Being on the Other Side

My friend, JB called me moths ago to ask about my surgeon. While I was happy to pass on Dr. B's name (I have 100% confidence in Dr. Buchner and his staff), my heart sank. While I had no way of knowing the outcome of her situation, I did know what hearing the words "there's a mass" does to you.  Initially, it makes you all hot. Dizzy and nauseous. It makes everyone's voice sound like Charlie Brown's teacher. It changes you... Because even if it's nothing, it makes you realize it could have been something.

Today, JB and I met for breakfast.  She had a mass removed and was waiting on pathology results. And, while nothing can really make the waiting game any easier, some cinnamon chip pancakes can't hurt. 

We sat down and I knew that look on her face.  The smiling-to-keep-from-crying look. The exhausted-haven't-slept and keep-running-through-the-possibilities-in-my-head look. The trying-not-to-show-my-crazy look. She shared a bit about her appointments and her procedure and I can't help but be taken back to when I was in that situation. There were lots of similarities and I hated that she was stuck in the dreadful holding pattern. I prayed that her outcome would be different, but I know that while prayers are nice, it doesn't make the waiting easier.  

Here's the thing... the waiting is the same for everyone in that situation. Those days spent waiting for that phone call are the same, no matter what the outcome is. It's intense, exhausting and pretty much way worse than any sort of procedure. Let's be honest, the pain. Des after a procedure are nice, but what would be even better if they could give you something to deal with the agony of waiting for the results. 

After breakfast, JB called to get the results. BENIGN! And while that was great to hear, I know that doesn't negate the mental and emotional assault she's been under the past week. 

Worry about nothing, pray about everything (Philippians 4:6) comes to mind. And while ideally that may quiet our heart, I know it doesn't always quiet the mind during a crisis. 

Checking in...

It's been awhile since I have written, so I thought I would check in.  Truth is, life is still full of ups and downs.  And while those ups and downs keep me busy, I've got to admit, they are minimal compared to what the ups and downs were last year around this time.

I think back to this time last year.  When I literally felt like I was on the brink of death.  You can read about that experience here: http://www.blessingsandbrca.blogspot.com/2015/03/an-exorcism-of-sorts.html

Still blessed.  Still feeling strong.  Trying hard to hold on to the perspective change that a cancer diagnosis brought.  While we want our normal back, the truth is I don't want all of my normal back.  I love the perspective we gained during our struggle: that most things in life don't matter.  That disappointment is relative.  Hardship is relative.  Every single day we feel healthy is an absolute gift.

Honestly, as time passes, I find that perspective of just being grateful for the simple things is waning. The high of beating cancer doesn't feel as triumphant any more.  I miss that high.

So, I'm searching.  I'm working on weeding out things in my life that don't draw me closer to that high... That includes time spent on social media and honestly, some friendships.  I'm trying to invest more in things that make me feel good: spending time in the morning with a devotional and reading the Word.  Loving the sound of Mason singing the Star Wars theme from his room as I type this.  Running.  Being outside and feeling sunshine on my face.  Being intentional about time with friends.  Just being intentional.  About anything.  Work.  Naps.  Cleaning.  Food.  Coffee.  Finding joy in being in the moment of whatever I am doing.

Keep on, keeping on, friends.

 

Good News!

I'll cut right to the chase: GOOD NEWS!  Yes, there are two small cysts on my liver, but they aren't dangerous.  Praise the Lord!  I feel like I can fully move forward now.

Now, the backstory:  I reported to my MRI.  Pretty sure the most painful part of all of it was paying for it.  Since my insurance has started over for the year, that bill was a whopper!  But, I must say, while paying the bill stung, I am so grateful to have insurance and to have access to great medical care.

So, upon checking in, I start feeling nervous.  We did a really good job not thinking about the 'what if's' and walking into the building was a reminder that things may not be okay.  I was quickly greeted by a cheery, outgoing young man.  He did my intake and took me back to a changing room.  Bonus: I didn't have to take off all my clothes, just my bra, which had wire clasps.  That would have been great and all, except I wore a white shirt, so there I am walking out to my room with no bra and a white shirt.  Oh, and it was cold.  Oh, and while my breasts have no sensation, they can detect cold, and one nipple seems to be a little more sensitive than the other, so... there's that ;).  Luckily, the gentleman quickly greeted me with a warm blanket ~ not sure if it was meant to cover up my winking nipples or what, but it was very much appreciated.

Sidenote: This time last year, I never wore a bra.  It was amazing.  And now I am realizing that I'm getting my 'normal' back by being self conscious when I don't have a bra on.  Props to normalcy!

Once my IV is started, I get led back to a room with the huge MRI machine.  I lay on the table and am given ear plugs.  The machine is loud!  I sort of start to panic in my head, as I see the tube I will be placed in during the test.  Go find about a 24 inch drainage tube outside and fit your whole body into it.  Oh, and give someone a hammer to bang around while you are in the tube.  That's pretty much what it is like.  45 minutes later (and I did actually relax a bit ~ those MRI machines have nothing on a 5 year old who has a blaring iPad and a blaring tv on all at once) I was finished.  I did a good job of keeping calm as long as I wouldn't let my mind wander about those dreaded 'what ifs'.

And I was worried I'd have to fart.  Mainly because of this hilarious story I once read: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/elaine-ambrose/dont-fart-during-an-mri_b_6044578.html. So, I guess I'm happy to report that not only were my MRI results fine, but I also managed not to fart during the test!  #Winning!

Ugh, My Body Hates Me. And another confession. Don't judge.

So, I not so patiently waited for my CT scan results to come in.  I was so excited to get the call that I was officially all clear and start kicking some butt in 2016.  I've signed up for a few half-marathons, planned out vacations with the family, thought of some ambitious goals ~ This was going to be my year to move forward.  I was psyched!

Today, we were at a playdate and I saw the "No Caller ID" show up on my phone.  I knew it was either a telemarker or my oncology office with the results.  It was a cheery nurse on the other line to let me know my scan results were in.  As soon as she said that, I got all excited about getting the news and my sweet girlfriend being there to celebrate the all clear!  I instantly envisioned us doing a 'cheers' with our coffee cups.

I stepped out of the room so I could clearly hear my results.  I wanted to take the moment in fully ~ This was big - This was going to be the start of a new year.  She took a deep breath and then started talking.  I tried to make sense out of what she was saying, and while I could hear her, I wasn't putting the words together very well.  Before I even knew what was happening, I got the hot, starry blackness feeling that happens before you pass out.  I sat down on the stair case.  Words I heard were: Liver. Lesion.  Abnormal.  Cyst.  Benign.  Malignant.  MRI.  I couldn't make sense of it, but I knew it wasn't what I was hoping for.

I'm not in the mood to talk about it.  I just wanted to write my feelings down, so know that by the time I post this, hopefully the panic will be gone.  God is still good all the time.  I am confident this is nothing... I know lesions or cysts are common - most people just may not be aware of them because they don't get scans.  And, I know that I can and will handle whatever comes my way.  Truth is, though, I am tired and I don't want to handle any of it.

I felt like cancer made me better.  But, I honestly don't feel the same about these little hiccups.  I'm tired of looking over my shoulder, so to speak.  I was so excited and prepared to start looking forward...

Still blessed.  Stressed, but blessed.

(Sidenote: I'm thankful I was with friends when I got this call.  Immediately, they sent me home to be with Richard and get some stuff in order.  They offered to take Mason for the afternoon.  They let me vent and cuss.  No judgement.  Just genuine friendship.  Love you ladies!)

UPDATE: After some digging, I was able to get access to my report and had it read by the very best doctor I have ever known (my Dad!).  He said it didn't look like any major cause for concern.  They are just being thorough, as they should be.  Truth is, you may very well have lesions on your liver, you just aren't lucky enough getting scans to tell you.  So, I will follow through with maxing out my out-of-pocket insurance payment for 2016 the recommended MRI, but I'm really not worried about it.  My oncologist doesn't believe it is cancer related.  And I'm feeling very optimistic.  My liver MRI is scheduled for next week.

Confession: *Please don't judge me!  We all do stupid shit I'm just stupid enough to share it.* I told Richard that this is probably karma for the 2 weeks I experimented in college.  I was looking for a sympathetic "Oh, Julie.  No it's not!" but instead, he said "You are probably right!"  But, let's be honest, if our bodies were karma for what we did in college, a lot of you would probably be in some serious trouble!  HA!

And with that confession, I just feel the need to publicly apologize to my mother and mother-in-law.

"Just to be Safe" (and a story about the time I peed my pants)

Last week, I had a 3 month follow-up with my oncologist, Dr. Ellis.  I must say, it's a great feeling walking into that office knowing I am just going to get a little stick for some blood work, and nothing else.  Honestly, I don't even feel like I belong there any more...

All went well with Dr. Ellis and I graduated to 6 month appointments.  Upon some discussion, Dr. Ellis decided it would be best for me to go ahead and have CT scans for the next 3 years, just to be on the safe side.  He said he wanted to take a conservative approach since I am so young and if things were to go wrong again, it would likely happen in the next 3 years.

I have mixed feelings about the scans.  On one hand, I am excited to officially get a clean bill of health to start off my new year.  I feel that may help remove any doubt that something could be lingering since I am no longer doing my maintenance chemo.  On the other side, I know I can't just go in for a scan and not consider the possibilities.  Scans are an opportunity to reinforce my feeling of health, but the are also an opportunity to stress about the 'what if.'

Lucky for me, the schedulers worked to get my CT scan in before the end of the year so it would be covered under this year's insurance.  So, on Dec. 31st, into the imaging center I went.

Once I filled out the paperwork, the procedure was relatively quick.  They start an IV, I go into this room with the big imagining machine and lay on this table that moves me in and out of this circular machine.  The tech warned me that the contrast dye may give me a bit of a metal taste in my mouth and a slight flush feeling.  I thought to myself I've been through chemo and have been thrown in instant menopause with hot flashes and night sweats, I can handle a little flush feeling.  Y'all, as soon as they started pushing the dye through my IV, I felt this intense warm feeling all over my body (image your body being one of those 'Hot Hands' pouches that heat up).  Again, I can handle the hot flash part, but what I wasn't prepared for is the incredibly warm feeling in my groin.  It felt like I had peed my pants... And, believe it or not, I know exactly what it feels like to pee your pants as an adult.  It was about 5 and a half years ago.  I was in my sister's driveway, 8 months pregnant.  I started laughing about something and could not stop (a common occurrence when I'm with my sister).  Well, needless to say, that wasn't the only thing I couldn't stop.  Yep, right there in Briarbrook Circle, I full on peed my pants.  We're not talking about a little dribble.  I'm talking about having to run up stairs and take a bath because my jeans were completely soaked.  I digress.  Luckily, after about 30 seconds of that feeling, my body started to return to it's normal feeling.

Honestly, I hadn't worried about the scan much at all... Until I was lying on that table.  Once I was over the panic of thinking I had peed my pants, my thoughts started to drift off to the worse case scenario.  What if it's back?  What if they find some other issue that I wasn't even aware of?  Luckily, the scan was quick, so I didn't have too much time to whip myself up into a full on frenzy.

Of course, the tech can't tell me anything about what they see on the images.  I so desperately want them to break protocol and tell me that everything looks great.  She tells me that she doesn't see anything that warrants her keeping me there... What the hell does that mean?  I think to myself "No shit Sherlock, I know I'm not having a heart attack or anything, but they send women with cancer home every day."  I study her face, hoping she'll give me a reassuring wink or something... But I got nothing.

As I'm leaving, she compliments me on my hair.  Naturally, I'm assuming she is complimenting my hair because she feels sorry for me based off of what she sees on my scan that she can't tell me about. I mean let's be honest, my hair looks Justin Bieber stuck his finger in a light socket.

Okay, after having got on with my life, I've only thought about these results a few times a day.  I'm not wasting much time crossing the bridge before I have to.  I joke, but for the most part, I have every reason to believe I will get the all clear results I so badly wanted to hear from the tech.

I'll post an update once I get the results.

UPDATE: FUCK Dang it, not the answer I was looking for.

It's Like a Sucky Sorority

Last week, I was at my son's basketball practice.  As I was walking in, looking for a seat along the sidelines, I notice a woman about my age.  She's mostly bald.  She's smiling as she's watching her son practice.  A flood of memories come back to me. I remember sitting at the soccer field.  Trying to focus on Mason practice, but at the same time, self conscious around all the mom's with great hair and looking all put together.  For me, it was just a risk success to make it out of the house.

I debate whether or not to say something to her.  It's a risk.  What if she chooses to have her hair like that?  What if I offend her?  Is it really any of my business? Then I come to my senses and think no beautiful, young mother would choose to have her hair like that.  No, it's none of my business, but it's worth the risk to reach out to a fellow survivor.  The worst that could happen is she's annoyed.  I'm sure it wouldn't be the first time I've annoyed someone.

I ask if she's a survivor (I am 95% sure I already know the answer).  She's two weeks out from her surgery.  Upon hearing this, I feel like I've met a sorority sister.  The cancer sisterhood is just like a sorority except:

• Instead of fixing each other's hair, we offer to share hats and scarves.  And biotin (its a supplement that is supposed to help your hair grow).
• Instead of cute, embroidered sweatshirts, we wear ugly surgical bras and pouches that hold our surgical drains.
• Instead of living in a house where there is a house mom, we are the mom.  Trying our hardest to take care of ourselves, as well as our families.  
• Instead of a busy social calendar, our calendars are filled with doctor appointments, scans, chemo treatments, radiation, and phone calls to the insurance company.  
• Instead of learning the mission/creed of the sorority, we learn the meaning of words like oncotype, HER2, ER/PR, Red Devil.  
• We don't have secret handshakes, we just know to greet each other with very gentle hugs. 
• We don't have big dances.  We just have end of chemo celebrations.  
• Instead of choosing a charitable organization to support, we are the ones who need the support.  

But, there is a sisterhood; An instant bond.  I don't need to explain to my new friend Tammy what I've been through.  She knows all too well.  My heart breaks that I've met another young mom who has been through this, but I can't help by be a little excited that I've met another sucky sorority sister.  

Race Day

This past weekend, I ran 13.1 freaking miles on my one year cancer-versary.  It was simply AMAZING.  It's an accomplishment I worked very hard for.  Something that no one can take away from me.  It was the end of a chapter (cancer) and the start of a new one (as a runner).  Believe it or not, I've never considered myself a runner... Until I crossed the finish line and decided I want to do another run.  I feel like I've finally earned the title of runner.

I wanted to share a bit about my race day.  

I set my alarm for 4:30am and hoped to sleep well the night before the race.  Of course, I didn't sleep well... I was wide awake at 3:30.  After trying to go back to sleep, I finally got up around 4am to start my OCD carefully planned out routine.  It wasn't the 13.1 miles that had me stressing out.  {TMI ALERT!!} My finely tuned routine had one goal in mind: a pre-race poo.  For any of you that run, you know how important this can be.  For weeks, I took mental notes about my routines and which activities would increased the chances of reaching my goal.  My routine was on point and 85% of the time, I could predict success.  All I needed was a cup of coffee, a half mile warm up, and indoor plumbing and BOOM! I was in business. 

Here's what my morning looked like Believe it or not, I actually took notes on my phone so I would remember the details of the day:

Pre-Race

4:00 - Up and at 'em.  Make coffee.  Shower and brush my teeth.  Goodness it's early. But, it's going to be a great day! I've trained so hard and it's finally here!

4:20 - Get dressed, eat banana.

4:30 - Write prayer list on my arm.

4:40 - Time to get the shit show on the road!  I decide to run The Link, the indoor tunnel that connects our hotel to the Crown Center.  I run for about a mile and a half, praying my colon body starts to wake-up. 

5:24 - I take coffee back to the room for Richard and go hang out on the toilet a bit.  As a psych major, I know the effects our environment can have on our behavior.  So, I figure it can't hurt to just go sit for awhile.  Still nothing.  

5:30 - It's got to happen soon, right?  I go down to my friend Carrie's room, where we talk about the race.  And poop.  I'm getting worried this isn't going to happen.  1.57 miles in.  Still not happening.  

6:15 - We meet our friend Whitney and Whitney's mom in the lobby.  We are going to do a quick jog to the WWI Memorial (I'd say it was maybe a half mile away).  It was cool and crisp.  Union Station was lit up blue for the Royals and Whitney is telling us about her Grandpa, who has a bench named after him at the memorial.  We get to the bench, say a prayer, and decide it's time to get back down to the start line.  

6:40 - Our hotel is close to the start line, so I run back up to the room to try to go one more time.  At this point I'm panicked!  The race hadn't even started yet and I've logged 3 miles already and still no dice.  

6:45 - I kiss Mase and Richard as they are in bed.  Mase is up and we do our family 'handshake' where we put our hands on top of each others and yell 1...2...3...Moss.  It puts me in a good headspace to hit the course.  

6:50 - Carrie, myself, and 11,000 other runners get in the chute (sort of like a corral for runners).  I feel the urge to pee, but don't have time to go because the race is going to start soon.  I'm nervous, I've worked so hard to poo, I'm positive it's going to hit me sometime during the race.   

The Race

7:10ish - The race starts.  The energy and excitement can be felt in the air.  Holy cow, this is happening.  And I haven't pooped.  Just go with it, Julie.  It's too late to worry about that now.  Enjoy it! You've got this!

Mile 3 - I'm praying for my marriage, per my prayer list.  Richard sends me a quick text of encouragement that I can read on my watch.  Rascal Flatts's song Won't Let Go starts to play on my Beats.  Richard would play this song for me when we were traveling to our doctor appointments.  Tears start to flow.  Dammit.  Stop crying Julie.  Suck it up.  Crying takes energy.  And you need the hydration.  Stop it!   

...You think you're lost.  But you're not lost on your own.  You aren't alone.  I will stand by you.  I will help you through.  When you've done all you can do, you can call.  I will dry your eyes.  I will dry your eyes, I will fight your fight.  I will hold you tight and I won't let go.  It hurts my heart to see you cry.  I know it's dark, this part of life.  It finds us all when we're too small to stop the rain, oh, but when it rains, I will stand by you.  I will help you through...  (Rascal Flatts, Won't Let Go)

Mile 5 - I'm praying for my Gillispie family and I quickly text my sister (thank you Apple watch for enabling me to text while I'm in the middle of a race.  Apple: Feel free to send me a free one for this endorsement).  Jill starts sending me texts of encouragement.  She has been following me the entire time using a tracking app.  She's encouraging me and telling me about water stations coming up.  Even though she was in Florida, it feels like she's running with me.  Another boost.
Mile 8 - I'm getting tired.  I've done a few hills.  The excitement of the start line has worn off.  Still a long way to go.  I round a corner and hear this familiar voice yelling "Go Julie! Go Julie!"  I look around and it is my friend Alicia, who lives about an hour away from KC.  We logged a lot of miles about 3 years ago, navigating motherhood.  Alicia ran a half marathon (I started training with her, but quit).  She knew exactly what I was feeling.  I stopped very briefly to give her a hug and a kiss and she told me to keep running and that she was proud of me.  She's got tears in her eyes and I'm choking back tears again.  She spent a precious morning traveling and fighting the crowds to come cheer me on for all of 3 seconds.  It's just the boost I needed to get over that 8 mile slump.  As I run away, I look back and can see her cheering me on.
Mile 9 - Richard sends me a quick text letting me know that he will be at Mile 11 (with him are my in-laws and Mason).  Another boost... Plus the Sport Beans I ate at mile 5 are starting to hit.  I kick it up a notch.  The motivation that my family is just a mile ahead keeps me going strong.
Mile 10 - I'm praying for all Survivors, especially those I've come to know in a Surviving Together Facebook group.  Praying for those who fought the battle and lost.  Praying for those who signed up for clinical trials so that I could get the best treatment possible.  Again, another boost to keep me going.
Mile 10.5 - I am running hard, okay as hard as you can after running 10 miles, and I'm looking for my crew.  I do this for about 15 minutes, expecting to see them any minute.
Mile 12 - I finally see Richard, Mase on his shoulders and my in-laws.  I quickly stop and give them high fives.  Mase thinks I'm like a super star athlete.  I can hear him ask "Daddy, is mommy winning?" Richard says "Yep, she's winning!"  Talk about a major boost!  I know I'm close to the end.  I've got about 10 minutes of the race left.
Mile 12.5 - I round the home stretch (although a half a mile is still a long ways after you've ran 12) and again, I see Alicia.  She's yelling that she's proud of me and tells me to finish strong.  I'm humbled.
Mile 13 - I see the finish line.  I'm soaking it in.  I'm a bit sad the race is coming to an end.  I feel so strong in that moment.  I'm proud of myself and cannot believe I've done it.  Cannot believe all that has transpired over the past year.  I quietly whisper "I WIN."  And, I'm thankful I didn't have to poop during the race.
After the race, I meet up with Alicia and my family.  Mason is so excited about my medal and decides  he wants to wear it.  Of course, I let him.  I know this was a team effort.  This entire year has been a team effort.

My cheering section!
My friend Alicia who was there to cheer me on in the very moment I needed a cheerleader.
Carrie, Whitney and I celebrating the finish.
My prayer list.
1...2...3...Moss cheer.
My race swag.

Oh, and my story was mentioned on the front page of sports in the KC Star!  You can read the article here: http://www.kansascity.com/sports/other-sports/article39351111.html