"I Won't Give Up"....
Not his biggest fan, but this is an absolutely beautiful song..."I Won't Give Up"-Jason Mraz

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TdN5GyTl8K0&ob=av2e

For those reading today, the Undy 5000 race will be held tomorrow morning. I am so touched and inspired by the money raised for Team Ryan, and by all of the participants.  It is a great cause, and any donation is greatly appreciated! :)



http://support.ccalliance.org/site/TR/5K/UndyNEW?fr_id=1520&pg=entry

Part 4-Turning Darkness into Light

My little girl turned two on March 17^th.  I got to hold her.  By hold, I mean scoot her off of the counter into my arms, as I am still unable to pick her up. Tears would come all night as I thought back to that moment, and all I had endured just to experience those few seconds. Then, a few nights ago I was able to get down on the floor and play with the kids.  These two experiences have been the best medicine I have had so far.  I could never have imagined how hard it would be to sit and watch other people take care of my own children.  My recovery has forced me to think about all of the things I took for granted before, such as wrestling with the kids, giving them piggy back rides, or chasing them around the house. Every day, we all go about doing our normal ‘routine’ and don’t really stop to think about what we would do if it all came to an end.  My routine came to a crashing halt, and now my life could be defined by ‘before cancer’ and ‘after cancer’. 

After surgery, my new routine involved eating, resting, and trying to walk in between taking pain medications. Due to the immense amount of narcotics in my system, my first reaction after waking up from surgery would be… “What pain?” However, my surgery involved three laparoscopic punctures and a four-to-five inch incision in my abdomen…pain was inevitably going to come.  It did, with a vengeance.  Several hours after I was transferred into a private room, I noticed that my pain pump was not keeping the pain away. The pain was starting to get bad so I called the nurse, who reluctantly said she would see if she could get something else for the pain. An hour or so passed, the pain was so bad Phil set a timer to go off every ten minutes so I would get as much medicine as possible.  My nurse came back in and decided to check my pain pump.  It was off.  It had been off since I was transferred to the floor.  I had pushed that button for hours and did not get a single dose.  Fresh out of surgery, and my pain pump was off.  The terrible pain all made sense now.  My nurse quickly gave me a large dose of pain medicine, restarted my pump, and I pressed that button for what seemed like hours before the pain subsided again.  I did, however, sleep well that night. 

             The next couple of days all seem to blur together due to my wonderful, now-working, pain pump.  My loving husband stayed by my side the entire time I was in the hospital. Phil was a trooper.  He slept on an old hospital bed, got me fresh water, and helped me sit up, get up, shower, and walk.  Most of all, he kept me motivated and made sure I did all of the things I did not want to do.   For every meal I would get clear liquids, the main course being some sort of broth…yummy. Three days after surgery, one of the ‘younger’ physicians came in and said that I could go home that night if I wanted to. This did not sit well with me.  Dr. Mutch had said it would be minimum five day stay, I had not had a real meal yet, and I was still on IV pain medicine.  As much as I wanted to go home, I declined. We decided I would go home the next day, after I started on pain pills.  Little did I know pain pills would ultimately be the reason I would have an eight night stay at the hospital.   The first night of trying pain pills went pretty well, and I was optimistic.  I got to eat my first real meal…lukewarm carrots never tasted so good! The next morning Phil went to buy bagels for the staff as we were planning on leaving that day.  It all started to go downhill while Phil was gone.  I was nauseated, and it kept getting worse. By the time Phil made it back to the room I began to throw-up.  (I do not recommend throwing-up while having an incision in your abdomen; the pain is less than pleasant.)  The doctor came in and told me going home was now out of the question, and again for what seemed like the millionth time, I cried. 

This was not okay…I wanted to go home, but I was in no condition to do so.  After five attempts, my IV was restarted; they then put me back on IV pain medications, and a clear liquid diet. During the day I was started on a new pain pill, and I was able to keep liquids down.  I felt pretty good before bed, and managed to sleep well through most of the night.  I should emphasize most of the night, because at about four in the morning things got bad.  I woke up to almost unbearable abdominal pain, and the nausea returned.  I was not too concerned until I threw up what I had eaten well over 12 hours ago. Something was not right, and the pain was worsening.  I received excellent care throughout my stay at Barnes, except for this night.  My nurse came in to give me something for nausea, did not offer anything for pain, said I could have nothing by mouth, and then promptly left.  I did not see her again, as it was nearing shift change, and I guess she was ready to go home.  My poor day nurse walked in to me throwing up, crying, AND my IV had come out.  She managed to calm me down, get my IV on the first try, and then gave me pain and nausea medications...she was the hero of the day.  I drifted into a much needed sleep, and later found out I had developed an ileus.  This basically means my intestines had filled with air and stopped working. The doctor told me that I might need a tube to be placed down my nose into my stomach. I could not comprehend what was happening; I was supposed to go home the day before.  I was to have nothing to eat or drink all day, and could hardly bare to move.  With time, my intestines started working again, without the help of a nasal-gastric tube, and it would be two more days before I would be discharged from the hospital.

I felt defeated.  How did I manage to go from a busy working mother, to hardly even being able to walk down the hall? Fortunately, our family and friends all sent wonderful words of encouragement through phone calls, Facebook messages, cards, and flowers. Oh, the flowers.  It looked almost like a floral shop in my room.  The support and prayers were a much needed motivation for me.  Slowly, I was managing to regain my strength, and felt ready to go home. On the day I was to be discharged, Doctor Mutch appeared out of nowhere. He was supposed to go out of town that day, and we were not expecting to see him. He quickly came in and started to explain the pathology report.  My stomach was in knots, what he was about to say would again dictate what kind of journey I would have.  The lymph nodes were all negative, the margins were negative, and I officially had stage II colon cancer.  He went on to say something about genetics, maybe needing chemo, and how some stage II cancers act like stage III cancers.  I was not really listening because one of our major prayers had been answered…the cancer had not spread to my lymph system. We were then discharged later that day. While life at home would prove to be more difficult than I had imagined, I was just happy to get out of the hospital.

 Again, God was showing up in ways I could not imagine. While I could never go back to my life ‘before cancer’, I was learning to adjust to my life with cancer. This was a hard thing to do, as my wounds were a constant reminder of how my life had been turned upside down in a single day. I still had a long way to go on my path to recovery, but I began to understand that none of us have a guaranteed amount time on this earth.  Over time, mind began to clear. I learned to count my blessings, and be thankful for every day I was given. While, the light on my path was now becoming clearer, I was all too aware of how quickly it could become dark again.  My fear was still there, and I knew it always would be to some extent.  However, my faith was continuing to grow.  I now had God on my side, my trust was in Him, and I knew I could endure anything with God lighting my path.

“You, Lord, are my lamp; the Lord turns my darkness into light.” 2 Samuel 22:29

Before the Morning -Josh Wilson

This song is so relevant to anyone going through difficult times...
"And hold on, cause theres good for those who love God"- powerful words for someone who has found themselves in the dark.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EThmOXku6Nc

Following the Light-Part 3

As mentioned before, I am an Oncology Nurse.  I love my job because even the smallest gestures can make a world of difference. Also, I get to know some of the most amazing people along the way, who have taught me so much about life.  One thing I’ve learned in my five years as an Oncology Nurse is that cancer has no rhyme or reason. One of my patients, who passed away, used to tell me “I never ask God ‘Why me?’ I just think, why not me? What makes me so special that I shouldn’t get cancer, but someone else should?”  This makes perfect sense, because cancer does not care if you are old, young, busy, stressed, healthy, unhealthy, male, female, smoker, or non-smoker. Anyone can get cancer…and I did.

The phone call to my boss was a surreal event, and I fought back the tears as I told her my situation.  She quickly responded, “Do you want to come here to see the doctor? Do you want me to tell anyone?” The answer to both questions would be yes, because as awkward and hard as it would be, I did not trust my care in anyone else’s hands. I happen to be very blessed to have such wonderful and caring co-workers, and I know they devote so much of themselves to their profession. I knew I was where I needed to be, but I was still so nervous to walk in the front door. That nervousness would quickly fade because I felt so comfortable with everyone who works at Siteman West County. 

So here I was, four days after being diagnosed, finding myself seeing my surgeon at the very place I worked.  As I was being taken back to see Dr. Mutch, I passed by the regular exam rooms, and I realized we were being taken into procedure room. Anywhere but this room… I never wanted to even look into or pass by this room because it was where the surgeons performed their examinations. To make things worse, it took what seemed like an hour before Dr. Mutch finally made his appearance. He finally came in and quickly me two options: either take out my entire colon, or remove the area around the tumor.  I could not understand why there would even be an option, but he seemed to want to make sure I knew that the second option meant colonoscopies every year or two for the rest of my life. Hooray for me.  Of course I chose to have the tumor and surrounding area removed.  He then told me he wanted to see if he could visualize the tumor…the colorectal surgeon wanted to ‘examine’ me.  The tiniest shred of dignity that I had left was gone.  Nothing about having colon cancer was glamorous. In fact most of it was downright embarrassing, but I agreed and reminded myself that I needed to do whatever it took. After he obtained all of the info he needed, we agreed to surgery in a little over two weeks (as he had no other openings).  I just knew that wait would be agonizing.  However, as Phil and I pulled out of the parking lot my cell phone rang, “Dr. Mutch has an opening for surgery tomorrow morning; would you like to take it?” My whole body began to shake as I made the decision to have surgery in less than 24 hours. This had to be some sort of divine intervention.

For the next hour or two, I entered into complete shock.  I have never had surgery, and the closest I ever came to it was having my wisdom teeth removed.  Phil and I ran into the grocery store and quickly grabbed the medications for the preparation that I was supposed to have started three hours ago.  My mind began to spin, and I did not feel ready for this.  However, ready or not, surgery was quickly approaching, and I needed to face it.  I went home and took the medications, which are basically an extreme version of the colonoscopy prep…again, hooray for me.  In between drinking cups of Gatorade and packing, I found myself holding my kids. It would be a while before I would get to see them, and, little did I know, it would be even longer before I would get to pick them up.  Again, more tears.  We quickly informed everyone of our decision, and they would ask if there was anything they could do. The answer was always the same…they could pray.  This was now a request we were actively sending out to anyone we talked to because prayer was the biggest gift anyone could give us.

The morning of surgery I sat in bed until the last possible minute, got ready, walked into Jackson and Lydia’s room and kissed them goodbye while they slept. They looked like angels, and it took all my strength to leave that room.  Melissa met us at the house and followed us to the hospital in the snow.  We got there a little after 7 in the morning and began to wait patiently. Being the kind and sweet people they are, Phil and Melissa poked fun at me for my frequent bathroom visits (dumb prep, I was so tired of seeing the bathroom).  However, it was so wonderful to have them there, my husband walking with me through it all, and my best friend giving me much needed support and laughter.  After about two hours of waiting, my pager went off; it was now too late to run out the front door.  After I was placed in the holding area, my family members swapped out one at a time to visit as the nurse prepped me for surgery.  I believe it was around 10:30 when the anesthesiologist came in with medication to help me relax.  It literally took seconds for me to mutter “The room is spinning,” and apparently after this, I sat up there and visited for two hours before they took me into the operating room.  I have no recollection of anything after this medication, but Phil says I gave him a less than sentimental and pathetic goodbye. Instead of teary-eyed goodbyes, I can just picture myself yelling “See ya later!” as they wheeled me away. The last real thing I remember before going under was the operating room staff asking how I was, giving them some snide remark like “I’m here aren’t I?” and then fading away to complete sleep.  

Before surgery, various people told me that not only did I have my friends and family praying, but churches, convents, prayer groups, and strangers as well.  When I was in the holding area, I remember Melissa saying something to the effect of “I can literally feel the prayers surrounding you right now.” She was right. I cannot explain it, but you could just ‘feel’ everyone’s prayers all around me.   It was such a humbling experience to know how many people were taking time to pray for my wellbeing. Our prayers that day would be answered as the surgery went “as expected, with no surprises” according to Dr. Mutch.  God was showing up for me in so many ways, and I was beginning to realize how absent He had been in my life. I continued to follow the dim Light on my uncertain path.  No matter where it was leading me, it was my path and I wanted it to be lit by God.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight. –Proverbs 3:5-6

My Way Through the Darkness-Part 2

The Ryan Superbowl party has become an annual event at our house for the past 3-4 years, but this year we were going to pass since we didn’t technically have a house.  However, as the weeks went by no one seemed to be planning anything, and many were still certain that we would somehow find a way to throw a party, homeless or not.  I mean obviously the world would end if we did not have this event.  So, a few weeks before the Superbowl, our absolutely wonderful friends, the Blake’s, graciously offered their house for us to use for the party. It seemed at the time that the annual event would still take place; though I was not really convinced this was a good idea…there just was not enough time.  I of course began to worry about the party, how I would find the time, and what food I would make.  I wish throwing a Superbowl party was all I had to worry about now, and really what good does it do to worry about anything at all?       

Anyways, I now had a new worry…Colon Cancer. The only thing more painful than being told I have cancer, was sharing that news with our loved ones. Every time we would tell someone the news, not only would the pain be re-lived by us, but we would have to see the hurt in someone else’s eyes.  The only two people I could bare to tell myself were my Mom and my best friend Melissa.  My mom already knew something was wrong; she is of course a mom and therefore has a freakishly good sense about these things.  Phil had called her at 9 to say the procedure was over, and they were just waiting for me to wake up.  When we didn’t answer our phones and hadn’t called by 12, she knew…they found something.  When she called at around 1pm it was all I could do to mutter “they found cancer.” I didn’t have to say anything else, although I could hear the pain and hurt in her voice.  She then hung up the phone and promptly made her way home.  That was hard enough, and I didn’t know if I could do it again.

 For those of you who don’t know, Melissa and I have been friends since the sixth grade. I couldn’t imagine how I would feel if the situation were reversed, I did not want to do this. How do you tell your “person” that you have cancer, or anyone for that matter?   A simple text was all it took, “What do you have going on? I need to talk to you.” Words something to that effect made it abundantly clear I was not okay, and she would be over as soon as possible.  The wait was agonizing, but she finally pulled up and I met her on the porch. Thankfully it was a relatively warm day outside because I wanted to tell her alone.  No matter how hard I tried to force back the tears, they came before I could mutter the phrase again. She sat back in shock, no real emotion, just as I had experienced several hours ago.  I knew the tears would eventually come for her, as she seemed surprised they weren’t there now.  Melissa did what she does best, she told me “We got this no matter what”, which is what I needed to hear.  We hugged, a lot, and then she went on her way.  That was it for me.  I told Phil and I couldn’t bear to tell anyone else, it was too painful.  Luckily Phil and my mom were more than understanding, and proceeded to tell my Dad, brother, sister, Phil’s family, friends, etc.  I was done sharing the pain with my loved ones.

                That weekend I had entered into what I can only describe as darkness.  We would not know my scan and lab results until Monday, which seemed like an eternity away.  The weekend was literally a blur of events, my family came to visit and the kids went on about their daily lives; they were a wonderful break from the giant elephant in the room named ‘Cancer’.  Ugh the kids...Jackson and Lydia were my life. Every time I looked at them my mortality would flash before my eyes, and it was all I could do to fight back the tears. Just the thought of leaving them brought on more pain than I care to ever have.  Looking back, it was a blessing that they were too young to understand what was going on.  Their happy faces and laughter kept me going that weekend.   Most of the time I just wanted to be alone, but if I was alone I would be forced to succumb to my emotions.  Therefore, I spent the first 24hours just “living.” I played a little with the kids, sat around and pretended to be part of the conversation, and let numbness overtake me.  It really wasn’t until Saturday afternoon when it all hit. My brother and his wife Joni had stopped by to visit, and after we talked for a while I decided that I wanted to go upstairs and watch a movie with Phil. We hadn’t been alone since Friday afternoon, and in our time to ourselves ALL of the emotions came. Instead of watching a movie, Phil and I held each other and cried. We cried because we were scared, because this simply did not make sense, because this is not what was supposed to happen, and because we were realizing how deeply we loved and needed each other.  That love was going to have to carry us through, the vows “in good times and bad, sickness and in health” now fully applied to us. 

                I shouldn’t say the superbowl party didn’t happen; it just only involved the Blake family and us.  Melissa brought over lots of awesome food, which I ate as best as I could, and the kids played and made a huge mess of toys.  The game was a welcomed break to the stress of the weekend because I didn’t constantly think about Monday.  We yelled at the game, watched the commercials (that is when Phil wasn’t changing it to the Puppy Bowl), and avoided reality for a few hours.  I did not think I would be able to sleep Sunday night, but after a quick prayer I dosed right off only to be awoken by that horrible bus.  Every time I would wake up from a nice cancer-less sleep it would hit me all over again.  My scan was at 9, the doctor appointment wasn’t until 4, again it seemed like we had to wait an eternity.  On the way to see the doctor we didn’t talk, we also waited in silence at his office; the only real communication before the doctor came in was Phil’s hand in mine.  A knock on the door and in came Doctor Nissing, no offense but after our last encounter I really didn’t want to see him.  He sat down and again my mind raced as to what he was going to say.  His tone lowered as he seemed afraid to tell me what I already knew…”the pathology is back, it is cancer.”  Again the oncology nurse in me did not need to know that I had cancer, but how bad it was.  He then told me that the scans were clean and my labs looked good.  At the end of the conversation he said “all things considered, this was the best news you could get.”

                Thank God we had gotten some good news.  I went home, hugged my kids, and was happy to be the one to share the news with my family. I still had no clue what my future held, but I was learning that it didn’t matter.  I could never have foreseen this, and no worry would have stopped it from happening.   Again, instead of leaning on fear and worry about what was going to happen, I put my trust in God and lifted my worries up to Him.  All of this was beyond my control, and God’s grace continued to carry me.  Even in the darkness I was beginning to find my way, the light on my path was becoming brighter and the darkness was starting to fade.   

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” John1:5

“So hold on, you got to wait for the light
Press on, just fight the good fight
Because the pain you've been feeling,
It's just the dark before the morning”
BEFORE THE MORNING - JOSH WILSON

The Light to My Path-Part 1

               
                It was just another Monday to be off with the kids, nothing out of the ordinary, and by 10am we were still all in our PJs watching cartoons.  Then something ‘nudged’ me, I can’t really explain it, but something in me said to get up and cherish this day, and to play like we’ve never played before.  We did just that.  It started with a game of chase, then we made it crazy hair day (Jackson with a mohawk, and Lydia with high pigtails), and next up was a swim in the ocean.  I had filled the tub, put blue food coloring in the water, and said it was water from the sea. The kids bought it. Jackson relished in his imagination of swimming with the sharks while Lydia made tall hats with the added bubbles, just for fun.  The ‘day’ ended with naptime on our bed with Jackson lying next to me, he was perfectly peaceful.  This had been a good day.  I played with the kids as if we weren’t going to be able to play together ever again; or at least for a long time. Little did I know that the latter would be the case.

           
  I don’t know what ‘nudged’ me that day, but I can guess. Something tells me it was either God himself, or I have an absolutely wonderful unidentified guardian angel watching out for me, because that coming Friday was THE day.  February 3^rd 2012, I will for the remainder of my life hate this day, not dislike…hate.  It was supposed to be just a “let’s do it so we can make sure you are fine” kind of colonoscopy. The doctor viewed it that way, and the nurses looked at me as though I was a waste of resources because no 28-year-old should really NEED a colonoscopy.  We all joked, Phil seemed worried to get me through the procedure, but his biggest concern was really where we were going to go for lunch because after all, this test wasn’t really necessary.  I was worried of course, as I am always worried, for I have been pegged a ‘worrier’ by many.  As an oncology nurse my mind went to all of the “what if’s”, but deep down I never really believed the “what if’s” could actually happen to me. 

I woke up still groggy from the medications with Phil holding my hand, and only a few seconds later the doctor peered through the curtain and took a seat.  “Why did he take a seat?” I wondered. If he didn’t find anything certainly he didn’t need to sit down.  The groggy feeling was quickly lifting.  Phil’s hand tightened around mine as the doctor began to tell me what no one, especially 28-year-old, mother of two, wants to hear… we found cancer. Those of course weren’t the words he used, and I’m not really sure what the words were beyond “we found a malignant tumor...” The room began to spin and I could make sense of nothing in my surroundings but Phil’s hand in mine, it was such a comfort.  Everything after that was a blur except the nurse who walked me to the door; her eyes were so deeply and sincerely sympathetic.  Before leaving she gave me the tightest and biggest bear hug. She could see I needed it, and thankfully she was brave enough to do it.  She then told me to go home and sleep, when I woke up to cry, and after that to make my further appointments and address the issue.  I did just that, and when I woke up it felt like the same bus hit me all over again…it wasn’t a dream and this was quickly becoming very real. The shock wore off, and the tears finally came.

Phil sat next to me as I woke up and we began to realize the path we thought we were on was now gone.  New house, new start, easy going summer filled with baseball and swimming, gone.  For me, watching the kids grow up and growing old with my husband was now uncertain.  My future felt like it was being erased, we did not know how bad this cancer was; just that it was there.  My mind, again went to the “What ifs”, but this time I was more than understanding that the “What if’s” could certainly apply to me, and that they could ultimately mean an end to my life.  My path was gone. 

Prayer saved me that weekend, it literally saved me.  I knew I could not change having cancer, or how bad it was going to be, so all I could do was put my hope in God and trust in Him.  I was still scared, I have two wonderful children that I could not bear to leave, so even in prayer, I was scared.  However, I began to find strength through my fear and God began to give me peace the more I trusted in Him.  One thing became overwhelmingly clear that weekend, I thought I was faithful, but I did not fully understand what real Faith meant.  I then helplessly decided to take a “Leap of Faith” if you will and lift everything up to Him.  The coming weeks would prove to be the toughest of my life.  I knew that my new path, whatever it was going to be, needed to be lit by God because there was no way I could do this alone. 

“Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path.” (Psalm 119:105)