I'm Back

Above: On my IV drugs while reading the Bible. Below - 7th chemo treatment with the spunkiest male nurse I had ever had that made the morning so enjoyable.
Sorry for that brief dramatic intermission in the post below -- I'm back to my chemo-accepting self. I had what I thought was my second to last chemo only to find out that I actually have two more left to finish my fourth and final round of chemotherapy. I also found out that I am officially neutropenic. Which means my white cells (which are the fighters in my immune system) are so low that I have to give myself daily shots to stimulate (or squeeze)

my bone marrow to make more white cells. My nurse yesterday asked if I had Vicodin on hand at home. My eyes became like saucers. Why would I need Vicodin??? Apparently some people get in a lot of pain in their long bones where these cells are produced. There is a pain continuum and I'm not sure where I will fall on that until tonight.

I have been spending time these last couple of days focusing on the sweet things or gestures of love that are happening in my life right now to keep my spirit up. The cashier at Trader Joe's have me a fresh bunch of flowers for free after she made the mistake of asking what my Valentine's plans are. I informed her that I would be doing chemo and she immediately had so much sympathy for me. She was planning on dinner with a girlfriend and then a movie and she said "nothing special". I softly reminded her that it could be worse - she could be doing chemo. Sometimes I have to throw down the cancer card to make others feel better :) Another sweet thing was when the lady drawing my blood said she loved my long eyelashes and told me people would pay thousands for them! I didn't mention that I use the best mascara in the world, so that helps :) Jude has told me twice that he thinks I am pretty - all these things help me feel not so much like a boy and I don't have to worry about vanity from compliments since I feel so unfeminine all the time. Also, I have a new anti-nausea med that works like a charm, even if it does make me insanely sleepy. My husband brought a big beautiful bouquet home yesterday morning as I headed off to chemo. These little gestures are great for keeping my spirits up.

I was informed yesterday that I can't go out in public now due to my compromised immune system and I am extending that ban to my kids as well just to be safe. I had a stat chest X-ray yesterday because my doctor is concerned about lung damage, but that came back completely normal. This should be an interesting way to finish out chemo because I will probably be on those shots for the next two treatments and in quarantine. Anyone that 's healthy and wants to sit in my house to visit over a cup of coffee is welcome, as long as I am not sleeping from my pills :).

Lastly, I loved the chemo session yesterday because my aunt and I sat and read Psalm 139 - she read it out loud and I followed along in my Bible. It was a very sweet time with the Lord and my prayer is that others around us heard those verses in the way the Lord would have them.

Please be praying I continue to keep my spirits up and that the shots do their work mightily on my white cells with little pain for me - I need an immune system back!

It's Getting Hard, Folks

Those of you who are very close to me have heard me complaining a bit more lately. Chemo is killing me, figuratively speaking, of course. Because ironically, it's the only thing that has saved my life. I'm coming to a point where I start thinking about my chemo Tuesday and dread it. Yesterday I found myself driving to pick up Jude from school with tears in my eyes at the thought of walking into that infusion clinic. I can almost feel the nausea setting in. Oh, wait. It never left. I can feel the deep bone aches and chills I get a week out from treatment. I can feel the spacey and speed-like ditzyness I get on my anti-nausea meds. I can almost feel the lack of immune system as these drugs decimate my white bloods cells. And you know what? I started itching again. It's muted greatly compared to when I was first diagnosed, but it's an unexplained itch. And if the cancer is truly out of my body, then I shouldn't be itching at all, right? What does that mean, you might ask? I really can't think too much about a relapse at this point because I might just curl up in the corner and have an emotional breakdown.

So, for those of you who see me in the next month during my last treatments, I need encouragement. I need to know that I can handle more weeks of nausea and fatigue and inability to keep up with my four sweet children. It's harder now in many ways than it ever has been up to this point. I see the end, but I don't feel it. And with cancer, you never know if more treatment or derailments are right around the corner. Be praying for me in every way possible.

Chemo Number Six

You know it's going to be a rough day when you get nauseous from chemo before its even done being administered. Whew.

My sweet and very dear friend, Tami, joined me today and oddly enough we were both so excited about today's chemo! Anytime you give two stay-at-home moms a five hour stretch of uninterrupted, kid-free time, it's sort of like Christmas came early. Ok, the only interruptions were the IV insertion (which made me sweat with discomfort), going over my blood results (which are even lower than last time so I am very susceptible to infection and if they get lowered, treatment will be delayed or my dosage lowered) or the patient behind me hiccuping relentlessly (another lovely side effect of chemo) which sounded curiously like throwing up. I would be alright with a lower dose of chemo - this stuff is kickin' my too skinny butt right now.

At any rate, I have discovered how precious time with friends is. Two months ago I knew there was a chance I was going to meet my Maker and with that comes many goodbyes to my loved ones. And my group of loved ones extends even further than my family - so now that I have a new lease on life - however long that may be- I don't want to waste any opportunities spending quality time with dear friends. So if you hear me attempting to make coffee dates or movie nights or even MAC makeovers- you'll know why. I need to celebrate this life and the people that are in it. Too bad it took cancer to help me focus on the simple, beautiful things that are friendships.

Some random side notes:

1) Mouth sores are ridiculous. They give me a whole new respect for chemo patients everywhere. When I even feel like eating (many times I don't), it hurts. Bad. I've tried salt water swishing religiously. They have invented something called a "magic mouthwash" and if its as great as it sounds, I should be running to my fridge right now and grab it. As soon as I don't feel like I'm going to throw up, I'll do just that.

2) It's still very weird to not have hair. I look like Sinead O Connor. Minus the benefit of the good voice. It's those moments every morning before I get in the shower that cause me to pause in front of the mirror - definitely not out of vanity - but out of shock of my reflection. I look sick. I have no hair and my body is very thin, pale and dry-skinned. I don't even recognize that woman staring back at me. And don't get me started on the circles under my eyes that no amount of concealer can well, conceal. Again, I need to focus on the fact that its a small price to pay for these drugs saving my life. Letting me see my kids grow up. But it still doesn't lessen the blow when I see my own reflection.

3) These last three treatments are going to be rough - I already know that. I will try my best to see the silver lining. Feel free to comment some encouragement - I will need it in the weeks ahead. February 28th is my last treatment. I will make it through to the other side of this journey.

4) I am spacey. My new anti-nausea drugs do wonders (most of the time, apparently not today) for my stomach, but they make me unable to complete thought processes. I mean like staring at the TV and thinking very s-l-o-w-l-y "Hmm. He is wearing an orange shirt" and really not even absorbing what that means. Or staring at at my pills and not really comprehending what ones I should take. So that spaciness begins at 8 p.m. tonight and lasts for five days. You've been warned.

My favorite thing my husband has said in awhile? Me: "Babe, are you wierded out that I don't have anything on my head right now?"
Colin: "I don't love you for your hair."

Be still my heart.

Goodbye Hair, My Old Friend

After peering at the shower drain this morning and seeing a ginormous glob of my hair, I realized this was probably the time to shave my head. My hair has been steadily shedding for some time now, but it was this last treatment that was very effectively on my rapidly growing cells, apparently. I won't lie - I thought this step of my cancer journey would be fairly easy. It isn't. My head looks like Demi Moore's on the movie "GI Jane". Except I don't have the benefit of the shock of beautiful dark features like Demi. And it's cold. So cold. At any rate, this really is a small price to pay for chemo saving my life. Right? Right. I'll keep telling myself that when I have to wear hats around the clock.

This picture is very telling while Colin is shaving my head:

Colin said it would still be noticeable at the longer length when it continues to shed, so Samuel took it down even further:


I will now feel compelled to wear makeup equivalent to that of a drag queen to feel feminine.

My hair will grow back. I only have three more treatments. I can do this.

PET Scan

So I told you I would do a post about my PET scan and here it is. Below is a picture of the PET scan machine which I have come to loath for some reason. Shall we say that I have become a bit claustrophobic since having to go through all these medical procedures? I have. I've had two PET scans, numerous CT scans, a bone marrow biopsy, a few x-rays and they have all taken their toll on my mental stability. A week ago Friday I had my usual monthly meeting with my oncologist and she let me know that I had to get a PET scan in the next couple of days before my next chemo - and then she apologized for the "miscommunication". In my mind, I didn't have a need for a PET scan until I had done the full four months of chemo to see if the cancer was gone. However, they test for the cancer after only two months and if the person is in full remission at that point, then they finish up with two more rounds of chemo - just to make sure the cancer is good and gone. I have been dreading this next PET scan mostly because they strap my head down to the table (a "gentle reminder", as the techs always say) and I have to go in this tube for around 15 minutes - in and out, in and out. And since I let my mind run away with itself sometimes, as I am stuck in this tube, I start thinking how I can't get out. Even if I wanted to.

Well, when my oncologist told me I would have this PET scan on Monday, that meant I only had two days to panic over this next PET scan. Oh, and I also worry about the results of said scan, not just the claustrophobic part. So, I spent the weekend trying to forget about Monday, but shockingly, Monday still came. My appointment was at 2 p.m. and at about 8 a.m. that morning, I informed Colin I would be taking an Ativan (my pills meant for nausea, but also have a very nice relaxing effect) before the appointment. Why spend the entire appointment being nervous when I didn't have to be, right? Colin warned me that I could get pulled over for driving under the influence if I took that pill. I politely informed him that I would take my chances. On the drive, however, I decided that perhaps I should lean on God instead of these marvelous little pills. As scary as that decision was, I began to pray. I prayed for a supernatural calm to take over while I would be in that machine. And God never arrives early, does He? :)

After they injected me with the IV dye and I had to let it "soak" for sixty minutes (I spent the time listening to my pastor on my iPhone, which helped), I headed into the scan. I was still nervous at this point. It wasn't until I was literally in the middle of the machine that I completely calmed down. And we aren't talking just mildly calm. I actually was thinking-about-the-chicken-noodle-soup-in-my-fridge-at-home calm. What a relief and and incredible answer to prayer.

Of course, I wouldn't ever judge anyone for taking that Ativan :) - this was just my experience with this particular scan.

Chemo #5

Whew! I had my fifth chemo treatment today and can I be honest? Chemo is starting to kick my butt. Bone aches, nausea, fatigue, mouth sores, dry eyes - I have truly become a hot mess. And I'm not even sure about the hot part. Because I am stinkin' freezing half of the time. I miss being in church and just may sneak out with my gas mask on and go one of these Saturday nights. Not only that, we prepared our first bottle of formula ever tonight. For me, that's a big deal. It's sad and frustrating to not be able to provide milk for my baby. It also makes me tired to think that I may have four more months of "treatments" (that really is such a romantic word for chemo and often give the nurses a sinister chuckle when they refer to it as such) depending on how yesterday's PET scan lights up, or hopefully it won't light up at all. But I will do a entire post devoted to yesterday's scan because it turned out to be a pretty cool story.

So I have mentioned a few times to others that there really is no privacy for cancer patients - you sit in with a bunch of other chemo patients and hear all of their woes - and it always, I mean always, involves talk of bowel movements. Well, I called Hector the Pharmacist (my current favorite man on the planet (sorry Colin - but anyone that gives me shiny new anti-nausea meds is the man of the hour) over to my chemo station today and discussed a change in meds. The conversation always begins like this: "Hector, my meds ARE NOT WORKING. Please give me something stronger for preventative anti-nausea." And today I was that patient talking about bowel movements for everyone to hear. Did I mention my pride left me long, long ago? It does that with cancer. Right around the time you start chemo and hair starts shedding in droves and your eyes are always blood shot or you have to share openly how many times a week you poop in front of many other people. Yep, I'm pretty humble at this point. So, when Hector offered me an anti-nausea patch to put behind my ear and apologized that it would look a bit odd and did I mind? I laughed. I laughed hard and long and shared that I have no vanity left, Hector. We laughed about a lot of things. Like when he told me to take like six laxative/stool softeners tonight and for the next few days. I had to ask Hector if I could even go out in public in the next few days or should I stay close to home?? And then Hector laughed. Hard. I love Hector - and I just enjoyed his company today - and the prescriptions he sent me home with :)

I think I've had a pretty good attitude so far and I'm allowed a day to have a bad one, right? My white blood cells are hanging above neutropenic (the official term for low white cells), but as the nurse put it today "you don't have many soldiers fighting in your immune system" so avoid sick kids. Insert another cynical laugh :). Also? I have to use a separate bathroom than my family for five days after chemo because the chemicals are excreted in body fluids and I can't let anyone come in contact with that. Oh, and the nurse said no kissing and use condoms. Yep, she did it. Apparently she even tells eighty year old couples to use condoms. I didn't even know how to reply to that one.

This truly is a refining process and if I need four more months of treatment, so be it. I will just be really refined by the end of this, right?

Chemo Number Three

I had my third chemo session today and I am still a little foggy from all the drugs. And I am queasy. But even more than that? I am grateful. I am grateful that the same drugs attacking my stomach lining are also killing my cancer. I am grateful that not only was my chest X-ray ok, the doctor said "the mass that was there has now been resolved". I am grateful for the army of people praying for me (which is much farther reaching than I could ever hope). I am grateful that God, in all His mercy and love, has chosen to answer my fervent prayers with a "yes" and calmed my spirit when anxiousness welled up. And lastly, I am grateful to have been given my life back. I sleep in my own bed, next to my dear husband. Without scratching or night sweats. My body can relax without the tension of itchiness everywhere. I can wear whatever clothes I want. But mostly I have energy to love on my kiddos. Every day. All day.

A Leap of Faith

Not two hours ago, I was wrestling whether to call my oncology advice nurse. You see, I've been having some chest pressure for a few days now and I assumed it was either a cold or pressure from my tumors. The problem is that one of my chemo drugs can cause irritation to the lungs and is to be reported immediately to the doctor. But I didn't want to report it. I want my chemo to continue as usual. On the other hand, I really don't want permanent lung damage. But I do want to kick cancer out, effective immediately. And you can't do that without chemo, right? In the end, I called the advice nurse and found myself minutes later at the hospital getting a stat chest x-ray. Ugh. I knew that would happen. Before entering the hospital doors, however, I sat in my van, held my hand to my sternum (where my largest tumors are) and prayed. Hard. I prayed that God let this be a clear x-ray or something easy, like pneumonia (lol) and not a side effect of chemo. I had to put it all in His hands, you see, because ultimately, that is where my fate lies anyway, isn't it? I am to have my third treatment of chemo tomorrow morning at 7:30 and my prayer is that I get all four drugs. What a roller coaster this whole cancer things is. It's not a ride I would have chosen, but it is one I am learning a heck of a lot through.

And just to lighten things up - here is a uber cute picture of the kids, taken by the uber talented Mindy Strauss.

Transitioning To Baldness.

Today I woke up and decided I needed to do something about my hair. I've been mentally letting go of it for three weeks now - training myself to focus on what's important, and let me tell you - hair isn't it right now. It's hard as a woman to remove that piece of identity. To just say goodbye to it for oh, five months or so. So instead of having it shaved (since my hair is just shedding lightly at this point), I dashed off to my local cheap haircut place and gingerly handed her a picture of Emma Watson and watched in horror as she lopped off all of my hair while telling me her mom died of breast cancer four years ago. Gulp. I kept telling myself that it isn't about my hair. It's about living. Surviving cancer.

When I arrived home, my sweet boys had shaved their head for me.

Samuel with his "Superman curl":Samuel shaving Papa's head:
My sweet bald boys.

Jude snapped this blurry photo of us. I will be wearing a lot of hats out and about now - I feel much less feminine already!

P.S. To soften the blow of cutting off all my hair today, I am wearing my fake lashes (even though I don't need them yet) and am loving every minute of it!

This Week

This week I will be having a PET scan on Tuesday. This scan apparently highlights all the places there is active cancer. On Friday I have my first oncologist appointment and that will probably be the big moment of truth - the stage and if the cancer has spread. My specific prayer request is that this cancer has remained only on my heart/lung. While it's a very treatable cancer even in later stages, I would love it to remain a simple, easier round of chemo and radiation. I also pray that the Lord shines through to others in this season of my life.

P.S. If I never itch my body again, it would be too soon. My skin has absolutely been itched raw over the last few months due to this lymphoma thing - ugh! I have not slept next to my husband since I was about 5 months pregnant because I would keep him awake from said itching. Really, it is a form of torture. Water boarding? Piece of cake.