Learning to Walk Again

                August 15^th 2012 will now be another one of those days that I will never forget. It was the day of my scan results.  About one week prior to my scan was when it all began to hit me. I was done with chemotherapy, but I could not celebrate. I needed to see the scan results first.  Everything pointed to the scan being okay, my labs were good, I finished all twelve rounds of chemo, and my first scan was all clear.  However, I could not help my mind from going to that dark place again. What if everything was not okay? I did not think I could bear being hit by that dang bus again. The fear swelled in my stomach, and I tried as hard as I could to put my faith in God and trust Him. This was not an easy task. Every day that went by I would constantly think that I was coming closer to possibly having to re-live this nightmare all over again. What if the news meant that I would not survive this evil called Cancer?

                The day I got the scan was the worst.  Time seemed to stand still at work, and I was beginning to rethink my decision to even get my CT. After all, I was the one who pushed my doctor to do the scan now instead of next year.  I tried to reason with myself that if I waited, I would have that much more time without worry.  Deep down I knew I had to go through with it. I had to make sure everything would be okay, or if something was wrong, it would be better to find out early.  I dreaded the night before knowing the results. I literally came home from work and just sat in bed. I could not handle all of the emotions I was feeling, and the fear became almost overwhelming.  How was I going to get through the night? Wine and friends was how.  Our dearest friends, Melissa and Steve, came over with wine in hand, and we proceeded to eat and drink my worries away. After about three glasses of wine I was feeling pretty good, and at one point forgot about the task at hand. This did not last long, as when they left, all of my fears came rushing back in.  The tears came, and I succumbed to my scattered emotions.

                Before I went to bed that night, Phil played the song “Rest Easy” by Andrew Peterson for me.  These lyrics brought such me such peace and comfort…”You’re smiling like you’re scared to death; you’re out of faith and all out of breath. You’re so afraid you have nowhere left to go. Well, you are not alone; I will always be with you.”  These words reminded me that this was out of my hands, and in God’s.  No matter what the results, we would press on and be thankful.  I then took my beloved Ativan, and slept through the entire night.  The next morning we arrived at the doctor’s office, and within seconds of the doctor entering the room, he spoke the best words I could have asked to hear. “Well, everything looks fine.” I do not really know what we talked about after that. It felt like a bus had hit me again, but this time it was a good bus. You know, the kind made of pillows and rainbows. 

                I cannot really explain my emotions that day. I was happy, sad, afraid, angry, and everything in between. When I should have been celebrating and smiling, I was really taken aback and unsure.  I would keep apologizing to Phil about how I was acting, and then I finally just broke down.  I broke down, like I hadn’t broken down in a long time.  My feelings were all over the place, and I could not let myself believe that I would at least get a break from all of this for a while. I cried because of what I’d been through, I wept for the time I had lost with my family and friends, and I sobbed for those who do not get to receive the news I had gotten.  I was scared that it wasn’t really over, and still unsure about the idea of celebrating.  Then, I calmed down, prayed, and remembered that I cannot predict the future.  We were going to celebrate this achievement, just be thankful for the time being, and let the rest work itself out. I realized that I needed to learn how to “Walk Again” on my own, rid of this terrible disease, at least for the time being.

"But I will sing of your strength, in the morning I will sing of your love; for you are my fortress, my refuge in times of trouble" Psalm 59:16

 

Pick Your Poison

Chemotherapy = Poison.    It is just that simple.  Not only does it (hopefully) kill cancer cells, but it also attacks every dividing cell in your body.  When I first found out my diagnosis of Stage II colon cancer, it was really unclear if I would need chemotherapy.  I was hopeful that they could just take out the cancer, and that would be all there was to it.  Unfortunately, as a Stage II, I fall into a large grey area of what is the “best” thing to do.  All of the research to date is completely unclear if chemo would be beneficial to a Stage II Colon Cancer.  I was faced with the decision of going through six months of chemotherapy, and improving my chance of long-term survival by a measly 1-2%, or just having follow-up care.  Being 28, the decision was already made…I would do whatever it took to improve my chances any way I possibly could.  I would get chemotherapy…the Chemo Nurse would now become the Chemo patient. 

The day I got my port placed (the device in my chest through which the chemotherapy is instilled) was an incredibly long, surreal day.   I was like a deer in the headlights, and it all felt like a dream. Maybe not a dream, but more like a nightmare. The situation became overwhelmingly clear after the port was in my chest, and there was no going back.  I joked with the staff, and put on a “happy” front, but inside I was a bundle of raw emotion.  I have always said that a big part of the battle is attitude, but this day proved exceptionally difficult for me to maintain my composure. 

Nothing really exciting happened during my first day of chemo. I mostly slept through treatment, and then got hooked up to go home.  The main part of my treatment involves taking a chemo pump/ball home with me for 48 hours.  After the first treatment ended, I did not really feel that different, besides the aching port in my chest.  The day after my treatment ended was a different story.  I could barely get out of bed, and my whole body ached.  I would get stomach pains off and on, and only managed make an appearance out of bed one time.  All I could think was “What did I get myself into?”

The next six months involved receiving treatment every other week, which meant feeling awful half of the time. However, if I had to choose a chemotherapy drug, I would choose mine. I would not lose my hair, it was not too nauseating, and the other side effects were minimal. The biggest challenges I had were carrying that pump while having two little ones run around, and fatigue.  Some days it would be all I could do to just make it through the day, and stay awake while doing it.  If I was just receiving chemo, I think things would have been fairly stress free.  However, receiving chemo while working and raising two kids made things much more difficult at times.  On one particular night after working and then going out afterwards, I could barely even make it up the stairs. My legs would literally not work, and they felt like they weighed 100lbs. Phil had to practically carry me into bed; yet another humbling moment to say the least. I found it very difficult to “slow down” or “take it easy” because I didn’t want to miss out on moments of my life, but sometimes the fatigue was just overwhelming.  My other side effects would only include thinning hair, red/peeling palms, and a really awful taste in my mouth for several days.  Despite the side effects I could, thankfully, endure and carry out my daily activities without too much struggle.

Overall, I know that I cannot really complain too much because I see patients going through this every day for years.  They are a big part of my inspiration, and they have taught me so much through this journey. Another big part was God.  It would have been really easy for me to break down and stress out throughout this process, but at the end of the day I hand my worries over to God, and just count my blessings.  I know I am not done with this struggle, and in the next week I will find out if the struggle will continue, or if I will get a break from it.  Whatever happens, I will press on and continue to give thanks to God. My children, family, friends, and loved ones are my life, and that being said, my life is pretty darn good, cancer or not. 



“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life ? ..." Matthew 6:24-34

Take Me Out to the Ball Game!

Laugher is the Best medicine...

            One gift I firmly believe that God had graced me with is humor... and laughter.  I know everyone has this gift to some extent, but I find that it is a larger part of who I am.  I have often pegged myself as being the “shy, but funny one.”  I distinctly remember as a child being yelled at by my parents to stop laughing, which only would make me laugh more. I was not your typical girly girl, as hair, make-up, and nails never really appealed to me.  I still enjoyed dressing up, but it just was not a necessity.  In grade school, me and my best of friends, Melissa and Angela, found joy in wearing matching t-shirts that read “normal is boring.” We were definitely not pegged as normal, but we had so much fun.  We frequently had sleep overs where we would stay up late laughing about poop and watching scary movies, only to then torture the one person who fell asleep first. As a girl who found the word poop and fart funny, and then became a nurse dealing frequently with both, it just seems strangely ironic that I would get colon cancer.

When I was first diagnosed with cancer, I thought I might never get to laugh again. Everything was sad, depressing, and heartbreaking. The world caved in, and I could hardly manage to get myself dressed and out of bed.  It wasn’t until the day of my surgery that I was able to find laughter again, and it was wonderful.  It started in the waiting area, bathroom jokes…always a hit, but it seemed to lift my spirits.  It then followed with a worker yelling at Melissa for bringing coffee into the holding area.  She literally had a look of panic and confusion about the possibility of parting with her coffee AND her beloved Turvis tumbler. I could just read her mind “I want to go with Lauren, but I do not want to part with my Turvis.”  Luckily for her, the , worker just wanted her to pour out her coffee…all was right with the world once more.  Lot of laughter ensued about how I was getting surgery and she was panicking about a cup. Once into the holding area, there were more jokes about the glories anti-anxiety medicine, how awesome I looked in a hospital gown, and the size of my incision.  I remember waking up and joking about the pain medicine and how “great” I felt.  Maybe this cancer thing didn’t have to be ALL bad. 

Recovery was a challenge, but there were moments of laughter.  Phil walking me down the hall holding my Foley bag was quite comical. Sayings such as “Babe, do not drop my pee bag,” and Phil responding about how so "hot" it was to be holding it in the first place.  I can only imagine what Phil was thinking as he was holding that bag…what a guy. Probably the most hysterical part of my recovery involved the surgeon walking into my room with a very serious and stern look on his face, then saying “Did you fart yet?" It was all I could do to mutter an answer and not burst out laughing at the thought of my surgeon using this word in such a serious manner. I literally felt like I was six years old again. I mean seriously, the main topic would be if I was going to “break wind” because that meant things were working again.  Again, Phil was quite the trooper, and would constantly give me grief about the how comical the situation could be.  After I got home, I would often use the term, “but I have cancer” to get Phil to do various things for me.  I try not to abuse the situation, but it is funny to see his face. Really, how do you say “no” to that?  It usually involved a conversation such as this, “Honey Lydia has a poopy diaper, I would love to change it, but ya know this darn cancer...” Then Phil will quietly grumble and do as I ask. J Again, I try not to abuse my power, but after everything I’ve been through I think I deserve to have a little fun. 

One thing I am slowly learning is that while nothing about cancer itself is funny, you can manage to find humor in the toughest of situations.  Laughter is such a wonderful release; it really is one of the best medicines. Some of my favorite memories involve laughing until I cried and it hurt.  Cancer is serious, but I’m not.  I take joy in poking fun at Phil, the kids, and even myself. I try not to take myself too serious, so therefore, I will not let Cancer change that. At the end of the day you just have to try to enjoy the ride no matter where it takes you.

"Very truly I tell you, you will weep and mourn while the world rejoices. You will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy. " John 16:19-21

Dear Cancer...

Only one person in ten will be less than 50-years-old when they are diagnosed with colon cancer, and a very small percentage will be less than 30-years-old.  Yet, here I am in my twenties, battling a cancer that usually occurs later in life.  So, Cancer, I have just a few words for you.

Dear Cancer,

                I, to some extent, have known you just about my whole life. In the last seven years, I have cared for hundreds of people affected by you.  I have seen the pain, hurt, fear, guilt, and loss that you have inflicted upon so many. I have seen you transform beautiful people, of all ages, over the course of weeks to years into barely recognizable reflections of what they once were.  You are never welcome, and always painful. The general public uses your name to describe something negative, unwanted, or disliked. For whatever reason, you decided to take up residence in my colon, and I now know you intimately.  Excuse my wording, but F-you cancer.  By definition you are just the result of uncontrolled division of abnormal cells, but you are so much more. You are a curse, a disease, and a killer.

                Before we met, I was a happily married, mother of two, getting ready to begin my life in a new home. You abruptly entered my life, unwanted, and have now changed the course of my life forever. My children will now have to deal with you… I hate you for that.  You, cancer, are unfair.  You take the innocent lives of children, mothers, fathers, grandmothers, grandfathers, wives, husbands, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles…I could go on and on.  I have known so many wonderful people who were taken from this earth because of you. Why? What for? There seems to be no reason to your madness.  Some people fight you and “win”, and others fight you and “loose”.  I am finding out that there is no real choice in the matter. Everyone fights the same fight, and you determine the winners and the losers.  You are not wanted. Ever.

                However, you do not care that you are not welcome, you invite yourself in anyway.  So there is nothing anyone can do, but accept you. I am learning to do just that.  You see, you have not just been a curse, but a blessing. Since we have become acquaintances, I see everything through a new set of eyes.  I have learned not only to believe, but to have faith.  I do not worry about life the way I used to, instead I just pray and hold on for the ride. Also, I have learned to count my blessings in each and every day, and to just be thankful for what I have been given. Not to say that I have become this perfect person since we have met, because there are definitely times when you get the best of me.  You have caused me many breakdowns, tears, pain, and stress.  But, at the end of the day, all of the trials you cause just end up making me a stronger person.

               You see, cancer, you can also be a blessing, a giver of hope and courage, and a sign of strength.  Not only have I seen the hurt you cause, but I have also seen the strength of those who survive.  I have seen the thousands of people coming together with hope and optimism of finding a cure. I have seen miracles happen, and courage and strength formed in the meekest of situations. So while I do hate you, I am going to embrace you. I am going to take the good with the bad, and just keep pressing forward by thanking God for every day I get on this earth.

Sincerely-Lauren

“Be on your guard; stand firm in the faith; be courageous; be strong.” 1 Corinthians 16:

Reflections of Phil's Part-ay



On Saturday we hosted a BBQ to celebrate Phil graduating with his MBA.  For those of you who do not know, this process started months after Jackson was born, and lasted until December of 2011. Phil worked his behind off to achieve this degree, and I was a first-hand witness to the exhaustion he underwent to reach his goal. Many nights he would not only travel to various places for his job, but then would return home and work on homework. He would often do homework until one o'clock in the morning, just to turn around and do the same thing the very next day.  He worked full time, had two babies, and managed to get his MBA. The least we could do was throw him a BBQ.

At first I was stressed about throwing a BBQ at our new house, I wanted everything to be perfect.  Then I came to my senses and realized that as long as our friends and family showed up, we would have a good time. Why should I worry about furniture arrangements, decorations, and fancy food, when the real purpose was to celebrate Phil's achievement?  So instead I focused on fun.  Easy food, easy decor, and easy-going.  Friends and family gathered, the kiddos played outside in the sprinkler, and we felt truly blessed to have so many come and celebrate with us.  We really do have the best people in our lives, and I want to extend a big thank you for all of the support. I can definitely say Phil had a good time :) and I hope everyone else did as well!



Happy Nurses Week!