Friday, April 15, 2005

Mastectomy

The day of surgery arrived. We had to get up very early so we could be at the surgery center by 6:00 a.m. My parents had come to be with us and were going to help the girls get off to school before they came to the hospital. My surgery was schedule for 8:00 a.m. It was Friday, September 12th, 2003.

When we were signed in and waiting to be called back, one of my friends from church walked through the hospital doors. She had come on her way to work just to see me and encourage me. It meant to much to me to see her! We hugged and talked briefly, not sure what to talk about. We prayed together and she went on her way.

They called me back and said they would call John back to stay with me in a few minutes. I was taken to a surgery waiting room, like a little hospital room with a bed, TV, closet, and small bathroom. I changed into the hospital gown and waited on the bed. They brought John back to the room to sit with me. The nurses came in periodically and asked questions, the anesthesiologist came to talk with me about the procedure and his part in it. Then Dr. Billy came by. He greeted us, then examined my chest area briefly, marked the left side with a pen and was about to leave the room when I asked him, "Did you get the results of the scans yesterday?" (They were to determine if cancer had spread anywhere else in my body) He turned his head halfway around and said, "Oh yeah, they were normal. They'll come get you soon, Michele." John reached to hug me as we cried a few tears of relief and praised God together. At least it has not spread anywhere else!

They came to wheel me to my surgery before my parents arrived so I didn't see them until afterward. One moment I'm riding the gurney to the operating room, then falling asleep in an instant from the anesthesia. I time-traveled once again and the next moment of consciousness for me was when I awoke in recovery.

It seems the nurses were there as soon as I awoke, hovering over me, checking the dressings, IV and other things I wasn't even aware of. I remember feeling some pain from the incision, but more intense was a feeling of sadness. The tears came quickly and I let them come. The nurses thought it was because of the pain, but I was mourning the loss of part of my body. They put more pain killer in my IV and wheeled me to my room. My family was waiting for me, but I can't really tell you what they said or much else about that moment. I was floating on a morphine cloud and was in and out peaceful sleep the rest of the day.

Pre-Surgery Tests

The day before my mastectomy, I had a CT scan and bone scan. The world of medicine and technology are so fascinating to me. It is literally mind boggling the things they can do now to examine the body and treat disease. I have often thought that I am glad I was born in this time period when medicine is so advanced, rather than during a time in history when doctors knew so much less and the techniques of treatment could be frightening, not to mention ineffective.

At any rate, before the CT scan I had to drink two cupfuls of a "syruppy" orange-flavored liquid. At first it tasted sweet, kind of like thick kool-aid and I thought it would be no big deal. But there was a weird aftertaste and before long I was having to utilize all my willpower to keep from throwing up. I thought I'd never down that stuff - whew! About a half-hour later, they had me come into a room with a huge doughnut-shaped machine and lay down on a long, narrow table that extended through the hole in the machine. They gave me instructions and left the room. I could hear the technicians talking in a windowed room behind me as I had the test. The little table slid way out to the front, and then slowly slid through the hole of the big "doughnut". A computerized voice would tell me sometimes to hold my breath, and then when to exhale. I had to be completely still.

Then the tech injected a dye into the IV port that had been put in my arm early that morning. It made my insides feel unnaturally warm, especially in my lower abdomen and groin area. A few more slides through the doughnut and I was done.

We then went to another part of the hospital for my bone scan. Early that morning the nurse had injected me with a small amount of radiocactive material that would show up on these scans. Initially, I was brought to a room with a huge, white disk-shaped machine. It was mounted onto two big "arms" so that it could be tilted up or down. I was instructed bend over, stand and lean my backside up against the disk so they could scan my hip bones and legs. I'm sure the technicians become accustomed to seeing patients in these funny, sometimes embarassing poses, but it was a little awkward for me nonetheless. Luckily you can have this test and remain clothed! The tech sat down at a computer and pressed some keys. Soon, a ghostly image of a pelvis and leg bones appeared that grew brighter and more detailed in 10-15 seconds time. It was me! I was looking at my own hip and leg bones. Then they had me sit with my head leaning against the big disk and I could see out of the corner of my eye a side view of my skull. This was so fascinating!

A few more scans and the technician left the room to prepare another machine for me to be scanned with. While he was gone, curiousity got the best of me. I held my hands up to the disk and watched as my hand bones appeared on the monitor. I put my whole arm up against the disk and saw my elbow and arm bones. I leaned the side of my head against it and opened my mouth wide to see my jaw. As I was doing this the tech came back in. He just smiled at me. I'm sure other patients have tried that, too! He took me to a room that was dimly lit with a long narrow table and huge white cameras mounted over and under it. I laid on the table as the cameras very slowly scanned me from head to foot. They moved so slowly I could barely tell they were moving. Overhead in place of typical plastic in front of the lights, there was a beautiful, brightly colored image of a flowering tree against a blue sky, like a spring day. It was silent and peaceful and I drifted off to sleep. When it was over, the tech woke me up and said "There you are." I looked at the computer and saw my entire skeleton on screen.

Saturday, April 09, 2005

The end of the diet coke "addiction"?

I found out that aspartame may actually make us fat! It causes bursts of insulin to be released and may actually lead to more fat being stored! Isn't that ironic? I've been a diet coke lover ever since it was introduced years ago, but I think the time has come to admit my vice and surrender it in the name of health and common sense.

So, watch out, because the very foods we buy and eat to keep our weight down may actually be keeping it up.

Yowsa.

Friday, April 08, 2005

"Parenthood: The Ride"

A friend of mine and I were talking recently on the phone and comparing stories about being mothers of teens and pre-teens. We began to liken the experience with that of riding on a rollercoaster: thrilling, fun and frightening all at the same time.

Sometimes you are coasting. The cart is gliding smoothly along the tracks over little hills and easy turns. You're actually enjoying the scenery around you. It's so wonderful when the family is seated around the dinner table caught up in the fun of the "How was your day?" chatter and the antics of the youngest child as she tries to get a laugh out of her older sisters. These girls can make us laugh until we can't see, because our eyes are all scrunched up and our stomachs hurt from the laughing. We snuggle on the couch watching movies and eating popcorn, pray together, go to the park to play, walk and talk.

This "Hallmark" moment is interrupted as you suddenly find yourself plummeting down a steep hill and through a tunnel where everything goes pitch black and the noises get loud, the shrieks of your fellow riders echoing in your ears. You think to yourself, "I've never been the parent of a teenager before!" You are bewildered as you try to help your pre-teen daughter who's starting to grow up but doesn't really want to. She's leaning towards independence but not feeling confident yet. She is becoming more responsible but feels immature. She's experiencing those pesky hormonal rushes of emotion that lead to temper tantrums, sudden bursts of tears, and fits of silly girlish giggles that can't be explained (and that could be just in the last 20 minutes).

Coming out of the black tunnel with hands clasped over your ears and a ridiculous expression of terror on your face, the light and open air brings relief and you relax, but only for a moment as you look ahead and see a huge hill. The cart lurches and starts to creep up the hill, the clackety-clack of the track seems to add to the dread of the big drop that is coming. Your oldest daughter is looking more like a young woman and less like a child. She is wanting to spend more time with her friends and in her room than with the family. She is talking of driving in a year and a half! She is going off babysitting, chatting with girls (and boys) on the computer, and as a friend so kindly reminded you, in the next 10 years she could be married with a child or two! The climb to the top is almost unbearable. Is this bar secure enough? Did I realize what I was getting into when I got on this ride? What if something goes wrong? What if my daughters make bad choices? Lord, I'm so thankful for my daughters and I know they believe in You. Please keep them safe. Please keep them close to You. Please fill in and make up for my mistakes and short-comings when I don't know what to do. Please don't let them fall!

The clacking stops and the rollercoaster cart starts to smoothly edge forward. I can see a gorgeous view from up here. It takes my breath away. The possibilities and potential of these girls is beautiful, Lord. You have made them that way. I've learned so much, but have so much still to learn.

The peaceful solace lasts only for a moment...
because you are beginning the descent...
the cart picks up speed...

and soon you're zooming straight down with your stomach in your throat, your hair blown back by the breeze, and a huge smile on your face.

Raise your hands! Go ahead - God is in control.
Enjoy the ride along with all the other parents who sit beside you, daring to lift their hands, too.

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Dr. Dorr

I will always remember my first visit to Dr. Dorr's office. As I walked up to the door I looked at the sign on it that said "Hematology Oncology Consultants". I never thought I'd need an oncologist, a cancer doctor. The waiting room was a little dim. There were no windows, aside from the little window that slides open so the receptionist can greet you. The TV was on and a soap opera was in progress. I walked by an end table hoping to find something to read, but the table was littered with medical journals and brochures for head coverings (for those who lose their hair during chemotherapy). It was a dreary first impression. I sat down and just leaned my head back, closing my eyes and waiting. Once they called me in and took my vital signs, they led me to the exam room to wait for the doctor. At least that room had a window!

The door opened and in walked a young woman with glasses, long curly hair, and a warm smile. She introduced herself to me, looked at my chart and proclaimed, "You're going to be fine!" She explained about my cancer and how it comes about, how it spreads, and about the various treatments. She said that because it was so small we probably caught it in the early stages and from the way she shared, I felt I had nothing to fear. Her cheerful confidence was like a gust of wind underneath my wilting hope. She never stopped smiling as we talked and answered all the questions that came spilling out of me. I left her office and practically flew to my car feeling renewed and ready to face this ordeal... and beat it.
...
Incidentally, I wrote them a letter about my waiting room experience suggesting they might cheer it up a bit for their patients. The next time I visited, there was an brightly lit aquarium, another lamp, and lots of magazines!

Monday, April 04, 2005

John

Do you know what a wonderful husband I have? The night before my surgery as we laid in bed, he held me tight. I cried a little and told him I was dreading my soon-to-be deformed body with only one breast. He said, "It will save your life and that's what matters to me."

I love him.

Diagnosis

Romans 8:39 “Whether we are high above the sky or in the deepest ocean, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

“I have breast cancer.” The realization was slowly sinking in. My husband had gone down to the lobby to get me a drink since I thought I was going to pass out. I sat in the empty waiting room, staring at the floor, thoughts whirling inside my head. The surgeon’s wife, also his receptionist, came out to sit with me and squeezed my hand. The tears began to come and I confessed to her that I was afraid. “It’s natural to be afraid,” she told me as she hugged me close to her. “I want you to know something, though. Dr. Billy and I believe in prayer and we have been praying for you all week, knowing the possible diagnosis you would face.” When she said those words, a wonderful peace washed over me. Instantly, I realized that my situation was no surprise to the Lord. He had gone on ahead; even sent me to a surgeon who would lift me up in prayer! That was evidence to me that my heavenly Father was there, and He was working on my behalf. Psalm 139:3 says, “You chart the path ahead of me and tell me where to stop and rest. Every moment you know where I am.”

Just finally knowing what this little invading lump in my body was, brought me relief after the initial shock. This assurance of God's reality and help in my ordeal gave me strength. Going to work the next day was difficult, because all my friends were waiting to hear the results and my emotions were stretched to their limit from the waiting and then finally getting the results I feared. When I got out of my car Tuesday morning to go into the school where I work, I couldn't stop crying. I got back into the car and prayed, "Lord, I can't do this. You're going to have to help me face my friends and go on." I opened the door, sniffed and took a deep breath and walked into the building. My friends were so supportive and loving and the day went fine. The scripture that says, "I can do anything through CHRIST who gives me strength." (Phil. 4:13) is true and was true for me that day.

Sunday, April 03, 2005

Salty Christians

Have you heard the little saying, "Be a salty Christian so you can make others thirsty for Jesus" ?

This is a good reminder. Are we adding flavor to our surroundings, to the conversations we participate in, to the workplace, the home, the errands around town? Do we preserve and heal situations we're involved in? Or have we lost our flavor and influence in the circles where we work, play, and live?

Lord, keep me full of flavor and active for you. I know that I have to leave the salt shaker, too, and can't just stay in a little comfort cocoon. Pour me out, scatter me where you will, and even if I can't see the effect in those around me, please let my life have some lasting effect for you. That's all I want, Jesus. I want to be salty.

Easter Poem, written April 2004

Guilt, shame, sin like a heavy burden crushes me.
I have no hope if you don’t set me free.

I’m not worthy of your love, Jesus, Savior,
I’m so sorry...please forgive me...forgive me.

Hope, love, acceptance shine like warm sunshine on my face.
Hallelujah! I’m saved! Jesus took my place.

The only thing I can do to thank you
is to give my life to You.


Thank you Jesus!

Cancer is So Limited

What Cancer Cannot Do
Cancer is so limited…
It cannot cripple love,
It cannot shatter hope,
It cannot corrode faith,
It cannot destroy peace,
It cannot kill friendship,
It cannot suppress memories,
It cannot silence courage,
It cannot invade the soul,
It cannot steal eternal life,
It cannot conquer the spirit.
- Source unknown

My dad sent this to me in an e-mail, the morning after my diagnosis. It encouraged me so much!