This past weekend, I got a phone message from my doctor's office saying, "Dr. wants you to come back for another blood test." Since the nurse did not say the reason in the message, my thoughts immediately lurched to the idea that something was wrong and that maybe my cancer had come back. The tiny fear that it will come back is always lurking in my mind. Maybe it will...someday. Maybe not. I just remind myself to fall back into the arms of Jesus and again relinquish control over my life to Him. Whether or not it comes back, He is my Lord and Savior and He will take me through it all.
It turns out that my blood sugar was a little high and they needed to do a glucose tolerance test. It was a big relief to hear that! While I was at the hospital lab registering, getting the test and waiting, in my mind I flashed back to when I was sitting in that same spot two years ago getting ready for my bone scan and CT scan the day before my mastectomy. It almost brought me to tears. I was sitting there thinking, "Why is this making me emotional? I'm fine now and cancer-free." Perhaps it is emotion that hasn't fully been expressed from all I thought and felt that week back in September of 2003. After my surgery I was so groggy from the anesthesia that I feel like I don't remember much of my hospital stay. I remember two of my nurses (who were very caring) and remember discovering the drains that were attached to me post-surgery and wondering what they were. I remember the next day when I had a sponge bath (that hot water and soap on the washcloth felt so good) and sat up in the chair. My husband and girls came to see me and said they saw me through the window, sitting in the chair, and got excited that I was doing better.
I remember the morning I was supposed to be discharged my dad came to see me before he went back to work in Anderson, IN. It was early, about 6:00 a.m. My surgeon, Dr. Billy, came by and said that my blood levels were low and I was going to have to stay longer. My dad was there when I got that news and comforted me as I cried, wondering what was around the bend. He prayed for me and hugged me. His hand holding mine and warm smile were just the comfort I needed. He was the love of Jesus for me at that moment. Then, the surgeon came back in and asked if they had taken the blood from the same arm that I had the IV in. They had and the IV fluid had diluted my blood. When they took the IV out and tested my blood again it was fine and I was able to go home that day! Praise the Lord!
I remember a volunteer from the American Cancer Society coming to talk to me about my surgery, a temporary prosthesis for me to wear in my bra, and support groups. I remember looking at the soft, little nylon pouch she had brought, filled with pillow stuffing and saying to her, "That's going to be too big." She laughed and showed me that you could pull stuffing out to make it just right. While we visited, I floated in and out of consciousness on a cloud of morphine. Even though I would fall asleep right in the middle of sentences, she was very gracious and kind.
Whatever the case, I am thankful it is behind me at this point and for now I feel better than I ever have in my life. Every day is sweeter, every movement a blessing, every event more memorable, every hug more comforting. I praise God for my life as it is today. That's all he promised - today.
Friday, September 02, 2005
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Diet Coke free
Hey, I made it (so far) and haven't had any diet coke for about two weeks now. I'm feeling great and drinking water like it's going out of style. I also chew quite a bit of gum. I just need to have something in my mouth! I saw a billboard the other day advertising a new diet coke made with splenda and had a fleeting thought of "Hey, I could drink that instead!" But knowing I'm an all or nothing kind of person, I decided to stay away from it altogether. I still crave it from time to time and miss drinking something sweet, but most of the time it's no big deal.
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Haiku
sun shines warm and bright
coaxing little buds to bloom
joy radiating
(I helped a student write haikus today and it made me want to try)
coaxing little buds to bloom
joy radiating
(I helped a student write haikus today and it made me want to try)
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.
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.
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.
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