God Only Gives Us What We Can Handle

My sweet friend Brooke sent this to me the other day.  For the record, I think God is a bad-ass, too.  

The Party's Over

Last night, I was laying in bed and damn near had a panic attack.  The gravity is starting to hit me.  My positive attitude, that has been running on my natural optimism, adrenaline and perhaps naivety, is waning.  I've always thought of this little cancer thing as a minor hiccup in our lives; a year of inconvenience, then I'm home free.  But, the truth is, I'm starting to realize that isn't the case.  I have cancer.  Fucking Flipping cancer!  And it might come back (as a reminder they gave me a 50% return rate, which reduces to 15-20% with the chemo).  And, I fully know if it comes back it will be worse - blood, brain, lung, liver.

I'd like to think because of my positive attitude and willingness to do whatever they tell me to do to reduce my risks that I am somehow immune from it returning, but I'm not.  I've been in a similar situation before: where you try with every ounce you have in you and then some.  Where you refuse to give up and kick, scream and fight for what you want.  And guess what, it wasn't enough.  The exact thing I didn't want to happen still happened, despite my positive attitude, my fight and my willingness to do anything to get it to work.  It just wasn't in His plan.  And to this day, I thank God for that.  That was a hard lesson: Sometimes your best just isn't enough (que Patty Smyth).

But, what if my efforts aren't enough this time.  What if my best just isn't good enough?  It's happened before.  What if it isn't in His plan?  Is it because I cuss too much?  What if cancer does win?  I'd love to think I'll beat it, but the truth is, it is always lurking.  

Picture this: You are walking down the street and someone just mugged you.  Scanning the crowd of thousands, you know that 1 in 5 people are out to get you again.  You can't just quit.  You have to keep going.  You have to keep walking, wondering when one of those people are going to try to take you out again.  It might be in the next block, or it could be miles down the road, or never at all.  But how do you let your guard down when you know the threat is out there.  And next time, you don't just get mugged.  You get it worse, because they've taken all your money and jewelry.  There's nothing left you can easily give up.  

I'm scared.  And I feel myself being anxious and trying to hold it together because frankly, allowing myself to go there all the way is just too damn scary for me to even imagine.  

Well Played

Yesterday I had the opportunity to share my BRCA and cancer story with some very gracious students.  As I rambled presented my information a few things crossed my mind:

1. I miss being in a classroom with students.  Currently, I teach online classes absolutely love the gig, but gosh I miss 'seeing' my students and conversing with them over either the material or just over what is happening in their lives that they are willing to share.

2. I was a bit rusty with my public speaking skills, but it's okay because I have cancer (that's my go to excuse for everything - a part of me is dreading the day I have a full head of hair and actually have to start taking responsibility for what I say and what I do).

3.  This was the first time in years that I needed to dress in something other than yoga pants - I was excited about playing dress-like-a-grown-up for the day.  Then, morning of my presentation I woke up with two massive, fiery red, ingrown hairs on my head.  THE IRONY that the one day I so desperately wanted to look presentable and professional and I wake up with ingrown hairs on my f'ing shiny bald head. Well played, hair gods, well played. 

Chemo #4. Kicking Tail. Taking Names.

Today begins chemo cycle #4 of 6.  My counts were good enough and on some level I was giddy for today's infusion.  All 5 hours of it.  You see, in a few days, I'll hit a rough patch.  And after that, I will officially be on the downhill slide.  Only 2 more left after that.  THAT is a number I can live with.

My day started out with a tissue expansion fill.  Things are shaping up nicely so far.  Pun intended.

Today, during chemo, I realize I am especially blessed after I spoke with a lady about her journey.  She has pretty much been in chemo for the past 8 years.  She started out with breast cancer.  But it had reached stage 4, and had also spread to her lungs and her brain.  Her attitude was amazing.  Her journey, no doubt will be very tough, and the way it sounded it will never end.  Chemo can help manage her disease, but it won't cure her disease.

I can hear them ordering another patient morphine.  Me, I'm sitting comfortably in a recliner with my handsome, supportive husband by my side, ever so gently rubbing my leg and asking if I feel okay (chemo makes my face puffy from all the fluids and flush).  So, today I count my blessings.

Also, a good friend of ours came to hang out for a few hours of my chemo session.  And he brought lunch.  YES!  Thanks, Zach!  That reminds me of another friend, Debra, who has managed to send me a care package, complete with toys for Mason in it, for every treatment.  Even though, she has been dealing with some family health struggles, too.  And I've had numerous texts and messages from others checking in on me today.  Thanks for all the love.  Again, counting my blessings.

Richard has decided that the worst part of my chemo appointments is that I make him take a selfie with me every time.  And he can't even say no since I have cancer.  Hang in there, R.  Only 2 more to go.

Our friend Zach came to visit.  I made him join the selfie fun, too.  Loved seeing him.  He always makes us laugh!

UPDATE: While on infusion day I felt like I was kicking tail, truth be told chemo kicked my tail a few days later.  My 4th cycle hit me hard!  I spent well over 48 hours lying in bed or on the couch.  I was so exhausted I didn't even have the energy to watch TV.  I didn't sleep any more than usual, just pretty much laid there and chatted with mom when I was up for it.  Honestly, it felt like a setback ~ I handled cycles 2 and 3 so well.  I wonder if some of the chemo drugs have a cumulative effect and my body was angry, as it has reached its threshold.  I don't know, but I know it was a tough struggle for a few days.  This too shall pass.

Did I Win or Lose?

36,128

The number takes my breath away.  Seeing it instilled feelings of panic, of gratitude, and of sadness.

It doesn't seem fair on so many different levels.  I know it could be political, but I'm not going to take it there.  I'm not even smart enough to take it there, even if I wanted to.

Why me {in disbelief as I think about just how fortunate I am}?

Why me {in disbelief over my diagnosis}?

How is this even fair?

$36,128.48 - that was the number on the hospital statement that came today for a few bags of fluid that look like nothing more than saline solution one treatment.  It doesn't include the oncologist visit, or the physician assistant.  No pain meds, no operating room.  No anesthesia.  Just an old recliner that I sit in for 5 hours during my infusions.  Unbelievable!  Insert joke about how expensive my cancer hair cut is going to cost when it's all said and done.  If I had to guess, I would say somewhere around $400,000 when it's all said and done.  But I'm sure there are things I'm missing...

So, why me?? If I happen to be in another country, I might just be SOL (for my mother-in-law that stands for shit out of luck).  Perhaps I would be given some medicine or something to help with pain, if I were lucky enough to be able to afford a doctor, but no way I would get a $40k treatment.  (Reminds me of a story my parents shared with me: They visited Cuba and a local family they had befriended wanted to make a birthday cake.  They were willing to spend what little money they had to be a gracious host and struggled to find a cup of sugar. A cup of sugar.  You can buy a 4lb. bag here for $1.  But there, they simply didn't have access to such simple things.)  It's unbelievable to think just because of fate/luck/whatever-you-want-to-call-it, I get top notch treatment, where others would get substantially less.

Why me??  Sometimes I'm still in disbelief over my diagnosis.  I'm 36.  Healthy.  Happy.  Mother.  Wife.  Nothing special about me, except I've got this 'special' diagnosis, that if not caught would have killed me.  Would have cut my time on Earth short.  Would have devastated my family.  So darn lucky it was caught early, when really it shouldn't have been.

How is this even fair?  After the shock and panic of seeing a $36k medical statement, I felt a little giddy and a lot guilty.  Giddy that I know I don't have to pay anywhere close to that amount for my treatment.  Giddy that if something costs that much, surely it's bound to do some good, right?  And guilty because I know nothing in life is free.  What I receive for free is something someone else has had to work for.  I will never be able to 'repay' this debt, nor am I expected to.  Insurance (and by insurance I mean all you healthy people who have to pick up my cancer tab) just steps in and lifts that burden off of me and our family.  It isn't fair.  I fully understand insurance is a gamble, I'm just not sure if I have won or lost.  Either way, I feel blessed.

NEVER ALONE

I'm preparing to tell my cancer story to a group of students and it has me thinking about what I want to say.  Let's be honest, my blog isn't exactly academically appropriate, but I know I want to be sincere and honest and that is exactly what my blog is.  It's dawned on me that cancer is a totally fubar'd total juxtaposition of emotions.

Since the end of yesterday's treatment, I've been on a bit of a high knowing I am on the downhill side the nastiness/awesomeness of chemo (admittedly it might again be the steroids that are making me giddy too).

Chemo is harsh. It's cruel. It knocks you on your ass and makes you crazy. I hate my sick days after my treatment.  Yet, it also may very well be saving my life. Prolonging the time I get with my family. It may be totally eradicating any trace of cancer that name still remain in my body.  Or it may be doing nothing at all, except killing my hair folicales.

And then there is the feeling of being beyond fragile and at the same time like a total badass.  

Or feeling pulled to listen to some amazing worship music and some profanity laden rap music. 

Feeling like I'm holding it all together at times and also on the brink of a complete meltdown.

Blessed and cursed. 

Laughing and crying.

Praising and cursing.

Angry and grateful. 

Strong and weak. 

Excited for the end of treatment, but also beyond scared to be turned lose without supervision. Thankful for my amazing family and hating myself that I'm putting them through this roller coaster. 

Energetic and so exhausted (once again, thank you steroids).

Hungry and nauseous.

Last night, Richard came home and we turned off the tv and had a good heart to heart.  He's good like that.  He is feeling the exact same way I am.  I'm not alone.  It's good when there is someone to walk you off your crazy ledge, but sometimes it's just nice to have someone sit on the ledge with you and hold your hand.  Thanks, Richard.

This morning, after a good cup of coffee, I was reflecting on Richard's and I chat last night.  It's okay to not always be strong.  But, it's also okay to give it to God and let it go.  He doesn't want us to shoulder these burdens alone.  He asks that we trust him.  And we do.  And when we waiver, he takes our brokenness and uses it to work within us.  Never alone.  NEVER ALONE.  

"This is what makes these treatments worth it."

That sweet little face!

Tomorrow I go in for another treatment.  On one hand I'm dreading it, but on the other I'm excited about it being my 4th out of 6 treatments.  After this next one, I will officially be on the down hill of the harsh chemo (God willing).
This morning, we were laying around having coffee and Mase wanted some cuddle time.  Since he's a very active 4 year old, these moments are a rarity these days.  I remember laying there with him, smelling his sweet little breath, holding his little hand, and feeling his cold little feet on my leg.  Somehow this moment makes going in for my treatment tomorrow easier.  THIS is what makes these treatments worth it.  When I think about the choice of skipping treatments or enduring them to ensure I am around for this kid as long as I can be, it's an easy decision.  Seeing that sweet face turns my dread into gratitude that I have access to the treatment.

The Anxiety is Creeping In

This weekend Richard and I are sneaking away with some good friends (two who happens to be my ex-husband and his wife, who is also a friend of mine. Richard and I take credit for setting them up.) to a Garth Brooks concert.  I'm super excited to spend some time with our friends and to have some grown-up time... I know we will have lots of laughs.  But now the anxiety is creeping in as I try to pick out my clothes for the trip.  We've seen it before: anytime I want to dress up, I struggle with my current situation bald. 

I thought I was making progress.  A few times, I have even gone out and about without a hat, forgetting I was bald.  I ran an errand the other day, and didn't realize I was 'exposed' until I walked up to the register to pay.  I was really proud of myself, I've made a lot of progress.  And, then there was earlier this week when I delivered a meal to a friend who had a baby and I'm pretty sure I scared her kids with my bald head.  I had ran off without a hat, and gosh, the looks on their faces was quite funny and made me smile.  They don't know to be sad or to look away, they just know to ask questions and share their curiosity.  I love it!  It does look silly.  

So, I was sharing my anxiety with Richard.  Anxiety about being around beautiful women (who I should also mention are extremely kind and sweet!).  Sara is a petite gal with amazing dark skin and black, shiny hair.  Marisa is also super petite, with long, blond hair.  And she runs wins marathons.  Me, I'm bald.  And 15 pound overweight.  And today I was proud of myself for getting on a treadmill and walking 2.5 miles.  And I still have a cold sore that my body refuses to let heal.  And my boobs look like Frankenstein and feel like whoopee cushions.  Admittedly, I also have anxiety about being around my ex-husband.  I'm a girl, on some level I'd like to show him what he missed out on, (although admittedly, we both would whole-heartedly agree we ended up with better long-term matches).  And, I want to be a wife Richard can be proud of.  I know he's proud of me, but I used to look a little more like Barbie and a little less like Mr. Clean.

UPDATE: Well, we're back from the road trip and happy to report we had a great time!  The concert was awesome.  And, goodness, we are so blessed with amazing friends.  As we were walking through a crowd of 20,000 people, I rocked the bald.  The arena was warm and wearing my stocking cap just wasn't comfortable.  I loved the way Richard held my hand in a crowd of that many people.  He was probably just trying to make sure I wouldn't lose him in the sea of people, but in my mind it was his way of saying "This is my wife and I'm proud to be with her."

We also went to The Cheesecake Factory, where I ordered 2 pieces of cheesecake for dessert: Lemon meringue and Oreo explosion.  Yum!  I ate them both, too!  I figured, I have cancer.  And if I wanted two pieces of cheesecake, I was going to order two pieces of cheesecake.  Life is too short.

Enjoying the dance!

These are our friends Brian and Marisa Blackford and Brett and Sara Wilson.  Richard, Brett and Brian have known each other since grade school.  

It's Okay. I Have Cancer.

So, I've done A LOT a few things I'm not proud of...  So this isn't a marathon post, I will limit this list to just the last few months... Otherwise, we could be here awhile.
Truth is, when you have cancer, there are just some things you can get away with:

• Like eating a whole sleeve of Lemon Oreos.  For breakfast.  Before 8 o'clock in the morning. {Thank you chemo steroids}
• Nap for 5 hours in one day.  
• Cry at inappropriate times.
• Laugh at inappropriate times.
• Want to tell some one how you really feel when they politely ask you "How are you today?"  My mind says: "Well, my breasts were plotting to kill me, my 'new' boobs feel like whoopee cushions, I've got thrush, mouth sores and I could easily poop myself any minute."  My words say: "I'm good.  Thank you."
• Retail therapy.  Especially if mom is helping you foot the bill.  {Thanks Mom!}
• Shit yourself.  I'll spare you the details.  But, let's just say I am so thankful I was home.  And a word to any of you who may face chemo in the future: Never trust a chemo fart.  
• Totally acceptable to look at boobs on your computer or phone.  Even acceptable for your spouse to look at boobs on their phone or iPad.  For once, it's called research.  
• Wake your mom up at 2:30 in the morning because you don't want to eat Reese's cereal all by yourself.
• Gaining weight.  I blame it on the steroids.  But truth is, a lot of it is that at this point I just don't give a flip.  I'm sure (at least I hope) my attitude changes once my treatment is over, but for now, I find comfort in anything carb-y and salty.  

And a few things you shouldn't do if you have cancer:

• Blame yourself.  During infusion #3, there was a newbie sitting next to me.  She was probably in her mid-60's.  She shared with me that she has lung cancer.  Then, she hung her head and said she had been a smoker for years.  My heart broke, cancer is bad enough without the self-imposed guilt and shame.  NO ONE deserves cancer.  I can assure you, if there was some sort of cancer caused by binge eating carbs, I would have it.  And even then, I still wouldn't deserve it.  Her statement made me realize that I got one of the 'lucky' cancers that come with lots of resources and research funding, financial support, and pretty pink ribbons.  Instead of a big pink ribbon, a lot of cancers come wrapped in a bag of stigma.  Melenoma?  You must have spent too much time in the sun or in the tanning bed.  Liver cancer?  Clearly you drank yourself into that mess.  Lung cancer?  You were dumb and smoked cancer sticks cigarettes, despite all the warnings.  
• Google anything cancer related.  It will scare the shit out of you... (which isn't as quite out of the realm of possibility as it used to be).  
• Use it as an excuse to be mean to your spouse.  For the most part, I feel like I've been pretty nice to my husband during these times, admittedly not exactly the kind of nice he is probably wanting, but I plan to talk to my doctor about that, but on occasion I've taken out my frustration on him.  He deserves better.  Cancer is a family disease.  My job is to take care of myself and not poop myself.  His job is everything else, the biggest which is being the sane and stable voice of reason in a crazy season.  I fall in love with him more and more throughout all of this.  
• Clean.  Life is too short to spend time cleaning.  This has always been a philosophy of mine, now I just finally have a way to justify it.  

Signing off now... Those Oreos aren't going to eat themselves.  

Reflections on 2014

2014 has not exactly been easy.  In fact, it's been one of the most physically and emotionally draining years of my life... And on my entire family.

• We were bee-bopping along until July when my twin sister, Jill, found out she tested positive for the rare BRCA gene mutation.  I was tested in late-July and in the middle of August found out that I, too, had the mutation.  
• In September, my family and I made the decision that it was time to take care of business: I had a complete hysterectomy.  It was the easiest difficult decision I've had to make.  Sometimes I still get sad that Mason won't have a sibling, but I also remind myself that the reason why I did the surgery was so I can be around a long time to serve my family.  
• A month after my hysterectomy (mid-October), I completed my preventative surgeries by having what was supposed to be a prophylactic bilateral mastectomy.  The surgery was extremely painful... Even more painful was the phone call I received on Friday, Oct. 17th telling me that they had found cancer.  I endured countless sleepless nights and tears wondering if I was doing the right thing...  I endured painful surgeries and decisions in order to prevent cancer ~ yet it got me anyway.  I was devastated.  My family was devastated.  

So, yeah, not an easy 2014 to say the least... But I feel more blessed than ever.  

• In early July, we took a vacation with the entire Moss/Snyder family.  It was a week filled with sunshine, sand and family.  Memories made that we will never forget! 
• My sister taking the BRCA test saved my life.  My positive BRCA status saved my life.  We would have never been able to afford the surgeries on our own, and I wouldn't have pursued them without being BRCA+.  My BRCA status meant that insurance would cover a good portion of my procedures.  It meant that despite having a clean mammogram, I was able to push through and have the mastectomy my gut told me I needed to do.  I've learned to trust in my instincts, at any cost.  
• I've learned that I have an amazing husband.  I always knew Richard was amazing, but this year he has been my rock.  My marriage has grown and strengthened.  My love for him cannot be explained.  We vowed through sickness and in health, but we never imagined we would be tested like this.  
• I've learned to enjoy normal.  During my months of treatment, normal days are often few and far between.  Normal days are a huge gift.  I pray I don't fall back into old habits of taking normal days for granted.  Each day truly is a gift.
• My 'village' of friends are the cream of the crop.  They anticipate needs before I am able to speak them.  They pray for me and with me.  They listen when I am crying and cursing this journey.  They don't judge.  They just sit beside me and accept me exactly where I am without one ounce of judgement.
• My family, both immediate and extended family, have my back no matter what.  All of them have dropped what they are doing to assist in anyway possible.  Especially my mom.  She's comes up during my chemo weeks to help with Mason and the house.  Truth be told, I don't really need her to help with those things too much, but I do need her presence.  I am so grateful for the quality time we have gotten to spend together.  
• Our faith has grown exponentially.  Honestly, my faith has been growing all year though out 2014, thanks to an amazing group of ladies group I am part of.  At the time, I had no idea that God was preparing me for this trial.  I've learned He always provides us with what we need.  He knew I would be facing a trial and He put me in a place to grow spiritually so I was prepared.  

New Year's Eve 2014

Feeling blessed and looking forward to 2015.  Life is still good, God is still great!