Nothing Seems Strange Anymore

I ask that you forgive me for the long delay between my blog posts.  Not that you’ve been on the edge of your seat, chomping at the bit to read my story.  But if you have, thank you because that means that my story has touched you in some way, and for that I am so thankful.   2 Corinthians 1:3-4  Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.  This is my hope, that whatever trials or tribulations any one of you may be going through, that I can in some way be of comfort to you through this blog and you realize that nothing is strange when it comes to the Lord’s plan for you.

OK, now I have a slight confession to make (no priest required).  The truth must come out.  In my effort to fully rest so that my body could heal properly, I became obsessed with something…maybe even addicted.  I don’t have an addictive personality, except maybe where chocolate is concerned.  But I have control over it J  But now, chocolate has become my gateway…to candy…Candy Crush!  Yes, I admit it.  Many hours have been spent with my pad playing this game that I said I wouldn’t play.  I’m slightly irritated at the moment that I cannot pass level 39 without boosters.  But I refuse to pay the $.99 to get them.  So, between the need to fully rest, and my new strange addiction (think I could get on that TV show…LOL), I have neglected my blog.  For weeks I have been storing away ideas, but I haven’t taken the time to sit down and write.  So now, I vow to you that I will no longer let Candy Crush Saga interfere with my blog! 

 

It’s true to me that nothing seems strange anymore.  All the ‘coincidences’ and the weird circumstances surrounding my cancer diagnosis and treatment, no longer seem strange to me.  If you look at the whole of my story, it is evident that God has been involved in every step.  So it should not seem strange to you, or weird, when I tell you the next part of my story.  One wonderful thing about MD Anderson is that they coordinate your appointments and schedules between departments.  They make your appointments for you at the time they are needed.  So, when I looked at my appointment schedule to see when my follow up scans were scheduled I had two initial reactions.  First, I noticed that my MRI and PET CT were scheduled for October 2^nd, approximately 10 weeks from the end of my treatment.  I immediately thought, “Oh no, my dad’s 70^th birthday!”  Thoughts immediately went to not being able to celebrate with him on his big day.  Then my thoughts went elsewhere…to that ‘strange’ coincidence place…to that ‘God has a plan’ place.  Maybe you will recall from one of my initial blogs that the road to my diagnosis began on my mom’s 70^th birthday on April 18^th when I had that initial “attack” that made me immediately call our friend Bert to get me to a neurologist.  So when I read that my follow up scans were on my dad’s 70^th birthday, I immediately thought, “That is so strange.”  Then I immediately thought, “Nothing seems strange anymore.”  God in His intricate planning somehow destined that those two dates be pivotal in my story.  Maybe He remembered that I was never good at remembering datesJ  Anyways, it’s kind of a full circle…a beginning (4/18) and hopefully a glorious end (10/2) when they read those scans and tell me that I kicked cancer’s A$$.  That is my prayer anyways, and if I’ve learned anything it is that God answers prayers according to His will.  That is a big lesson to be learned.  When I was lying on that table getting my first MRI, I prayed that whatever God’s will was that He give me the strength to get through whatever it was that I would be facing.  By the way, that was the hardest prayer for me to ever say.  When I looked outside of my will and prayed according to His will, He has answered my prayers in so many ways.  Today I received this verse on a daily “Prayer for Today” email from my friend Jerry H.  It is so appropriate to what I’m saying here.  1 John 5:14-15 This is the confidence we have in approaching God: that if we ask according to His will, He hears us.  And if we know the He hears us – whatever we ask- we know that we have what we asked of Him.

 

So, with regards to answered prayers, I must give you an update on my vision.  I probably should have used some suspense, or a cliffhanger to keep you wondering.  But the news is just too good for that.  There were several things that were surprises to me going through this process.  The first one was when my Radiation Oncologist, the amazing Dr. Frank, informed me that I would lose the vision in my right eye.  I immediately remembered a conversation I had with my youngest daughter, Molly.   There is a precious little girl at Molly’s school who has been battling cancer since she was 8 months old.  Every so often Molly would give me updates on her condition, or would be excited when she saw her back at school after being away at treatments.  On one of those occasions she told me that Torrence lost the vision in her eye and she was very upset about that.  I told Molly that my cancer was very different from hers and I wasn’t going to lose my vision.  Then, POW!@#, right in the kisser (well, actually right in the eye, but whatever), I am told I was going to lose my vision.  I didn’t cry. I didn’t even flinch. I wasn’t scared.  I knew I could survive with vision in one eye.  That was not going to destroy me.   My only thought was that I had promised Molly I wasn’t going to lose my sight.  How, then, would I now tell her I was?  Well, like any good parent, I just never mentioned it again.  I asked you all to pray about it.  I asked that God show us a miracle.  And HE has!  You see, my tumor was pushed up against my optic nerve.  And even as precise as the Proton Radiation is, there was no getting around the fact that radiation would hit that optic nerve.  The amount of radiation required to kill the tumor was more than the optic nerve can take.  Therefore, it was a sound scientific conclusion that I would lose my sight.  But guess what?  That first week, my vision did deteriorate.  Then, the prayers were all lifted and my vision is now clear as can be.  So there is no doubt.  It is not strange.  It is the hand of God once again.  Please continue praying that it stays that way!

 

It should be strange, but it isn’t, that I received a package in our mailbox a few weeks back from a friend.  There was a card and a gift.  When I looked at the card, it was written on the back, “Ladybugs = Luck”.  I thought this was strange, because my family loves ladybugs, and I was sure she didn’t know this.  Then, I proceeded to open up two darling kitchen towels with ladybugs on them.   Without sounding crazy, my Grandpa Hall sends us messages via ladybugs.  OK, that does sound crazy doesn’t it???  Well, it’s true.  At my college graduation, he called a ladybug a “vicious little creature.”  He passed away almost 14 years ago, but without fail, at almost every single Conley event or special occasion, a ladybug has found its way to us.  Whether it was on the 10^th story of a hotel in Kansas City in October, or in a house at a family reunion, or on the boat before I started cancer treatments, a ladybug (that vicious little creature) comes to say hello.  There is no doubt in any of our minds that it is my Grandpa letting us know he is still with us.  That may sound strange to you, but nothing seems strange to me anymore.  So when I got Ladybug kitchen towels from a friend who didn’t know this story…well, you know.

 

Kitchen towels bring me neatly to my next point.  I am a failure in the kitchen.  Well, I never really thought so until it was made abundantly clear by the well doings of some dear friends.  My family was blessed when friends put together a care calendar for us.  On weekends when we were home from Houston we would get meals delivered.  What a blessing it was!  One particular weekend, my dear friend Stacy made us a pot roast on Thursday then made chicken pot pie and a pasta casserole that we could freeze for the rest of the weekend.  My kids and husband were so distraught when the care calendar came to a conclusion.  Meghan, my 14 year old, commented that she didn’t want it to end because she loves the variety.  Then as they sat and ate these wonderful meals that Stacy prepared for us (and I looked on with my Boost in hand)  I had to endure the “oohs” and “aahs” that came unknowingly from them.  It’s not their fault.  I forgive them.  It was then I decided that I’d better step up my game and get some new recipes.  Who am I kidding…just get SOME recipes.  Clearly, all of Stacy’s creations are needed to keep my family happy.   Heck, I even got up this morning and had a pot roast and fixin’s in the crock pot by 9:45.  I had to shoo Will away from it as he tried to doctor it up.  I wanted to do it on my own.  I’ll let you know how it turns out.  I’m sure it won’t be as good as Stacy’s J 

 

On a different note, have you ever seen that commercial with the little toddlers that have just woken up and they have completely crazy, wild hair?  The music playing in the background goes, “I feel pretty, oh so pretty.”  I absolutely love this commercial.  It is so cute.  I can relate to the crazy morning hair, especially now with my big bald spot.  Most people would never see my bald spot, luckily, because I have such thick hair and it parts over that side.  But when I wake up in the morning, my hair is sticking straight up and the bald spot just glares back at me in the mirror.  But this morning I looked at my face, which no longer shows the signs of burns and scabs from the radiation, and saw that it was beaming.  Yesterday the final parts sloughed off, and now my face looks like nothing ever happened.  It looks maybe a little red and slightly dry, but no worse than a day in the sun.  On the flip side of that good news is that my eyebrows have almost disappeared.  My right eyebrow is so thin that you can hardly see it and my left eyebrow is slightly patchy now.  So, I have become that person that HAS to paint on her eyebrows (if I start wearing loads of blue eyeshadow and hot pink lipstick too, please step in and help!). People look strange without eyebrows.  It’s true.  So this morning as I looked in the mirror, after rolling out of bed with crazy hair and bald spots, newly painted on eyebrows, and clear, beautiful skin, I thought of the song from that commercial for some reason.  I felt pretty.  “I feel pretty, oh so pretty.”  I’ve learned to appreciate real beauty, and we all have it even in the midst of bald spots and missing eyebrows!

 

I continue to get both physically and mentally stronger every day.  Two weeks ago I couldn’t have imagined doing my comeback race event in October that I talked about in a previous blog.  My enthusiasm for my recovery may have been greater than my common sense at the time.  But now, two weeks later and four weeks beyond my final treatment, I feel like I possibly could do it!  My strength and stamina are improving every day, and I feel almost ‘normal’ (whatever that is).  I clearly haven’t been working out yet, but just shuttling the kids around and shopping for school clothes and supplies has prepared me for the next task of training for this event.  I am cautiously optimistic that a comeback race is in my future (hopefully October), and I’ll let you all know as we get closer if I think my body will be ready.  But you know me…once I decide I’m going to do it, you can’t stop me.

 

The only possible thing hindering my quest for athletic greatness once again (OK, that’s a stretch, I know) is the fact that I still can’t eat solid food.  The sores in my mouth and the nerve damage to my tongue from the radiation make it near impossible to chew.  Even the liquids can cause pain to my tongue.  So it’s been a battle to get the nutrition I need in liquid form.  So, I’m like the old folks who can’t eat and are relying on Boost or some other nutritional drink.  With each day, however, I think it gets just ever so slightly better, but I really want to sink my teeth into some solid food.  Why I crave pizza is beyond me, but it sounds amazing!  And, Terry sent me a crumb cake from Carlo’s Bakery in Hoboken (Cake Boss, anyone?).  I froze it until I can eat it…and I may not even share ;)  Anyways, because of the nerve pain I have to use straight viscous lidocaine as a rinse to numb it so I can get the drink down.  Not the best scenario, but it works.  I don’t know if I should be frightened or laugh that Meghan thinks it would be fun to borrow my lidocaine and numb her mouth.  She thinks it’s funny when your mouth is all swollen from being numb and you talk funny…oh teenagers (she is definitely her father’s daughter!!!).  Talk about strange ;)  

 

I hope that somewhere in the midst of all this rambling, you see that the things in life that seem strange or coincidental or even painful, are somehow part of God’s perfect plan for your life.  Embrace the strange, embrace the change, but most importantly, embrace the Lord Jesus Christ!

HAPPY GRADUATION

Today marks one week since I rang the gong on my cancer treatments.  One week since I graduated to a new phase in my cancer journey.  One week since I said goodbye to, hugged and thanked the wonderful people who have been treating me for the prior seven weeks.   The last several weeks have been filled with so much raw emotion ranging from joy, pain, anticipation, wonder and relief.  I’ll try to sum it all up for you, but I don’t know if that’s possible.  I think the good Lord is the only one who can really know the full truth and depth of my emotions.

Ring the gong, you ask?  No, I’m not crazy (although some may beg to differ).  It’s a beautiful tradition at the MD Anderson Proton Therapy Center that when a patient completes their treatment, they ring a gong that is in the hallway between the treatment area and waiting room.  It symbolizes a return to balance and restoration.  I was so excited for my opportunity to ring the gong on July 26^{th (}one day later than our original end date of July 25^th).  I made Will promise to be ready with camera in tow by the gong, so we could take pictures and commemorate this special day.  The girls who had done my treatments for the last 7 weeks joined me and Will as I rang the gong, symbolizing my restoration.  I was claiming my body back from the grips of Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma.  With each wave of noise resonating from the gong, I could almost feel the cancer exiting my body.  That was truly one of the most joyous moments I have ever experienced, shy of my children’s births and my wedding. 

Prior to ringing the gong on July 26^th, I was taken aback when I was hospitalized earlier that week.  It was that Tuesday, my most hectic and least favorite day of treatment when I was blindsided by my chemo doctor.  A typical Tuesday looked like this…bloodwork around 9am, appointment with Dr. Glisson somewhere around 10am to review the bloodwork, radiation around noon and chemo around 4pm.  But this Tuesday went a little different than planned.  When we arrived I was feeling dizzy and lightheaded (but that really wasn’t anything different).  My blood pressure was extremely low.  The first reading was 87/54, but consequent readings dipped to 79/53 down to 77/53.  This would explain my dizziness (no,  it wasn’t the blonde highlights making me dizzy).  I knew that Dr. Glisson was not going to be happy about that or the 4 pound weight loss from that week.   The week prior she wiped her hands clean of me (“I’m done here.”) when I kept shooting down her attempts at stronger pain meds and additional hydration.  I don’t respond well to opioids, and I hate getting more IV’s than I need because my veins refuse to cooperate.   Well, anyways, I knew this would come back to bite me as I lay there on the exam table (because I was too weak to sit up in the chair) waiting for her to come see me.  It didn’t take long before she told me I “was a sick puppy” and severely dehydrated .  I saw a new side of Dr. G, the softer, sensitive side as she stroked my leg, while I cried telling her I was trying to get enough fluids and nutrition.  She saw a new side of me that day too.  I told her, “See, you weren’t done with me yet!”  She laughed, recognizing my need to find the humor through the tears.   She also informed me that my White Blood Count was at 1.7, which is extremely low, caused by the chemotherapy.   Good news!!  I got myself out of my last chemo treatment.  Bad news, I was on my way to the ER.

I don’t know why that thought scared me so much.  The ER was for really sick people (especially at a cancer hospital), and I just didn’t want to think that I was one of them.  Of course, who am I kidding…of course I’m sick.  I have been fighting a cancer the size of a large plum, been inundated with enough radiation to probably power Chernobyl, and enough chemo to poison an entire lake.  But really, the ER??  Well, they wheeled me straight from my appointment to the ER, where I was admitted for IV fluids and would be assessed to determine if I would have to be consequently admitted to the hospital and possibly receive a feeding tube.  And, I was admitted to the hospital.  Unfortunately, I would have to miss my radiation treatment that day, so I would no longer finish on Thursday, but would have to make it up on Friday.  That was very disappointing.  Anyways, after receiving 2 liters of IV fluid, and then a slow drip fluid, I was sent to my corner hospital room where I would be poked and prodded for the next two days, connected to the continuous fluid IV.  That first night in the hospital, I was awakened 6 different times, four of which were for blood.  The first time I understood.  The second time they said they forgot to test for something and had to take more (I was a little irritated at 3am).  The third time they said something about blood typing(oh whatever) and the fourth time I just didn’t even open my eyes.  That next morning my poor vein looked like someone had been doing some illegal partying on my arm and I wasn’t invited.    It wasn’t long after I woke up that the nurse informed me that my Red Blood Count had dropped to 8, and I would require a blood transfusion that day.  I don’t know why, but again I was faced with a strange sense of trepidation and anxiety about the thought of someone else’s blood entering my body.  And it wasn’t that I was scared of disease or anything like that (they test and retest so many times).  I know that people get blood transfusions all the time, my dad included, and they save people’s lives and restore them to health.  But it was still an odd feeling that I can’t explain.  I never actually watched the blood going through the IV.  But, boy, let me tell you something!  Blood can really make a girl feel a whole lot better!

Luckily, I wasn’t going to miss my radiation treatment on Wednesday.  Not so lucky for me is that they would have to transport me by ambulance (seriously??  a little overkill) to the Proton Center about a mile away.  I told them to let me know in advance when the ambulance would be there so I could at least put on my cute chemo sweats rather than the lovely hospital gown I had been adorning.  But before I could even brush my hair, they were there ready to pick me up.  So, I had to go on a stretcher to radiation.  Imagine their surprise when they saw me being wheeled in on a stretcher, in hospital gowns.  No one had anticipated this scenario from me, the one who is always dressed cute and upbeat.  It was a little embarrassing for some reason…like they saw that I was weak, when I wanted to be strong.  It was humbling, for sure.  That next day I was more prepared, showered and ready when the ambulance arrived again to take me to radiation.  Thursday is also clinic day, but since I couldn’t get down to see Dr. Frank (my radiation doctor) he came up to see me.  It would be the last time I’d visit with him until early October when I have my scans and he (God willing) tells me I’m clear.  He is such an optimistic, intelligent, caring doctor that you can’t help but love him.  He told me how happy he is with how I’ve been responding to treatments.  My skin looks great and should heal beautifully.  He believes he has treated the tumor as aggressively as he can.  He is feeling hopeful about my vision in my right eye, since it is perfect right now.  But please continue praying that I don’t lose my vision as he had initially anticipated.  I told him that God is taking care of that one.  When we were done, I asked him if I could have a hug.   I didn’t know if this was weird or not, but this is the man that helped save my life.  I would miss him.  He gave me the biggest hug and said he’d see me in a couple months. 

I was hoping to be released from the hospital that day, Thursday, when the doctors made their rounds.  Luckily, Dr. Johnson (Dr. Glisson’s hospital counterpart) had seen how well I responded to the fluids and the blood and was going to release me. My Red Blood Count had jumped to 12, which she was amazed at.  I had to promise to drink 4-5 Boosts a day and 4 bottles of water a day (to avoid the feeding tube).  I was not able to venture to other options like I had the week before (pudding, eggdrop soup), because there weren’t enough calories and I would end up in the same situation.  I made a promise and for the last week I have had nothing but Boost and water.  I must tell you, that I can’t wait for the moment when I can have a piece of pizza!  On a side note, this reminds me that the hospital menu was off the hook!  I could only read it and wonder how delicious it must be.  The only time I’ve ever been hospitalized and I’m in a hospital with gourmet food, and I can’t even eat it…such a bummer.

We headed back to our temporary apartment by the hospital, only to have to gather our things and leave to a hotel.  We had told the rental company we’d be out on Thursday, not anticipating any delays.  But since my treatment would now be ending on Friday, we had to get a hotel for the night.  All I can say is thank goodness we spent the extra money on the apartment, because I don’t think I could’ve handled hotel living for 7 weeks!

And there we were…Friday, July 26^th.  My last day of cancer treatment.  I pulled out a comfortable (but cute) dress to wear.  It was graduation day, of course, and I had to look the part.  I was excited and relieved that after today I would have no more radiation treatments.  This part of my journey was over.  It also made me a little sad, knowing I would be saying goodbye to the people that have helped to save me.  But anyways, we first headed to the clinic, where Dr. Frank had ordered graduation pictures.  They sound much more interesting than they really are…no portraits by the tree with my hair blowing in the wind.  Just clinical progress pictures of my face, my bald spot, my tongue sores and mouth opening.  But I kind of like the ring of ‘graduation pictures’, after all it is my graduation day.  After clinic, we headed to the Proton center where we were greeted at the reception desk by Deborah with a huge smile and “Good Morning Miss Cathleen!”  She was a ray of light shining so brightly in a place where hope is so necessary.  She made me happy every time I saw her and I would miss her.  Will took a picture of her and I so I could always remember her beautiful smile.  She then proceeded to give me my diploma!  Yes, I received a certificate of completion.  I must say that this diploma means more to me than my high school or even college diploma.  While each of those are significant in terms of knowledge and the time in my life, neither taught me more than what I’ve learned and how I’ve grown since being diagnosed with cancer and being treated at MD Anderson Cancer Center.  This diploma is symbolic of victory over cancer through Christ Jesus.  It is symbolic of my personal growth and understanding.  Yes, this graduation day tops them all!  And before it was over, I would have one last treatment.  They would give me my mask that I wore for 33 treatments.  What I would do with it I didn’t know, but I knew that it was a piece of my story that helped to save my life, and I would treasure it.  And before I walked out those doors for the last time in treatment, I would, in victory and glory ring that gong with pride and assurance that I would be restored to health by the healing hands of my savior and Lord, Jesus Christ.  And when we finally made our way back home to Austin, I was greeted with a king size banner from my girlfriends tied between my front columns that read "Welcome Home Cathleeen!" and balloons from my dear neighbors tied to our lamppost.   What precious gifts, from precious friends. Happy Graduation Day, indeed!

 

Blessings Bestowed

Blessings Bestowed

Cancer’s such an ugly word

Just how can joy arise?

Can blessings really be bestowed

Amidst the sordid cries?

But that’s the time they’re greatest

When God wipes away the tears

Your eyes are now wide open

And your vision ever clear.

You can look beyond the obvious

To the things you need to see

Are the sometimes seeming little things?

The biggest blessings there might be?

It’s a hug from my daughter

Sometimes few and far between

Or a picture with her mother

Both so special from a teen!

It’s the loving care and tender heart

Of our other little girl

Who will do anything she can

For me or for this world.

It’s an embrace from my husband

When the pain’s too much to bear

Or a cup of soup to feed me

When other options are not there.

It’s knowing that my cancer

Is confined and hasn’t spread

It’s knowing that my Savior

Will keep my spirit fed.

It’s the presence of God’s angels

Alive and here on earth

Whose gifts and love and prayers and hugs

Remind me of my worth.

It’s the bald spot hidden on my head

Beneath my thick and perfect hair

A reminder of how blessed I am

To have just this cross to bear.

It’s relationships renewed

And relationships restored

It’s learning to rely

Completely on my Lord.

It’s knowing that your story

Can touch the lives of others

It’s seeing people seeking Christ

It’s my friends, my parents, brother.

It’s knowing that the blessings

Are there for you to find

And even in your suffering

You’ll find the greatest kinds.

-Cathleen McBurney

July 21, 2013

HITTING THE WALL

HITTING THE WALL

Earlier in my blog I promised you that I wouldn’t get cliché on you, but I think I spoke prematurely.  You see, at this point in treatment, with only 8 left, I have hit the proverbial “wall”.  Those of you who have run marathons (let the cliché begin) know exactly what I’m talking about.  For those of you who don’t know, it’s usually around mile 18 – 20 that your body decides that it has had enough.  Both mentally and physically you feel like you have hit a block wall.  But the thing is, you have to break through that wall because you still have a 10K to run.  Now, realize that most people will never run a marathon, let alone a 10K, so think about having to do it after already running 20 miles…not fun.

As I mentioned, I have hit my wall.  I haven’t shared much about my treatments over the past several weeks, but let me tell you what hitting the wall means to me.  My wall includes exhaustion.  As someone who has spent the last 10 years of her life being extremely active, it is hard to be tired all the time.  It is hard to watch the people around you doing things for you, because you just don’t have the energy.  Truthfully, I feel guilty about that.  I shouldn’t, I know, but I do.  I feel like I’m not doing my share.  But I have come to the realization that doing my share means getting rest so that I can heal and get stronger as soon as I can.  Yes, I am exhausted. 

My wall includes dizziness.  There are many times during the day that I feel dizzy and like I’m going to faint.  This weekend, back in Austin, we wanted to take Katie (my dear friend who was visiting from CA) out on the boat for a quick tour around Lake Travis (I was too exhausted to do much while she was here, so I wanted to do something fun!) I went prepared with water, my wide brimmed hat and stayed in the shade the whole time (we were only out for an hour).  Unfortunately, my pension for dizziness anyways, compiled with the 104 degree temperatures, were too much for my radiation riddled body to handle.  We were hoping to have lunch at the Yacht Club, but a wave of dizziness and hot sweats cut our lunch short. As I tried to walk to the front door,  all I could see was the floor and I couldn’t help but wonder when I was going to hit it.  Luckily I made it to a bar table where I laid my head and hands across the table like a limp biscuit.  The restaurant gave Katie a bag of ice to put on me to cool me down.  I thought it helped.  Will had pulled the truck up front, and they had to hold me up as once again the dizziness overcame me.  They laid me in the back of the truck where I put my feet and arms in the air (thanks, Chris, for telling me the proper way to handle faintness!).  We got home and once again I headed to lie down on the couch.  Because, yes, I was exhausted and dizzy. 

My wall includes fear.  There is fear as my body reacts to the fact that it has just been put through the ringer with 5 chemo treatments and 25 radiation treatments to date.  Just like during a marathon when your body reacts to the fact that it is being pushed beyond normal limits, you struggle to find a way to push through.  As the knee pain became too much to bear during one of my marathons, I kept on running anyways, because the alternative is not an option.  Quitting is never an option for me.  When the tears and fears and asthma made it almost too much to bear, God must have been carrying me through.  And, now, when the jaw pain and mouth sores and nausea, along with the exhaustion and dizziness, bring me tears and fears once more, I know for certain that God is carrying me when I don’t have the strength to do it myself.  Jim Murphy texted us a line from a song at church this weekend.  “When there’s nothing left, let your healing come…You are a Savior.  You take brokenness aside and make it beautiful.”  Isn’t that the truth? 

My wall includes a bald spot.  When I started treatment they told me that the low dose chemo probably wouldn’t make me lose my hair.  I had decided that it didn’t matter.  All that mattered was getting better.  And I still feel that way. Four and a half weeks of treatment had gone by and their initial assessment had remained true.  However, last week I started to notice hair on my hands when I would wash it or run my hands through it.  It wasn’t in clumps or anything, and actually my daughter Meghan loses more hair than the 15 or 20 that come out each time I touch it.  But a couple days ago, all the handfuls of 15 or 20 hairs finally added up to a bald spot.  The hair loss isn’t from the chemo necessarily, but from the one beam of radiation they had to aim through my brain to avoid my cornea.  Lucky for me, I have very thick hair and it is in a location that it can be hidden with a slight comb over.  Yes, you heard me right. Let me apologize now to anyone with a comb over.  It’s true, I may have asked under my breath why they didn’t just shave their head.  I now understand their thinking ;) 

When you hit that wall, during a marathon or life, it’s the people on the sidelines yelling your name and cheering you on that gives you the push and determination to keep on going strong, when you think you have no push left.  Each card I receive and text I get are my sideline cheerleaders.  All the verses I read are like the signs that people make to give you the courage and faith to persevere despite the pain.  Each drink or shake I struggle to get down is like my Gu or Power Gel giving me strength to make it to the finish line.   Psalm 40:1-3 I waited patiently for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry.  He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.  He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God.  Many will see and hear and put their trust in the Lord.”

It’s interesting to note that I started out on my ‘athletic’ journey just over 10 years ago by running my first marathon with Team in Training. Team in Training is a charitable running group that raises money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma society.  Prior to that I’d never even run a 5K (go big or go home, I guess!).  It’s also interesting to note that my cancer most likely started to grow about this same time.  Looking back, it seems so clear to me that this wasn’t a coincidence.  This was the true hand of God.  It was both a mental and physical preparation for my cancer journey that would come 10 years later.  It provided an awareness of cancer that I hadn’t had before.  It had me looking beyond myself to do something (raise money) for those with Leukemia or Lymphoma.  It was a realization that doing for others did so much for me, and would be returned to me 100 fold when my time came.  It was the beginning of 10 years of marathons, half marathons, triathlons, mud runs, Gladiator races, Warrior Dashes, Foam Fest, Tough Mudders, Bicycle tours, etc (many of these with Team in Training).  And these all did as much for me to physically prepare for this journey as they did mentally.  There were tough times during some of these events, but there was never a finish line that I didn’t cross. And when I did, I cried tears of joy and pride at the fact that through any struggles I never gave up.  I achieved something so big, so unexpected, so difficult and so rare that any pain along the way is a distant memory when you raise your arms in victory to the one who made it possible!  With God all things are possible.  I have my cancer finish line in sight (8 more radiation treatments, 2 more chemos).  And while I have definitely hit the wall, I will forge my way through it with the strength granted to me by the Holy Spirit that dwells inside of me.  Mark 10:27 Jesus looked at them and said, “With man it is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”

Every race, every finish line, every challenge is a lesson in growth, faith, maturity and strength, leading us to the ultimate finish line and ultimate prize. 1 Corinthians 9:24 ‘Do you know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize?  So run that you may obtain it.’  While my treatment finish line is in sight (just another 10K), it will still be at least a month or more before I am my chipper, active self.  But I’m planning on doing a Warrior Dash in October…a symbolic return to physical and mental strength (even if I have to walk it).  A declaration of my inner Warrior who conquered cancer.  A proclamation of the grace of God and the new race he has set out for me to testify to the gospel through this experience.  I plan on doing this race with the people who have supported me and loved me.  Will you join me???

Acts 20:24 However, I consider my life worth nothing to me, if only I may finish the race and complete the task the Lord Jesus has given me – the task of testifying to the gospel of God’s grace.

PEOPLE ARE GOOD

I always knew that I was surrounded by great people.  But what surprised me is how many great people surrounded me that I didn’t know!  When tragedies happen or difficulties arise, it is such a blessing, but not surprising, when the people who love you rally behind you in a grand measure of support.  That is what true friends do, and it’s amazing to witness. And, boy, has God blessed me with the most amazing friends and family, near and far.  But it completely amazes me when people I’ve never met, or have just met casually, also show me that same support.

I’ve already told you about my Lakeway Fab 5, who daily amaze me with their sincere love and generosity.   But it’s been such a blessing to see that same love come jetting across the miles from California, Rhode Island, Kansas City, Chicago, Virginia, Washington and beyond.  You see, true friendship doesn’t end because your zip code changes.

From the first moments after my diagnosis I was overwhelmed by the show of support.  Cards and gifts flooded my mailbox, each one a sincere expression of love and faith and hope (and even humor), from the depths of their hearts straight to the recesses of mine.  Many of the cards were spiritually uplifting with beautiful scriptures that gave me strength.  Others were just so funny that they brought joy to my newly burdened heart.  There were cards from old friends, new friends, friends of friends, and some that I didn’t know, but now consider them friends even if we never meet.

That first week I received a huge Godiva chocolate gift basked from my dear friend Shelly.  Sometimes chocolate is all you need to feel better (well, it’s all I need anyways).  Shelly knew that was what I needed and that it would put a big smile on my face.  Shelly is a true friend.  That first week I also received two Willow Tree angels from my dear friend Terry.  She sent me the Angel of Hope and the Angel of Healing.  Terry got me started collecting them years ago after she gave me one as a gift.  They just give me joy and each one is a reminder of the things and people that are important.  Terry is my angel here on earth, miles away in Rhode Island, but close in my heart every day.  I also received a wonderful devotional from Margot, too, that keeps me rooted daily in my faith.

But the kindness and generosity have continued to brighten my life.  From my Aunt Claire sending me protein shakes and vitamins to keep me physically strong.  To flowers from Jim and rose to bring me cheer.  To a prayer shawl from the Lakeway Church.  To lunches with Carrie or Kelly.  To a ‘Faith’ bracelet from Chris and a ‘Courage’ bracelet from Heather.  To inspirational books from Becky.  To Ladybug chocolates from Torri. To a bear that sings and dances to 'I Feel Good' from Frank. To phone calls of support from Maggie, a cancer survivor, to let me know she is here to help me any way she can…I’ve met Maggie only once.  I had a friend (Terry) run a half marathon in support of me and her son, Josh, did the Relay for Life in support of me this past Friday.

Will’s Aunt Mary sent me the prayer cards she used as Don (Will’s uncle) fought so bravely and successfully in his very difficult battle with cancer.  I carry those with me to treatment every day.  Will’s parents gave me a beautiful silver and amber cross to commemorate the faith I have to conquer this beast.  My parents and brother have stepped up to help take care of the kids and dog (no small task) as we travel back and forth to Houston.  But the most special gift I’ve received came from Will.  It is a beautiful heart necklace with the word ‘Survivor’ inscribed so delicately on the front.  When I opened the box, tears flooded my eyes and I got a lump in my throat that left me speechless.  Survivor. I felt a moment of pause, not sure that I was worthy of wearing it yet alongside so many people who are truly survivors.  I hadn’t even started treatment after all.  Should I save it and put it on when they tell me once and for all I’m cured?  But I decided that, yes, I am worthy.  For every day I battle this disease, I am surviving.  Not a day (or treatment) goes by that I don’t wear that necklace.  I may not be cured YET, but there is no doubt I’m a SURVIVOR.

Sometimes the most ordinary things (food) can become an extraordinary gift.  And sometimes the most unexpected people can become the greatest of angels.  I had met Melinda a few times at Meghan’s volleyball games, but never had the opportunity for more than casual sporting chit chat.  Meghan had been to their lake house with their daughter (and Meghan adores them both), but we just didn’t cross paths enough to form a bond, even though I could tell she was a special lady.  She proved that to me when out of the blue she called, wanting to talk, to get to know me, to express her concern and offer help to my family.  That first night we really talked, she drove over 15 miles to Austin (at 9:00pm) to buy us groceries for the weekend.  She didn’t want me to worry about shopping for food when we came home on the weekend.  She was so generous and chose such thoughtful items…healthy choices for me and some yummy options for the girls (OK, I might have had an Oreo or two).  She is my grocery fairy!

Then, just this weekend, a friend from Community Bible Study said that they wanted to set up a care calendar for dinners on the weekends.  So, Gina, Candice and Stacy got to work on that and already people (many from CBS) have stepped up to provide amazing dinners for the next several weeks.  And, I must say, I think I’m going to have to up my cooking skills when this is all over to match the quality of meals we’ll be receiving over the next 5 weeks!  Cooking school anyone???

But the generosity abounds, and my dentist, Charley, offered to make me fluoride trays to use.  He knew that I would be needing those to protect my teeth.  I will be losing at least one of my salivary glands, and my jaw bone will be brittle from radiation treatments, so oral hygiene becomes a new obsession for me (so now I actually do have to floss every day…).  I will have to use these fluoride trays every day for the rest of my life.  Charley drove downtown on a Saturday morning to make them for me, and even dropped them by my house later that day.  He didn’t charge me a dime.  Charley is my tooth fairy!

I was surprised when my girlfriend Katie told me that a fellow church member at Placentia Presbyterian Church offered to pay for her to come visit me while I was in treatment. Katie is my dearest friend from my church in California.  We have been through many Bible studies together and we both shared the experience of reading the entire Bible cover to cover in 90 days.  We have a special friendship, rooted in Christ.  She will be coming in a few weeks, thanks to the heartfelt generosity of another friend.

But what I haven’t told you about are the gifts that came from complete strangers.  I received healing crystals for a friend of a friend that I don’t even know.  While I don’t believe in the power of crystals to heal (only God has that power), it was nonetheless a thoughtful gift from the heart of a special person.  One of them is shaped like an angel, so I carry that one just as a reminder that somewhere out there is my guardian angel looking over me.  I also received a prayer blanket with the colors of the rainbow and their biblical meaning to use during chemo.  This came from a parishioner of a church that Shelly’s step mom goes to.  Linda placed me on their prayer page and this complete stranger felt led to make this for me.  But maybe, when it comes to the kingdom of God, there really are no strangers.

The point I’m trying to make, as if it isn’t already abundantly clear, is that people are good.  This whole experience, while I wouldn’t have chosen it, has been such a blessing in so many ways (look for an entry on that later).  It has shown me that God’s people are amazing and will do incredible things when called upon.  It is both humbling and so special to be the recipient of such love.

One of the greatest gifts though, isn’t the tangible, but the intangible prayers being said by so many on my behalf across the word.  I have heard from so many people that I’ve been placed on a prayer page in churches I’ve never been to by people I’ve never met.  Not to mention all those who have done the same that I do know.  Christian hearts, praying to God for my healing, for His will to be done in my life, for my families comfort, for a miracle, for peace, for doctors wisdom and of course for strength.  These prayers are the most important of all, because they are the one thing that keeps me strong.  Each day I make it through this knowing God is protecting me and each prayer is an energy shot that keeps me going.  So, thank you for all the wonderful gifts.  Please continue that special gift of prayer for me and my family and my friends who are also burdened by this.  And, maybe, if there is one of you reading this who doesn’t pray, I ask that you take the time to seek the Lord.  I couldn’t make it through this without Him.  “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.”  Jeremiah 29:13

THINGS I’VE LEARNED…(Week one)

I’ve only been in treatment for one week at the time of this writing, yet there are a plethora of things I’ve already learned that may surprise you.

I’ve learned that:

·        Chemo does in fact make you nauseous

·        Proton radiation smells like a cross between bleach and smelly socks

·        Side effects of treatment already suck

·        Sometimes  I may not be as tough as I want to be

·        Jim Murphy is an overachiever!

·        Shopping for pill boxes can be fun

·        There is actually a bowel movement class

·        Apparently men with prostate cancer have it worse off than me during radiation

·        Monday is pediatric day at the radiation clinic L

·        God ranks over political correctness in Texas

·        Placentia Presbyterian Church is even more amazing than I thought

·        People are inherently good and will amaze you with their generosity and kindness

Now, if you’ll so indulge me, I’ll elaborate on some of my findings (big surprise there!).

I’m sure many of you know already that chemo (Cisplatin, for me) makes you nauseous.  You know because you’ve experienced it first hand in our own battle with cancer, or learned it from someone else.  But for those not too familiar I am here to confirm this ugly truth.  Just a note…I don’t like being nauseous.  I didn’t like it after anesthesia from a surgery and I didn’t like it when I was pregnant and sick for 5 months with each daughter.  But, at least I got two beautiful daughters in exchange for the nausea.  What do I get now?  Well, I guess I get the joy of knowing that when I’m feeling sick (Tues – Friday of each week), it’s an indication that this ugly plum sized cancer is getting destroyed.  And that, my friends, makes it totally worth it!

Yes, radiation smells like a cross between bleach and smelly socks.  No one informed me that there would be an odor of any kind (let alone one so pungent), while the beams so precisely work their destruction.  So, I was a little taken back, and yes, nauseous, when I smelled it.  When I mentioned it to the technician she seemed surprised.  She asked what I thought it smelled like, and informed me that usually only kids smell it.  Well, of course, I’m just a kid at heart (one that may be thrown into early menopause by all this, but a kid nonetheless).  Luckily, now I get an orange scented gauze that they wave under my nose before treatment.  Now it’s orange scented smelly socks.

I am only one week into my treatments and have already experienced some side effects.  They told me in Radiation 101 that around week 3 I would start experiencing side effects like painful sores in my mouth, dry/bloody nose, thick ropelike saliva, loss of taste, fatigue, irritated skin, etc.  Luckily I haven’t had to deal with most of them yet, but I did start getting the sores in my mouth and tongue.  And yes, they are painful.  I was prescribed a ‘Magic Mouthwash’ concoction that contains lidocaine, Benadryl and Maalox.  It succeeds in numbing the area for a while, but when it wears off the pain returns ready for the next round.  Luckily, I have my punching gloves on and feel like fighting back (well, most of the time).
This brings me to my next revelation from this past week.  Sometimes I may not be as tough as I want to be.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m definitely still going to kick this thing in the A*# (I’m a Tough Mudder after all).  But, when I’m nauseous or tired or in pain from the sores, sometimes I just want to take my drugs and nap.  No big battle round, no declarations of pending victories, just sleep.  I may have been slightly over ambitious when I packed three sets of workout gear for my first week.  They are still neatly folded in the drawer.

You must know where I’m going next, don’t you?  Yes, Jim Murphy is an over achiever!  You know him if you’ve read my other blogs.  He is a superhero in a prayer shawl capable of dueling chemo and radiation in a single bound and swishing down the ski slopes ready to save a ski bunny in distress in another.  He is my role model, and while I won’t be saving any ski bunnies (it’s 95 in Houston), I’m hoping to at least get some walking time in on the treadmill on those days the chemo has worn off and I’m feeling like my old self again.  I have fun teasing Jim a bit, but I am in awe at his strength, courage and faith.  He is an inspiration.  And, it’s because of him and the blog he wrote during his battle, that I have the courage to write my own.  We love you Jim (and Rose, of course!).

Oh, did you know that shopping for pill boxes can be fun? (Not a question I ever imagined coming from my lips).  It may sound silly, but for someone who has never taken any medications regularly and can’t remember to take her vitamins, the perfect pill box is a necessity.  Did you know there are so many options out there?  There is the typical 7 day pill box with one slot per day.  But there are 2 a day, 3 a day, 4 a day; some with individual days that pop out (perfect for your purse), some smaller purse size ones and some so big that I pity the poor person who has to take all those pills.  For me, I chose the smaller 4 a day box, with the individual days that can pop out.  Once a week I fill it up and then I can’t forget to take them.  I do love my little pill box.

OK, now I might be headed to unchartered territory, but it has to be done.  Yes, there is actually a bowel management class.  No, I haven’t been to it.  But I did receive all the information on it though.  Why, you ask?  (Well, maybe you didn’t ask, but I’m going to tell you anyways!).  Let’s just say that things get a little (actually, a lot) backed up.  And, yes, many of the pills in my pretty new pill box are round and pink…enough said.

Now, with regards to men with prostate cancer I clearly have no firsthand knowledge.  However, I met a man last week, Jerry was his name, who decided for whatever reason he would fill me in.  He was checking in at the proton radiation center in front of me.  He turned around and I smiled at him.  He was an older man, and it seemed like he was wondering if I, too, was a patient.  I had on a cute outfit and all the accessories to match…my hair still thick and full and intact.  I don’t look like I have cancer.  Anyways, after my treatment, he came over to me to ask about the proton radiation.  It was his first meeting there at the center.  I proceeded to tell him that I was a little tired, but that could’ve been from chemo.  I told him that you don’t feel anything as the radiation is working, and that for me, it wasn’t bad.  He then proceeded to tell me about his prostate cancer and that for each of his treatments they had to insert a balloon first.  OK, Jerry, TMI.  Yes, Jerry, you have it worse off than me.

I’ve realized that really, I am lucky.  There are so many people worse off than me.  I’ve learned that Monday is pediatric day at the proton center.  I just learned this today, because I didn’t start my treatments last week until Tuesday.  So, when I arrived for my treatment today, feeling great from a weekend at home with no nausea, I came upon a waiting area full of children undergoing treatment.  My heart was immediately broken in two for the babies and children suffering through this.  My heart broke for the parents and grandparents waiting for their precious gifts from God to come out of that treatment room.  I can’t imagine how scared they might be.  Having to wear a mask, stay still, smell those smells and all the while never understanding why.  The parents never understanding why.  But hopefully they know the Lord so personally that they don’t ask Him why.  Because only He knows the answers and we may never know why the bad in our life happens.  I can only hope for them that He gives them a little glimpse.  I give thanks to God that it is me going through this and not one of my precious daughters.  And, I pray for those children and their mothers.  ‘Be strong and courageous.  Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go’  Joshua 1:9.

I’ve learned that political correctness can be kicked out the door (with nice big pointy cowboy boots, I might add), and out of the hospitals in Texas.  I was so happy to walk in to the radiation center and hear the beautiful sounds of Christian music playing in the lobby.  That probably wouldn’t happen in California, for fear of offending someone.  I’m just glad I live in a state that recognizes the need for the Lord in our lives, in our homes, in our hospitals (and sometimes even in our schools).  Because, while medicine is truly amazing, there is only one true physician and healer and that is Jesus Christ.  They work together to heal us physically, emotionally and spiritually.  Medicine may be able to heal us physically, but if we aren’t also healed spiritually are we any better off?

On that note, I’ve learned again, what I already knew, that Placentia Presbyterian Church is an amazing place full of amazing people who love the Lord and each other.  This is the church my entire family was baptized in (including Will & I).  This is the church we were married in.  This is the church my kids took their First Communion in.  This is the church where we all came to love the Lord.  This church and its people mean everything to me.  My dear friend Katie updates the congregation every week with how I’m doing and what things they can specifically pray for.  Not a single day has gone by since my diagnosis, that I haven’t received a card, a note, a gift, a book, a call, a devotional or a prayer.  Even today, as I returned to our temporary apartment in Houston, I had several cards waiting for me.  This is the church we moved away from nearly two years ago when we moved to Texas.  But I feel as covered in love and prayer over 1800 miles away as I did worshipping with them right there in the sanctuary.  Thank you, precious Lord, for placing us in their midst for as long as you did.  They are truly your shepherds and disciples and I love them.

I hope that you all have also learned that people are inherently good and will amaze you with their generosity.  I have so many examples of this, that I’m going to devote an entire entry to it.  Stay tuned.
Through everything, both good and bad, I’ve learned in just one short week of cancer treatments how truly blessed I am.  Praise God!