Yep.

My friend Lyndse sent this to me... She's the type of friend I never get to see in person anymore, but there certainly still have a strong connection.  You know, the type of friend you send those mommy fail moments to and you know they are laughing with you and not judging you ~ yep, that's her.

Thinking I need this shirt as a little post-chemo treat.  Perhaps I could add my blog address to the back, too :).

If you want to order the shirt you can find it here: http://www.thuglifeshirts.com/products/i-love-jesus.  But, I will probably try to make my own because I'm thrifty like that...

"I Like Your Hair"

Last week in the grocery store, this sweet little girl, probably around 6 years old, looks directly into my eyes and with her big, jack-0-lantern smile says to me genuinely "I really like your hair." It was really a sincere compliment. She made me smile big.

Today, after my treatment, we went to Chic-fil-A and I'm sitting in the playland listening to Mason and this 5 year old girl play.  I hear her whisper to Mason "Does your mom have a disease?" Mason replies, "She was sick but her hair will be back soon."  They quickly moved on to talking about their pets and favorite Avengers. It broke my heart... Him having to explain my appearance.  On several occasions, Richard and I have talked about how I'm glad this has all happened before he was aware enough to be embarrassed of his mom with the silly haircut.  I was also extremely proud of him for the confident answer he gave.  I may have cried in Chik-fil-A.

One thing I love about kids is their brutal honesty.  And that brutal honesty comes from a place of wanting to gain understanding.  If they have something on their minds they say it. It's refreshing.  How many times have you had something on your mind, particularly something kind or that is coming from a loving place, and not said it because perhaps you felt it wasn't your business?  I know I'm guilty!  It's somewhat risky to say something, even kind things.  We think "I'll sound corny", "It's none of my business" or "What if I offend them?" 

Which brings me to my new friend Dolly.  Get this, she works at Starbucks in Target (2 of my favorite places!). She is super friendly and never judges me for getting my coffee and wandering around Target with nothing in my cart for an hour.  She also looks me in the eye, something people tend to less of when you have a big-bald head. Last week, she gave me the most genuine compliment: She acknowledged my struggle (let's be honest my struggle is pretty obvious) and told me that she admired my attitude.  She sees me once, sometimes thrice a week, and mentioned that clearly I'm going through something and still have a smile on my face.  The fact that she took the risk to say something means so much...  Just that someone acknowledges the struggle, because let's be honest: when I'm rocking the bald the struggle is pretty obvious.  Thanks Dolly!  See you next Tuesday, or sooner if I can sneak away for an hour long Starbucks/Target vacation.

Bottom line: Why are we so cautious to say things that might mean the world to someone else?  Perhaps we should all be more child-like and say what is on our hearts if those thoughts are coming from a good place and well intended?  For me, I'm going to work on acknowledging someone's struggle... And if a genuine kind thought comes to my head then I'm going to build up the courage to say it, even if I sound cheesy, stupid, stalkerish, whatever.  You never know, it might make someone's day.

My new friend Dolly.  She always brings a smile to my face... And always hands me a great cup of coffee... Coincidence, I think not! 

It's Mom's Turn

It's been awhile since I've written a post... Sorry not sorry.  The truth is I've been too busy LIVING to sit down and write.  And I know all of my cheerleaders are so happy to hear that.  The past week, we've had 65-75 degree days, so Mase and I have been busy with park play dates, climbing rock walls, flying kites, playing pirate ship and anything else we can manage to do outside.  Oh, the feel of sun on my scalp is amazing!  *Note to self, put sunscreen on my pale, bald, head.*

This past weekend I went to Mom's and Mase and Richard had a guy's weekend.  Last week was Mom's turn to have her bilateral mastectomy.  As a reminder, Mom also is a carrier of the faulty BRCA mutation. To be honest, she should have been the first one to have her mastectomy, as the odds certainly aren't on her side (statistically she has an 87% chance of developing breast cancer by the time she's 70).  But, she insisted Jill and I have our surgeries first, even though she is at greater risk of developing cancer due to her age.  What an absolute blessing her selflessness turned out to be - my cancer was very aggressive and just waiting a few months would have made things much worse.  She didn't think twice about holding off on what she needed to make sure my sister and I could do what we needed.  I can't thank you enough, Mom! Please join me in praying she gets a clean pathology report... Honestly we are all waiting; Holding our proverbial breath for the pathology report, which should come in any day now.  Mom really is struggling to even take a breath - honestly it's difficult to even take a deep breath after a mastectomy.  Mom, it gets better, I promise!

As I was tending to mom this weekend, I had a roller coaster of emotions.  A mastectomy is not an easy surgery; It's physically hard and emotionally even harder.  To purposefully scar up your body in hopes of avoiding something even worse (cancer) is a hard decision.  Do you roll the dice and take the chance of being the lucky 13% who won't develop cancer?  Should you leave well enough alone? It's a tough call.  I also found myself joyful that Mom had done everything she could to reduce her risk.  She has done all that she can do, and there should come some relief with that (although the real relief will come after the path report comes back all clear).  Also, it felt good to just lay in bed with her or wake up and have ice cream at 2am together, as she had done with me so many times over the past 6 months.  I know she didn't need me, Dad had everything under control, but I also know it isn't always about what you need, it's about what you want.  I remember telling mom I didn't need her (Richard had everything under control), but I wanted her.  Sometimes you just need your mom... Or daughter.

Honestly, for our family, it is the easiest, most difficult decision ever. My mom was 8 years old when her mother died of ovarian cancer (another BRCA related cancer).  Her mother was carrier of the BRCA mutation, although of course it wasn't known back then.  Mom knows the pain of losing a parent.  Of wishing her mom could see her graduate, be there on her wedding day, or when her kids were born.  She doesn't want her time cut short with her family or grandkids.  She was robbed of time with her mom due to BRCA and she's determined to not let that happen for my brother, my sister or I.    I know the decision she made was about being there for us, because she didn't want us to go through what she had to when she lost her mom.  Again, thank you Mom!  We still need you!  God knows I still need you!

UPDATE: Mom's pathology report came back all clean!! Praise the Lord!! Can't wait to celebrate Asa family!

Chemo Brain. It's a Real Thing.

I'm pretty sure that while chemo works to kill all the bad cancer cells, it also kills a few brain cells.  I've decided to keep a running list of the stupid shit I've done over the past few months.  And, since I have cancer, it's totally acceptable to blame it on the chemo, but let's be honest, I may very well have done it, chemo or not.

I spent 3 minutes looking for milk.  In the pantry.

I put face moisturizer on my toothbrush. 

I had to look up what year it was.

I forgot how old I was. 

I arrived at church, put my car in park and got Mason out.  Luckily as I was walking into church I had this nagging thought that I forgot to actually turn my car off... Sure enough it was still on when I went back to check.  In my defense I drive a Prius and it is sometimes silent when it runs. 

Sometimes I still put a big blob of shampoo in my hand when I'm in the shower, forgetting I don't have hair.

I made Mase a coffee in his kids cup instead of a chocolate milk.  

One Step Forward, One Step Forward

Today I woke up feeling reasonably well. Had some coffee, made the bed, put on clean clothes (opposed to staying in my pajamas), and brushed my teeth.  Then, I cooked Mase breakfast, had some more coffee and got in a couple of really productive work hours.  This afternoon Mase and I went downstairs, set up a tent and played camp out for over an hour.  I also was able to suffer through manage 5 minutes on the elliptical (don't judge, I've got to start some where).  I was also able to make a quick trip to the grocery store and cook a real dinner for my family.  As I cleaned the kitchen, I had a real conversation with my husband.

All these things are probably things most of you do effortless everyday, but for me, doing each one of these things was a big deal... Let alone all in the same day.  As I was reflecting on my day, it dawned on me why today felt so great: I'm moving forward. Finally.  Physically, I'm not any better than I usually am a week after treatment, but mentally I am miles ahead where I've been the past 4 months.  I had a quick little cry tonight (happy tears) when I realized that today almost felt like one of the old days.  One of the pre-BRCA, pre-cancer days.  It was awesome! 

It's so hard to move a step forward when you know a step or two back will follow it.  It was so hard to enjoy the good times, because no matter how good they seemed, I knew another chemo treatment was just around the corner.  I'd love to pretend I was some strong fighter who kept my chin up and pushed through even though it was one step forward two steps back, but I wasn't.  I was simply surviving.  Riding the tide and holding on for dear life, because that's all I could do.  But, today in the first time in a long time I felt like I was LIVING. One step forward. One step forward. 

An Exorcism of Sorts

While, I was initially on a bit of a high after completing my final chemo cycle, I've got to admit this cycle #6 took me down insanely hard and insanely fast.  Three days straight of being in bed.  I cannot even find words to describe the exhaustion.  I've thrown up.  My body aches and has had the chills/convulsions. The chemicals are finding their way out of my body anyway they can: mostly through diarrhea and sweating. My body hates me and it is fighting back. I literally felt like I was dying.  Okay, I know that sounds dramatic, but indeed I thought I was dying.  Chemo is essentially a poison that goes after all the bad cells, and frankly some of the good cells.  I was quite sure someone had gotten the dosage wrong and I had been poisoned.  I'll spare you from the details (you know if I'm sparing you from the details it was bad!), but I went through all the stages of grief in the bathroom the other night.

1. Denial - This isn't happening.  It's in your head, Julie.  Stay mentally tough.  You are at the end, you can do this!

2. Anger - You've made it this far and you are going to die now?  WTF is that Julie?  Suck it up!  Stupid f'n cancer.  I hate you!  I HATE YOU! 

3. Bargaining - Okay, God if you let me live through tonight, I promise I will watch what I eat.  Be a better mom.  Be a better wife.  Just make the pain stop.  Make the muscle tension and uncontrollable shaking stop. PLEASE!  I will never eat {fill in the blank with basically everything here - because it seems like everything is related to causing cancer} again. Please take this cancer away from me forever.  I cannot handle this again.  Make it stop!    

4. Depression - This is it.  I'm dying.  And my husband and son are going to be heart broken.  They deserve so much better.  I've fought this hard and it's all come down to some one accidentally poisoning me.  Is this really the way I am going to go out?

5.  Acceptance - This stage came around 1:30am when I could finally drag myself to bed and eventually passed out from exhaustion.  Oh, the sweet relief of sleep after one of the worst nights of my life.  

I'm curious if anyone else responded to their chemo like this?  I've handled all my other treatments relatively well, but this last one almost did me in.  I felt like they took me to the brink of dying, which I suppose is the entire point of chemo. Perhaps they upped my dose again because of my weight gain?  Perhaps my body had just had enough abuse and wasn't going to take much more? Perhaps the last 5 cycles had damaged my body enough where this one just wasn't as easily accepted. My friend, Jenny, described this episode as an exorcism ~ clearly, she knows the feeling of it all too well (thanks for those words Jenny Parker!  They hit the nail on the head).  

The good news: I'M FINISHED. God willing.  I made it! I keep doing silent cheers in my head and reminding Richard we made it through.  It feels good.  But, there is always that 'dark cloud' of "God willing." I know I should say that phrase with grace and faith, but I don't. I still feel like I'm on borrowed time, but for now I'll take it.  Off to live life.  Thankful to be alive today, in more ways than one!