Oh, thank you dear God. The number was 5.6 - down from 20.9! The doctors feel like we are back on track! I feel like the weight of the world has been lifted off my shoulders.
Mom sent this to me at the begininng of the treatment and it's hanging on my fridge:
Joshua 1:9
Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified, do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.
I get so weak sometimes that I was terrified and disouraged. But all your prayers and well wishes helped lift me up. We're going to be okay and I have you all and Chris and God to thank.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
A Positive Attitude
There are some silver linings to cancer.
I've lost 11 pounds. Another 11 and I'll be bikini ready. While I don't recommend cancer as a way to get to your fighting weight, I'm thrilled with the drop. Dr. Evans has noted my weight loss with a frown of disapproval. She said, "I need some meat on your bones if you get sick." I have plenty of meat left, mostly around my midsection. I refer to it as the classic "muffin top" but maybe it's baked goods made with meat - like mince meat pie around my gut.
The saddest part to me is while I'd love for chemo to help me drop the spare tire, it's my boobs that are suffering. I'm sure it's 5.5 pounds lost from the left one, another 5.5 from the right. It's an injustice of nature that the weight should leave the fun spot first.
On the upside, I was cold in the hospital so I might invest in one of these scarves.
Another positive: I'm really catching up on my sleep. I feel like there are times when life just feels like a rat race. People say, "I'll sleep when I'm dead." Sometimes it seems as if that's the only time you'll slow down. I'm complaining about running around like crazy and I have no children. I can't imagine the working moms juggling three children do it. Do you ever get out of the car? Now, I barely get IN the car. Running errands is a massive accomplishment, going food shopping is like a marathon for me.
So the snuggly time on the couch with the girls is a welcome change and a much needed rest. When I think back to this illness, this is what I will remember. This is what having cancer looks like for me:
Well, it's a big night tonight. Chris and I have tickets to the Lancaster Chamber of Commerce dinner with guest speaker Former British Prime Minister Tony Blair. I plan to dress to the nines and wear my best wig. I've been resting for two days just to save up the energy to walk from the front of the convention center to the back where my table is. And it's a big day tomorrow when we get the latest blood work. I think it's going to be fine. Will keep you posted!
I've lost 11 pounds. Another 11 and I'll be bikini ready. While I don't recommend cancer as a way to get to your fighting weight, I'm thrilled with the drop. Dr. Evans has noted my weight loss with a frown of disapproval. She said, "I need some meat on your bones if you get sick." I have plenty of meat left, mostly around my midsection. I refer to it as the classic "muffin top" but maybe it's baked goods made with meat - like mince meat pie around my gut.
The saddest part to me is while I'd love for chemo to help me drop the spare tire, it's my boobs that are suffering. I'm sure it's 5.5 pounds lost from the left one, another 5.5 from the right. It's an injustice of nature that the weight should leave the fun spot first.
On the upside, I was cold in the hospital so I might invest in one of these scarves.
 |
| I'm loving the rose tattoo on the woman on the left. Classy! |
So the snuggly time on the couch with the girls is a welcome change and a much needed rest. When I think back to this illness, this is what I will remember. This is what having cancer looks like for me:
 |
| I've had this couch for 10 years and after all this laying down, I've definitely put a dent in the cushions. At least Barlie keeps me warm. I have a kink in my neck from watching TV in the same position. I'm thinking of moving the couch to the other side so I have to look to the right instead of the left. |
Well, it's a big night tonight. Chris and I have tickets to the Lancaster Chamber of Commerce dinner with guest speaker Former British Prime Minister Tony Blair. I plan to dress to the nines and wear my best wig. I've been resting for two days just to save up the energy to walk from the front of the convention center to the back where my table is. And it's a big day tomorrow when we get the latest blood work. I think it's going to be fine. Will keep you posted!
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Bad Blood = Weekend of Waiting
It's really been going down a lot, the cancer number. But we hit a snag on Wednesday. The beta hCG number increased from 9.9 to 20.9. Considering it WAS 64,000 this number pales in comparison. The question now is why?
There are several possible answers.
1) I didn't have chemo for three weeks around the time of the last hospitalization. That could account for the increase, but we did have a decrease since the hospitalization - weird.
B) The cancer is no longer responding to the chemotherapy and could be growing rather than shrinking.
4) The Super Moon last night has thrown everything out of whack - like a hospital full of crazies on a full moon ... but a Super Moon!
I'm pretty sure it's Reason 4) using the deductive reasoning of my journalism degree.
So without knowing for sure, it gives an insecure patient who has kind of had the shits of this already, plenty of time for conjecture and non-scientific guess work. The doctor in Lancaster called the doctor in Boston who ordered a CATScan of the chest and an MRI of the uterus. He used the words "possibly drug resistant," "surgical resection" and "might have to take the uterus" as POSSIBILITIES in the conversation with Lancaster doctor. She passed it along to me and all I heard was "take the uterus" and then I pretty much checked out.
Well, that defeats the purpose of being cancer-free and hoping to get pregnant. I can't very well let the embryo piggy back on my kidneys for nine months. That phrase "take the uterus" hurt like a ton of bricks. But as everyone keeps saying "Don't worry. It will be alright. Everything will work out. I just know it will be fine. Hang in there." (Should I keep going? There are like 75 other phrases in the same genre.) I try to take each of those sentences in and digest the words and feel their meaning and make it part of me and part of my mission to move forward with a brave face.
But it's really hard.
I'd really like to keep my uterus.
I can see now it would be nothing short of a blessing to be pregnant and carry our child.
It might work out like that. It might not. I have a lot of emotional work to do either way.
On Wednesday we'll draw the beta hCG again. That will tell a lot. Is it Wednesday yet?
************************
Not to be a total Debbie Downer ("Waa Waa!" as Holland would say), I had a great night on the town for Ronda's 40th Birthday Celebration. A Civil War Murder Mystery at Bube's Brewery! I rocked the red head!
There are several possible answers.
1) I didn't have chemo for three weeks around the time of the last hospitalization. That could account for the increase, but we did have a decrease since the hospitalization - weird.
B) The cancer is no longer responding to the chemotherapy and could be growing rather than shrinking.
4) The Super Moon last night has thrown everything out of whack - like a hospital full of crazies on a full moon ... but a Super Moon!
I'm pretty sure it's Reason 4) using the deductive reasoning of my journalism degree.
So without knowing for sure, it gives an insecure patient who has kind of had the shits of this already, plenty of time for conjecture and non-scientific guess work. The doctor in Lancaster called the doctor in Boston who ordered a CATScan of the chest and an MRI of the uterus. He used the words "possibly drug resistant," "surgical resection" and "might have to take the uterus" as POSSIBILITIES in the conversation with Lancaster doctor. She passed it along to me and all I heard was "take the uterus" and then I pretty much checked out.
Well, that defeats the purpose of being cancer-free and hoping to get pregnant. I can't very well let the embryo piggy back on my kidneys for nine months. That phrase "take the uterus" hurt like a ton of bricks. But as everyone keeps saying "Don't worry. It will be alright. Everything will work out. I just know it will be fine. Hang in there." (Should I keep going? There are like 75 other phrases in the same genre.) I try to take each of those sentences in and digest the words and feel their meaning and make it part of me and part of my mission to move forward with a brave face.
But it's really hard.
I'd really like to keep my uterus.
I can see now it would be nothing short of a blessing to be pregnant and carry our child.
It might work out like that. It might not. I have a lot of emotional work to do either way.
On Wednesday we'll draw the beta hCG again. That will tell a lot. Is it Wednesday yet?
************************
Not to be a total Debbie Downer ("Waa Waa!" as Holland would say), I had a great night on the town for Ronda's 40th Birthday Celebration. A Civil War Murder Mystery at Bube's Brewery! I rocked the red head!
 |
| Ronda, Joe, Julie, Michael, Me and Beth BTW: The butler did it. |
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