown bit of kismet.</div>
<div>
"Has anyone called you with your MRI results yet?" she asked.</div>
<div>
"No. Not yet."</div>
<div>
"Oh, well I have them here. Do you have some paper and something to write with?"</div>
<div>
I grabbed paper and pen, and began writing what she was telling me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="http://healthlibrary.ochsner.org/Library/Adult/NervousSystem/134,57" target="_blank">"Pseudotumor cerebri</a>. Your MRI report suggests <a href="http://www.rosenkilde.com/Pseudotumor-Cerebri.html" target="_blank">pseudotumor cerebri</a>. Have you ever heard of this condition before?" At first I thought I hadn't. So, she began telling me about it, calming me, because hearing the word "tumor," even when, intellectually, you know that pseudo means <i>not</i>, it's hard to squelch that fear that creeps into your belly. I wrote down as much as I could, then promised to call her office on Monday to make an appointment to talk to her about this face to face and figure out next steps.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>to be continued....</i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-51869077358292125172013-03-04T13:18:00.000-05:002013-03-04T13:18:01.186-05:00Reading through the fogLast week's appointment with the substitute neurologist was frustrating, at best. I spent 45 minutes with two first year med students, who knew less about my condition than I did, and that's saying something, since I haven't dedicated as much time and effort to researching pseudotumor cerebri/intracranial hypertension as I have to other conditions (hey! I've only known this even was a thing since November!). Then, when the neuro finally decided to come in, she was dismissive, spent little to no time talking to me, and when I asked her about cognitive function issues, she said, "That's not the pseudotumor. You're depressed. You need to see a psychiatrist. That's the only explanation for memory and concentration problems."<br />
<br />
Now, I realize that A) most patients probably don't understand the difference between cognitive function and concentration issues and that B) she didn't have much information from me about the cognitive function I was concerned about (you know, because she didn't bother to talk to me), but to be so presumptive and dismissive of a patient - any patient - is just bad medicine.<br />
<br />
That appointment ended with her telling me to come back in two months, when my regular neuro will (should?) be back from maternity leave, and that we're not going to do anything any differently than we've been doing. Forget the cognitive issues. Forget the increase in vision loss. Forget the fact that the blinding head pain is not fully controlled with the medication. Just come back in two months when she doesn't have to deal with me.<br />
<br />
Then, I go to the front desk to make my appointment. Now, keep in mind, this was on February 25th. I was told two months. The neuro returns on May 1. I have an uncontrolled neurological condition that, without treatment, has permanent ramifications. The soonest they can get me back in?? June 10. 104 days. Over three months. Now, is it just me, or does that sound like a bit longer than what I was told?<br />
<br />
So, since I seem to have time, I am doing research. I remembered someone mentioning on a message board I belong to a different form of aphasia, one that manifests as using the wrong words for things, having trouble remembering specific words, or struggling to get a word out. Ironically, I couldn't remember what that word was, so I put out a message to that group asking if anyone else remembered, and, of course, someone did - Anomia, or anomic aphasia. I started reading about it last night, and it fits. It's a subtle aphasia, one that isn't always terribly noticeable to casual acquaintances, moreso to people you spend the majority of your time with. My kids and husband notice it most with me, but my daughters' troop leaders have both noticed instances, as have some other friends. And, of course, I notice. I notice all the time. It drives me insane, because words are my armor. They're my weapons, my tools, my comfort. Losing them, not having them at my command at any given moment, it's pure torture. And then there's the memory. I forget things so frequently, so quickly. But, again, it's subtle. I pass the quickie "do you have Alzheimer's" test that the residents give with flying colors. But ask me what medications I'm on? My kids' birthdays? I have to think a lot longer than I should. And there's the short term memory issues (yeah, I had to try three times to phrase that because I couldn't remember "short term memory.") - leaving the stove on, forgetting that I'm cooking something, forgetting that I just told someone I'd do something, forgetting that I just asked someone something. Hell, last weekend, I went to get pizza, literally a mile and a half away. Less than five minutes drive time. When I left the pizza place, I opened the sunroof. By the time I got home, I had forgotten that I had opened the sun roof. It stayed open all night. While it stormed.<br />
<br />
So anyway, I'm doing research, and I'm finding text in <u>Cognitive Neurology: A Clinical Textbook</u> by Stefano F. Cappa, Jubin Abutalebi and Jean-Francois Demonet that talks specifically about intracranial hypertension causing anomic aphasia. Which means that while, technically, it's all in my head, it's not my imagination. Now, though, I have to decide whether to just keep chronicling what's going on and wait for my appointment, or if I try to find a new neurologist who can see me in a timely manner and possibly get these symptoms under control. On the one hand, I feel like the original neuro was/is good, knows her stuff, and is able to help me get things under control. However, her office is making me wait more than three months. At the same time, a different neuro may be able to get me in sooner, but may not have the access to research that a teaching hospital does, and may not have the experience with this condition that she does.<br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><br /></span>
I hate not knowing what to do. I hate always needing to know what to do. I hate being sick.<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"> </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-73730235733332615612013-02-25T09:46:00.001-05:002013-02-25T09:50:15.647-05:00Things of great importance....So today is another appointment with another neurologist. The neuro that started treating me for Intracranial Hypertension (AKA Big Brain Syndrome) is on maternity leave, and has passed me on to one of her colleagues until she returns in May. At first, I was a bit irritated that this new doctor, instead of seeing me as an existing patient and just following what the other neuro laid out, insisted on seeing me as a new patient and getting her own feel for my situation. Now, though, since things have not resolved in the manner we originally had hoped, I'm thankful for this opportunity at fresh thoughts. So later today, I'll drive through this crappy weather to the Garden District to be poked, prodded and questioned, and hopefully have some questions answered....<br />
<br />
But that's not what's of greatest import here. Not even remotely.<br />
<br />
No, today, I'm taking a departure from talking about me (kind of) to talk about something else - domestic abuse. You see, last week, someone posted <a href="http://weknowmemes.com/2012/09/bella-is-in-an-abusive-relationship/" target="_blank">a graphic</a> that pointed out that the relationship between Bella and Edward in Twilight hits<a href="http://www.thehotline.org/is-this-abuse/am-i-being-abused-2/" target="_blank"> all 15 of the National Domestic Hotline's criteria for abuse</a>. At first, we were all "Duh!" But then, in the course of conversation on Facebook, we talked about how many people may not realize this, and how many people are abused on a daily basis. Someone suggested bingo cards. I went a step further and created the cards - 6 in all - so that I can use them. I figure, hey, I have daughters, they're going to read stuff like this. Instead of attempting to ban books with stories like Twilight's, it would be a much better idea to not only allow them to read/watch them, but to also learn from them.<br />
<br />
So many people end up in relationships that they don't even see as being an issue until they're near powerless; I know, I've been there myself. If I can teach my girls,or anyone else, before they make the mistakes I did, then I've succeeded.<br />
<br />
So please, I share these bingo cards with anyone and everyone. I ask that you share them. I ask that you use them. I don't want credit, I don't want anything but to help someone else.<br />
<br />
Ghandi said, "Be the change you wish to see in the world." This is my small contribution to that.<br />
<br />
Thank you!<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://docs.google.com/document/d/1JhOHJqGxG3ysjAHSKSUQ3JvZJoFHKhgsyYwcqnDlbnU/edit" target="_blank">Domestic Abuse Bingo Cards</a></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/zwSIStCFwbhj3fh9L7SU2nHU8QMCZq-EXW8S0xe-TXUTrR0A5MxSDVrhLh12SZF4OXeoP1K0uVIv6V6OaxnC9qxsdhYSTGFpO3mJzgWfWcvROYRM-dZL9w_i" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/zwSIStCFwbhj3fh9L7SU2nHU8QMCZq-EXW8S0xe-TXUTrR0A5MxSDVrhLh12SZF4OXeoP1K0uVIv6V6OaxnC9qxsdhYSTGFpO3mJzgWfWcvROYRM-dZL9w_i" height="224" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-67846940878990303192012-12-09T21:18:00.000-05:002012-12-09T21:18:33.560-05:00I didn't ask for this.I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask to have a body that is continually betraying me, broken and useless. I didn't ask to be in pain more often than not. I realize that no one else asked to have to deal with my illnesses, but it's important to remember that <b>neither did I. </b> As much as my limitations, my pain, my inability to just suck it up and cope annoys others, the pain is mine, and mine alone.<br />
<br />
I don't ask for much. A little patience, a little understanding, and, very rarely, a little help. The last few months have been a practice in torture. I can't even put into words what it's been like in this broken, betraying body. It's a hell I've never known, the worst I've dealt with to date, and that's saying something. And yet, outwardly, it seems to some that I'm just cranky and lazy. Even when the pain has been at its lowest, it's still be among the worst I've experienced. On the backburner, it's like a migraine; when in all its glory, I wish for a guillotine, anything to make it stop. And the ringing. The ringing in my ears. I try to drown it out with outside sound, but then that makes the headache worse. The ringing alone, though, amplifies the headache while also making me feel like I'm losing my mind.<br />
<br />
I apologize if I'm forgetting things, if I'm not accomplishing things, if I'm not being who you think I should be. Regardless of what anyone thinks, I'm doing my dead-level best to function at a manageable level. I am coping the only way I know how. And, for the most part, I'm doing it alone.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-37119912367794081222012-10-09T00:34:00.001-04:002012-10-09T00:34:23.183-04:00Twitchy... .I should be in bed, trying to sleep. I have to get up in a few short hours and deal with all the angst that comes with a pre-teen girl trying to get ready for school before she's had her meds. But I'm twitchy, so I'm sitting in my chair, at my computer, trying to get things out of my brain, and waiting for my nightly meds to start working their magic... .<br />
<br />
<br />
There's a number of reasons I may be twitchy: It could be hormones. It could be that yesterday was my birthday, and so today is the let down of not being the princess anymore. It could be that all the "Pinktober" crap has started, and that makes me cranky every year. It could be that I have had a migraine for more than two weeks with only one day of relief. It could be that I'm tired of dealing with rude people in professional situations. Like I said, it could be any number of things. Alternately, it could just be inexplicable anxiety and crankiness. Lord knows that's not an impossibility with me!<br />
<br />
For now, though, I'm going to rant for a minute. I'm going to rant here and try to not respond on everyone's Facebook statuses when they post about it and inadvertently piss me off. I'm going to rant about something that I've ranted about every October for a few years now: <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/she-the-people/wp/2012/10/02/pinktober-queue-another-stupid-facebook-meme/" target="_blank">Pinktober</a> and <a href="http://www.pinkwashing.org/pinkribbon/welcome/welcome.html" target="_blank">Pinkwashing</a>.<br />
<br />
Here's the thing - I know too many other survivors and fighters. And I've had to say goodbye to far too many incredibly strong people. Of the friends that I have that are cancer patients, survivors or family members, I can think of maybe one who isn't offended by the salacious act of "pinkwashing." And, honestly, I haven't talked to her about it in over a year, a time when she was newly diagnosed, a time when many patients just grasp at whatever they can find to not feel so alone.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.cancer.org/acs/groups/content/@epidemiologysurveilance/documents/document/acspc-031941.pdf" target="_blank">Just a few facts about cancer</a>:<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Lung cancer killed twice as many women last year as breast cancer.</li>
<li>More than 400 men <i>died</i> of breast cancer last year.</li>
<li>It is projected that more than 20 thousand people will die of <i>bile duct cancer</i> this year.</li>
<li>More than 28 thousand men will die of prostate cancer.</li>
<li>Nearly 2000 people will die of thyroid cancer this year, over half of them with the same diagnosis as mine.</li>
<li>"An estimated 56,460 new cases of thyroid cancer are expected to be diagnosed in 2012 in the US, with 3 in 4 cases occurring in women. The incidence rate of thyroid cancer has been increasing sharply since the mid-1990s, and it is the fastestincreasing cancer in both men and women. Since 2004, incidence rates have been increasing by 5.5% per year in men and 6.6% per year in women."</li>
</ul>
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So, let's talk about awareness now.</div>
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Here's the thing - what I just posted, the links, the facts, the figures, that's what raises awareness. Awareness means teaching. It means making people aware. Women are aware that we have breasts. And we're well aware that these breasts can develop cancer. I honestly don't know of a single female in an industrialized country who has not heard of breast cancer. <b>We are aware. </b>What people are not aware of, however, is that men get breast cancer. And that men should be performing self checks. So, if you want to raise breast cancer awareness, maybe that's a good place to start. Another area where breast cancer lacks awareness is what treatments entail. People not close to the situation have this idea that it's cut out a lump, or cut off a boob, or, in extreme cases, cut off both boobs, maybe have some radiation, maybe have some chemo, then life goes on. The reality, though, is so much more involved and drawn out for most patients. And just like other cancers, the situation varies from patient to patient. What worked for your friend/sister/hairdresser/dogwalker's uncle's girlfriend's best friend's nail girl may not work for you.</div>
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<br /></div>
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There's a saying in the Special Ed community, "If you've seen one person with Autism, you've seen one person with Autism." Cancer is very much the same way. My thyroid cancer has been different from any case of thyroid cancer any of my doctors have treated. My friend who died of brain cancer had a similar experience, in that her case was different than others. Every cancer patient I know, every cancer patient I have ever talked to, has said the same thing - while we may have things in common, and certainly have an understanding of one another others don't, none of us have had the same experience. We all come to this club from different places. We all take different things from being members of the Cancer Club. We are unique, and so are our experiences.</div>
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<br /></div>
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You want to raise awareness? Understand that. Understand that cancer doesn't discriminate. It doesn't care if you're rich, poor, black, white, fat, thin, vegan or carnivore. It doesn't care who you know or what you do. And while some cancers seem to be more acceptable, to the patients, they're not.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Think of it this way: Replace Breast Cancer with Colon Cancer. Do you think we'd get a month dedicated to selling brown products? Would football teams deck out in poop brown gear? Would people decorate their cars with brown ribbons? How about prostate cancer? Thyroid cancer? Bile duct cancer? Urinary? Bladder? Penile?? Testicular??? No. So why parade breast cancer patients and survivors just so you can feel better about yourself? Why contribute to corporations getting even richer off of the suffering, pain and fear of patients and survivors? Why trivialize what dealing with a cancer diagnosis does to a person by commercializing their experience?</div>
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<br /></div>
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Think about it. Think about the men and women behind the diseases. Think before you pink.</div>
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<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-65193709494020027582012-09-23T00:10:00.001-04:002012-09-23T00:10:36.741-04:00Words<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My words are all jumbled up in my head tonight, so please forgive me if this becomes a bit rambly and incoherent.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Today was an odd day of sorts. I got (what should have been) plenty of sleep last night, I didn't have to get up early, I didn't have a physically taxing morning. I drank an entire pot of coffee and two glasses of Diet Coke. By all rights, I should have been bouncing off the walls; indeed, I had<i> intended</i> to be bouncing off the walls, doing yardwork, cleaning, generally being busy. It was going to be wonderful!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But, as has been the case lately, by shortly after noon, I was so tired, my vision was literally going double. I tried to stay awake, I did. I ate my lunch, but only a small one, with plenty of protein. I had my Diet Coke. And yet, I couldn't do it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"I'll just lie down for 30 minutes, that should be enough, then I'll get up and clean the kitchen from last night, and do the laundry and plant some flowers! 30 minutes will only put me to about 3, so it will be wonderful!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Only 30 minutes became more than two and a half hours. I even set my alarm. You know the type - the one on the cell phone that, should you miss it, for whatever reason, continues to go off every 10 minutes or so? Yeah, I have no idea how many times I hit snooze, or how many times I just didn't hear it. All I know is that I laid down sometime around 2:30, and when I finally made myself get up again, it was after 5.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The worst part though, is that this isn't just today. As a matter of fact, yesterday was a bit out of the recent norm because I <i>didn't</i> take a nap. I wanted to, but I was able to force myself not to go back to bed. Granted, I didn't actually do a whole lot, but still - it was a small victory.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now, I know, some people are probably thinking, "What the hell are you complaining about? I'd kill to take a nap every day!" And yeah, that's all well and good, except, as Hans can attest to, I'm just not a napper. I'm not. I've always had a very strict, "lie down for an hour, no naps after 4PM" rule and, in the past, when I have napped, even following those rules, I've still had trouble sleeping at night. Not anymore. Seriously, as I type this, I'm so tired again, that I'm having a hard time focusing. I'm waiting to go to bed because I keep clinging to the hope that normalizing a bedtime schedule will fix everything. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And that's the thing: I keep trying to find something to blame. First, it was that the stress of the MD Anderson trip. Then it was the stress of knowing the cancer's sitting there and we just have to wait for it to grow before we can actually <i>do</i> anything about it. Then it was the kids being back home. Then it was school starting. In reality, though, this has been going on for months, and I don't have an actual reason for it. Everything that we thought, everything that the doctors considered, we've treated or tested for. Now we're grasping at straws.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And it's not just the sleeping. I mentioned it before, but it bears repeating, because it's a <b>really big deal:</b> my memory has become utter shite. We're not talking the normal stuff, either. We're talking forgetting what I've said to someone a few moments earlier, forgetting people's names that I should remember (which has caused some really awkward moments), forgetting to turn the stove on or off, putting clothes in the washer, getting through entering the settings and loading the detergent, only to forget to turn the damned thing on, not being able to remember a single freaking thing on a grocery list that I've forgotten at home. I've even been forgetting the names of the medications I take, which is a huge, huge red flag.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Honestly, it's gotten to the point where I have to enter every single little thing into the note app on my phone. I have to enter appointments into my calendar immediately when I make them. I have to set alarms to water my flowers, to start dinner, to know when the kids are to get up and when they are to get home.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And then, when I forget something, I know I've forgotten it. Words - I lose words all the time now. This bibliophile can't remember the plots of books, or pull simple words from the air to get them to her mouth or fingers. And when I can't remember, I get agitated. I thought it was just me, that I was just frustrated, but that it wasn't noticeable. That is, until the rheumatology fellow I was talking to started telling me to calm down when I couldn't remember one of my medications to tell her. I wasn't <i>saying</i> anything, but evidently the look on my face conveyed my agitation.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's scary. It's scary wondering what the heck is going on. It's scary knowing that there is something, but no one has put their finger on it. And it's scary being afraid that maybe it's just all in your head. Every time I go to the doctor, I'm terrified to even tell them about anything, because I'm afraid they're going to think I'm a hypochondriac. Hell, sometimes I'm afraid I <i>am</i> a hypochondriac. I've been assured that I am not, in fact, and that the things that are wrong with me are proven and quantifiable. But it's just <i>so much.</i> Even if I know, and even if my doctors know, that it's all real, who's to say that everyone outside believes it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Maybe I can just go to sleep and forget my fears... . Silver linings?</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-15810348273864966042012-09-22T14:29:00.001-04:002012-09-22T14:29:35.806-04:00Rainbows In Little Boxes<div>
I've not been around much lately; too little to report, too much to think. Of course, part of the problem, too, is that I've just gotten tired. Tired of explaining, tired of justifying, tired of talking. Tired of thinking, too, but I haven't figured out a reliable way of not doing that. Not for lack of trying, though, I swear.<br />
<br />
Like tonight, for instance: Tonight was "pill minder night," that fun task of filling the tiny little compartments with each day's medications, and I realized I've come full circle - back to 11 pills a day. I had reached a point, mostly due to not having insurance, and therefore, not having the ability to get prescriptions filled, of not taking anything. Then, we slowly got back to the necessary meds - the thyroid hormone, the most basic of Fibromyalgia drugs. Now there are more, including antibiotics for the wacky skin crap the radiation caused and acid reducers for the damage to my esophagus, also likely radiation induced.<br />
<br />
It's frustrating. It's frustrating to be 2 weeks away from 34, and to be taking more medication than most 80 year olds. It's frustrating to know that I have to take about half of them to survive, and the other half to essentially counteract the effects of the first half. And it's frustrating to know that this is likely my life.<br />
<br />
I've said it before, but I'll say it again - I wish there were a way to compound all my daily meds into one pill - heck of a lot less to keep up with and remember, which is a big deal, since my memory seems to be failing at an alarming rate right now. So much so that I have brought it up to all of my doctors. So much so that Hans has taken notice. So much so that the <i>kids</i> have taken notice. So now, I have a referral to a neurologist, and an appointment for the end of October.<br />
<br />
Ugh. Cancer. Such a stupid bitch. I was fine before they started treating it, and now I'm falling apart, held together by the rainbow in the little boxes that I swallow twice a day.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-76612984008010568122012-06-03T12:05:00.000-04:002012-06-03T12:05:00.595-04:00What if, what if, what if???I try so hard not to get sucked into the "what if" game. Sometimes, though, it's impossible not to. Sometimes, your brain just takes over and you have absolutely no control over where it goes. None.<br />
<br />
Take this week, for instance. On Thursday night, I got sick. It's rare for me to be that spectacularly sick, because I hate vomiting with a burning passion, to the point that I will do ANYTHING to prevent it. But I couldn't. At first I chalked it up to something I ate, and went back to bed. However, all day Friday I still felt pretty crappy and couldn't eat anything. So what did I do? I started playing a little bit of "what if." "What if this is a new symptom? What if this means that the tumors are growing more (there - I finally used that stupid word!)? What if, what if, what if?<br />
<br />
Then, yesterday, my stomach had calmed down a great deal, and I was able to eat and (mostly) enjoy the day. However, my chest hurt. Still does, actually. Nothing major, and probably muscle strain from Thursday night, but still... My brain is going insane. "What if it's a new symptom? What if it's the tumors growing? What if there's metastasis that they haven't seen because they only did the ultrasound of my neck? What if this means that it's not thyroid cancer anymore, but some other sort of cancer attacking me, and that's why they didn't find it before - because they were looking for horses in a field of cows?? What if, what if, what if?????"<br />
<br />
It is driving me crazy. And, of course, I can't talk to anyone about it, because any time I've tried (with the exception of a rare couple of people), I've been given the whole, "Be positive!!" line. Which, of course, does nothing but piss me off, because, you see, I <i>am</i> positive! But I'm also scared and worried, and those are valid emotions!!<br />
<br />
Which brings me to another point - I know you all love me, but please, stop invalidating my emotions, and the emotions of any other cancer (or any chronic illness) patient you come in contact with. I know that it isn't easy to deal with this, but think about how hard it is for the person going through it. And please, please, please, for the love of all that is good and holy, just take the words, "Be positive," "stay positive," or "think positive," out of your vocabulary. You mean well, but that - those little words - invalidate everything we're going through.<br />
<br />
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go take a shower and some xanax, and make nice with the general public for a while.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-83870458485897742042012-06-01T20:13:00.003-04:002012-06-01T20:13:54.387-04:00HidingI've been quiet lately, partly because I've been in the mountains without a computer, partly because I've been busier than I thought posible, and partly just because I was trying, for a little while, at least, to have some normalcy and time away from cancer. So, I haven't blogged. I've taken a ton of pictures, I've read some lighthearted stuff, I've traveled with my husband, and I've tried to pretend that I'm a normal 33 year old, not a 33 year old who has cancer. Again. Still. Whatever.<br />
<br />
I got to thinking about this, first about a week ago, but more so today. I was sitting here, on my front porch (which I adore!), and I realized that I have been identified in my medical records as a cancer patient since Aliceon started school. That, for half of my marriage now, I have been a cancer patient. That, for more of my children's lives than not, I have been a cancer patient. I have been engaged in this battle for as long as Heather can remember, and almost as long as Aliceon can. They don't recall a time when Mommy wasn't "sick" in some capacity. They have spent chunks of their lives sitting by me while I recover from this, that or the other medical treatment, all, in some way, related to this stupid cancer.<br />
<br />
And it pisses me off. This is not what I wanted to bring them into. This is not what Hans signed on for. This is not what <b>I </b> signed on for. It's not fair.<br />
<br />
Now I'm in another waiting session. I'm all calm and cool on the outside, pretending that everything's fine, pretending that I'm not worried, pretending that all is well. But it's not. My doctor - my local doctor - called me last Wednesday afternoon to discuss my ultrasound with me. She agrees that it's something that we need to be aggressive about, to the point that she suggested that we possibly do the biopsy here, sooner than my appointment at MD Anderson on June 25th, just in case. She agreed that vascular tissue is worrisome, and that it's something we don't want to play around with. She also decided to go ober my initial ultrasound she ordered again, just to make sure nothing was missed. Friday, while I was out of cellular range, she called me to tell me that she had looked at the ultrasound, and that there was "something [she] need to discuss with the radiologist." So I don't know if that means that they missed something initially in October, or if she just wants to be certain there was nothing there, but either way, if there was something then, the I-131 should have taken care of it and didn't.<br />
<br />
But, of course, most people don't understand the fear and the worry and the waiting, so I'm back in my hiding pattern. Today is a perfect example - I have been nauseated all day. Now, I'm about 99% sure that it's psychosomatic, caused by stress, and the fact that I gave my body a chance to slow down. Instead of saying anything, though, I blamed it on something I ate, or told everyone I was fine.... Because that's what I do. I hide. I can't be weak. I can't be vulnerable.I can't need....<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-75138358976023230082012-05-23T19:14:00.003-04:002012-05-23T19:14:59.685-04:00Getting somewhereHave I ever mentioned how much I love my endocrinologist? Seriously - if you're in the New Orleans area and need an endo, I highly recommend Dr. Friday!<br />
<br />
I sent her an email this morning letting her know that I wanted to get her thoughts on the results of the ultrasound I had, since I hadn't heard from her and seemed to be getting blown off a bit by MDA. She called me back this afternoon and we chatted a bit.<br />
<br />
It was a really good thing I had emailed her, too - she never got the results! Her office kept saying they hadn't gotten them, which means there's a very good chance they're lost somewhere in the shuffle, either the imaging center assumed that she could access them there and never sent them up, or the office staff has misplaced them. Either way, she hadn't seen them. When I told her that I had a copy of the report and of the disc, she asked me to read her the report. She agreed that the vascular tissue was not there in October, and that it's more than a little concerning. When she found out that I was going to have to wait till June 25th to see Dr. Sherman and get the biopsy, she offered to do it here sooner, because she feels that we shouldn't wait a whole month before seeing what the hell this is.<br />
<br />
Her point was the same one that I have read over and over, and the same one Cindy, my old endo's nurse made - vascular tissue, especially where there was previously none, is troubling because it's a living, breathing thing, siphoning nutrients from me to try to grow. She also said that it's most likely cancer, but that she can't be sure if it's actual thyroid cancer or something else.<br />
<br />
So she's giving the other doctor a call (evidently they're friends enough that she calls him to chat about cases) and find out what the heck is going on, and why I've been given three dates, each later than the last.<br />
<br />
So we're getting somewhere. She validated my concerns, which I needed after being made to feel like a whiny idiot yesterday. Now to wait for her to call me back later this week....Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-64754736284027250172012-05-22T12:10:00.002-04:002012-05-22T12:10:40.467-04:00In LimboOn Friday, someone from MD Anderson called to tell me that my appt had been moved from June 4th to June 18th. I freaked out a little bit because it's an additional two weeks to wait, and waiting is not something I'm very good at. So I tried to call back and couldn't get through. Then, yesterday while I was at lunch, someone called again. I tried calling back, left a couple of messages, but heard nothing. Today, in the 45 minutes that I was in the school for Aliceon's Superintendent's Honor Roll Breakfast, they called again, but this time to tell me that the appt had been moved to June 25th. Again, tried calling back the numbers I was given, but couldn't get in touch with anyone. Finally, I went through the main number and talked with someone who isn't connected with my case. They couldn't tell me why my appt was being moved, except that "the doctor said to."<br />
<br />
Not cool. I talked to the nurse for my old endo yesterday and told her what was going on, and she confirmed some of my fears - that there's a less than 1% chance it's not cancer, that all my previous ultrasounds had, in fact, been clear, and that it growing since rads is a bad sign.<br />
<br />
So, of course, I'm a little more anxious. And now I'm being told another month. Which means I am rearranging all of my schedules yet again. It also means that much longer of daily panic attacks, that much longer of worrying, that much longer before any treatment is begun. And, of course, it means that I will be going to Houston the week before the kids get back....<br />
<br />
I don't like this. I don't like this at all. I'm scared, I have been living with the knowledge that the cancer is still there since December, and I want it out. I want to be able to live my life again... .<br />
<br />
I just received a call back. Evidently someone was perturbed that I was upset at being rescheduled, and is now rescheduling me again, hopefully for a sooner date, but will now not be able to tell me anything.<br />
<br />
I'm just so frustrated. I have been in limbo for 6 months. I need to be able to <i>do</i> something. I need to stop having to sit on my hands....Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-33207166818702746302012-05-18T13:25:00.003-04:002012-05-18T13:25:42.794-04:00Frustration...I know I already posted a blog today. But that was earlier. It feels like a different day now....<br />
<br />
I'm frustrated. I woke up this morning with energy. I started cleaning and doing things. Now, though, I've hit a wall. I'm crashing. I'm trying to decide whether to stress my system out by ingesting a lot of caffeine so I can accomplish all the things I need to get done before I go to bed tonight.<br />
<br />
My mood is still pretty good, though, in spite of the frustration. It's the thing I hate about all of this - I can be going along, feeling just fine, then BAM! I'm done. Wiped. No energy. Right now, I barely have the energy to keep my eyes open. There is so much to do, though, and doing just a little each day doesn't help, because I end up doing the same little things each day. Then, it's just the minimum of dishes or laundry that ever gets accomplished.<br />
<br />
I want my energy back. It was so nice to be able to make it through the day without falling asleep in my chair...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-30558543846518302582012-05-18T09:16:00.002-04:002012-05-18T09:16:31.472-04:00Today is a new day...I woke up this morning feeling so much lighter, so much happier. There's still that funky feeling in the pit of my stomach that I carry around with me the whole time I deal with the prospect of what's next with this cancer, but I feel better.<br />
<br />
Yesterday was a good day. I got to see and hear things that made me truly feel loved and supported. I had a round of intensive therapy that helped tremendously (AKA I watched the rest of Grey's season 7 - the musical episode? Yeah, sobbed the entire time!!). Dinner out reconnecting with someone that I wasn't sure I wanted to reconnect with, but that I'm glad I did. A wonderful evening with my husband, feeling so very loved and cared for.<br />
<br />
Yesterday was a good day. Today will be a good day, too. I can feel it. As long as my phone doesn't ring, as long as I don't have to deal with anything beyond cleaning my house, as long as I can concentrate on that and forget the rest, today will be a good day.<br />
<br />
Good days are a gift right now. So many of my days, as some of you well know, aren't. Some days, getting out of bed is just about as much as I can handle. But I have to push through - I have kids that need me, a husband that needs me, a house that, if I truly did nothing, would be so much worse than it is. On those days, I do what I must, and I just let the rest go. But then that adds to the anxiety... what if someone stops by? What if I have to go somewhere on short notice? What if, what if, what if... The stress of what if wears me out all on its own.<br />
<br />
So on days like today, good days, I try to cram in as much as I can. I know I'll pay for it. I know that I'll spend the next two days wiped out. But it's worth it, to get on top of everything, it's worth it!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1263281898351413951.post-58140563058169754222012-05-17T17:47:00.002-04:002012-05-17T17:48:16.392-04:00I am...<i>I'm thinking about a very special little girl right now, and something she did before she died is resonating in my mind at the moment. Delaney, you inspired me to do this.</i><br />
<br />
I am a wife.<br />
I am a mother.<br />
I am a lover.<br />
I am a fighter.<br />
I am a yeller and screamer.<br />
I am a basketcase.<br />
I am a crocheter.<br />
I am a creator.<br />
I am strong.<br />
I am capable.<br />
I am alive.<br />
I am scared.<br />
I am sad.<br />
I am happy.<br />
I am confused.<br />
I am a friend.<br />
I am a woman.<br />
I am a sister.<br />
I am a writer.<br />
I am a photographer.<br />
I am a good listener.<br />
I am a talker.<br />
I am supportive.<br />
I am in need of support.<br />
I am a neighbor.<br />
I am Kerry.<br />
I will not give up.<br />
I will not give in.<br />
I will not quit.<br />
I will not die.<br />
I will not hide.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12904301548674112797noreply@blogger.com1