A happy ending

Yesterday was the start of my second infusion cycle, the beginning of a three week segment where I get chemotherapy every Monday morning. This first of the three is a heavier load. However, on a good note, I only received 10 IV bags this time where the first time I received 13. 

And other news I learned in a meeting with the oncologist is (1) my chemo will last until about the first week in March and then they will assess the need for surgery, (2) after the surgery chemo will continue once every three weeks into the fall. I am realizing this is a one year adventure that in the happiest of endings may mean I will be cancer free.

There is a third positive piece of information. After examination, the tumor is decreasing. Lord, that was good news. To know these infusions and our prayers are making a positive difference is  right up my alley. I could have jumped up and given the doctor a hug. My husband would have labelled me crazy (because I am a little) and we would have had a good laugh!

I want to share one other thing. In the morning before I went to my chemo appointment, I took my vitals and then did my routine devotions. My blood pressure was up. That seems to be a given on chemo day because I become anxious. Then I read my morning prayer...and I want to share it with you.

It begins with "LET ME INFUSE MY PEACE into your innermost being..."  Wow! This got my attention immediately.  I have believed since day one that God's Love was flowing into me. I came to that myself, and here was a prayer suggesting I am on the right track.

My encouragement to every cancer patient is to accept the same image if you have a faithful belief system. There is nothing as powerful for me as God's Love. (Believe it or not, I think of the street where we go for the infusions as "Love Lane" rather than "Park Club Lane".)

"As you sit quietly in the Light of My Presence", the prayer continues, "you can sense Peace growing within you. This is not something that you accomplish through self-discipline and willpower; it is opening yourself to receive My blessing..."

The prayer ends ..."You have learned to thank Me for hard times and difficult journeys, trusting that through them I accomplish My best work. You have realized that needing Me is the key to knowing Me intimately, which is the gift above all gifts."

Okay. Confession. I cried. Here was my day's sobbing point. They were not tears about chemo. It was more a realization that God connected with me to give me the strength, courage and peace I needed so badly. And you know what? The cleansing and the gratefulness that I have faith was an important part of making this day tolerable. 

I had my infusion from 9-4:00 p.m., communicated with my Indianapolis sister throughout (it's like she sits in the chair beside me), and then I slept a drugged sleep that relaxed me till the end of the infusion. My honey picked me up and we had supper together. Walked my little Claire, and then slept in my recliner till bed at 8:30 p.m. All in all the day succeeded because God infused me with His peace and love and I accepted every drop of chemo knowing today would have a happy ending.

Signed affectionately, The quilting cancer girl

I am my own advocate

There are all kinds of side effects with cancer. There are all kinds of cancer, so the side effects vary from cancer to cancer, treatment to treatment and individual to individual. 

Each one of us is doctored differently. Me? Because I have an aggressive cancer, the oncologist and surgeon decided on chemotherapy first. The goal is to shrink the tumor before operating, arresting the cancer's ability to infiltrate healthy tissues. Sure makes sense to me. I will jump through whatever hoops are necessary to make sure this cancer eradication is complete and total. 

Yes. I have had side effects, albeit relatively minimal compared to some that  are 'out there'. I've had a few digestive issues that aren't so pretty or fun to talk about. I have a sore mouth and chapped lips. However, I've been spared nausea so far. Some mornings, I have been very shaky. It is a tremble that interrupts the journaling which I do on a daily basis. Someday I will read my writing and wonder what old person penned the words! 

My thinking has been foggy or muddy so that I cannot focus or remember where I put things or recall the details of a conversation. They call that chemo brain. Occasionally, it alters my balance, almost triggering vertigo, an affliction I detest. 

Then there is my new experience with reflux. It does not happen everyday, just certain nights, especially those nights when I had hoped to sleep for hours. It hits about 2:00 a.m. and means I am then up and sleeping in a recliner until close to 4 a.m. I hate interrupted sleep. I love to sleep!

Or there are times when the steroids I get on Monday make me fly high with energy for 48 hours. That is awesome because I have a priceless clarity of thinking. But then, I crash and burn on Wednesday, and wonder what Thursday will bring. 

There are days when I am not sleepy, but I am extremely fatigued. There are mornings when I am  desperate to feel normal and afternoons when I thoroughly enjoy normalcy. Contradictory? Yup. But it happens. During those afternoons, I am relatively productive and I can teach a class just fine. Weird.

Yes. My hair is about gone. I was losing it slowly until Thanksgiving. Then it accelerated and now I am almost without hair which means I need to own the fact that I am nearly bald. Sigh.

Worst of all are the nose bleeds. Almost everyday for the past three weeks, I have had spontaneous nose bleeds. The day after Thanksgiving I actually wondered if I was hemorrhaging and wondered if I should call 9-1-1. At that point, I decided to do some research and discovered that nose bleeds can be an indication of low blood platelets. 

Well, you know me, I cruised the internet to learn that if I ate certain foods, I might improve those platelets and cut down on the nose bleeds. So, yesterday and today, I have eaten eggs, broccoli, spinach salads, lentil soup, brussel sprouts, and even liver. Guess what? I have not had a bloody nose to speak of in these two days! Hallelujah! 

Tomorrow will tell. It is the start of another 21 day cycle, and my first in another series of infusions, three weeks in a row. As per the routine, nurses start the day by testing two vials of my blood.  It will be interesting to see what my platelet levels are. Somehow, I think they have improved because I am not so fatigued and my nose is behaving itself.

The point of all this: it is important to be my own advocate. I must assess what is going on and then figure out what can be done to ease the discomfort. That is the one place I feel I can take control. 

I either write on the patient portal asking questions about what I can do or I research possible solutions that are doable on my end. You know, when we cancer patients are at the mercy of drug therapies, we must speak up for ourselves. No one else knows how we feel or what we are experiencing. I take my vitals everyday. I make notes, keeping tabs on me and then I speak up. 

God can help me with the spiritual piece, but physical me needs to be managed so that I can exercise and emotionally stay grounded. In short, I guess it's fair to say: that's my plan and I am sticking to it. I am an advocate for me! Bring on the next infusion. I am ready.

Onward and upward! 

Over and out, this person here is the quilting cancer girl!

 

Blessings Abound

God gave me such a wonderful Thanksgiving. I started with my morning prayers and wondered where the day was headed after that because my hair was in free fall, my head was hurting internally, my nose was bleeding and I was just darn tired. All that within an hour of waking up. Go figure! What I wanted to do was sit in a recliner all day and do absolutely nothing. What a Thanksgiving party pooper!

But then I was energized. I was energized because my youngest son agreed to come in the morning to install a humidifier on our furnace. On Thanksgiving! He was taking his time to help me address the nose bleeds, putting more moisture into the air throughout the house. Come he did. Install he did. We talked and laughed and his presence infused the day with heaven sent love. He is such a dear.

Around noon, three ladies from my Block of the Month quilting class appeared at the door with baskets of Thanksgiving foods: cranberry sauce, pies, turkey, dressing, green bean casserole, muffins, salad, and even flowers. They stayed for a bit and toured my sewing room, getting ideas for their own studios, and when they were gone, I looked at my husband in amazement. 

How could a quilting girl like me be so lucky? How could we be so fortunate as to have a group like these ladies supporting our cancer journey?  Their caring is phenomenal. The bond and chemistry amongst the members of the group is a blessing to me AND to everyone within the group itself. We have each other's back no matter what.

Well, I spent the rest of the day in that recliner, sleeping, watching movies, chatting with family and friends in texts and over the phone. Watched three quarters of a winning Bills football game until bed called me to end my day. And as I settled under my handmade quilt and into my flannel sheets, I was content that Thanksgiving had been okay, despite my cancer and balding head. Thank you God for all our blessings. You sustain me, and for that I am forever grateful.

A New Adjustment

 Losing my hair has been rough. It has been an adjustment. I thought I was handling it well by having my hairdresser cut my hair short. Surely, then, I thought, it would be easier to lose because it would be much shorter. I am finding that it is not easier at all. 

There is a  literal attachment we have to our hair. No matter what we are going through, our hair is a constant. It is attached. It is steadfast. It sees us through anything: rain, snow, wind, growing up, falling down, graduating, getting married, having our children and grandchildren, parties, concerts and funerals. All of life happens and our hair is there. 

My hair was always an important part of my identity because it was red. I was the red head with temper tantrums that my mom did not know how to handle. I was the only red head in my brownie troop; and the only red head in high school English class. Not until college did I notice more red heads around, and that felt good, like I had common ground with more people. 

One of my grandsons has red hair. Because of that, I have always felt we had a special bond. We were red heads together. I've thoroughly enjoyed watching him make a name for himself as he directs his very own rock band. He has character, is passionate about sharing his music with others and builds a positive spirit with fellow band members. He gets noticed for his dedication, enthusiasm, talent and energy as he performs for crowds of people, walking his journey as an amazing drummer. I am so proud of him and the difference he makes to those around him .

Both of us have discovered that we are sensitive about our hair. Maybe that's part of being a red head. I don't know. What I do know is that I am losing my hair. This week I will be bald and, standing in front of the mirror, I face once again my cancer reality. It is an emotional adjustment. I cry as I sweep my hair away. This is the time I look at who I was and wonder who I will become. I'm saying goodbye to the red-headed me and with love, pass that torch to my grandson. 

This cancer journey is a true test of my faith. I have said that I trust God and he will lead me through this, hugging me and letting me know that he has my back - and my head - sheltering me always. So, for the time being, I give Him emotional me and pray for strength. The playing field is levelled and like all of my fellow cancer friends, we join hands in our baldness to tackle what we must, together, with courage and peace.

Signed with love, The quilting cancer girl
 

A 'So good' day!

This was an exceptional day! Hallelujah! I slept seven hours last night without any interruptions: no reflux, no potty breaks, no bad dreams. It felt so good and I was so rested when I woke that I just knew today was going to be awesome.

In fact, I was energized when I got the day started. Did my devotions and then headed for the sewing room to quilt two projects and bind them prior to the afternoon class I would teach. Got both done and totally forgot to take my vitals. Guess that was a sign that something felt better.

Had an appetite for breakfast which was quite different from the past several months. Dressed. Conversed with my wonderful hubby and then headed back to the sewing room to finish my PowerPoint for - yes - the afternoon class. Everything went together well and before I knew it, I was off to teach my class.

Class was enjoyable with lots of chatter about Thanksgiving and projects and plans for December. Had a chance to talk at length with a co-worker before class which again felt so good. On the way home, I called a friend on the car phone and talked my way home. Then the Meal Train delivered hot scalloped potatoes and ham which tasted - you've got it now - so good! How blessed we are.

Just did an evening walk with my Yorkshire terrier, Claire, in the very brisk air that is out there tonight. Chilly and invigorating enough to make me appreciate our  home that is both cozy and welcoming. And now, I'm anticipating a genuine night's sleep so that just maybe I might luck out and have another 'so good' day tomorrow. 

Signed, The very appreciative quilting cancer girl

The Bills, Chemo and Quick Tips

Yesterday was what some might call Silent Sunday. I skipped my entry because I was feeling pretty punk. While I went to church in the morning, I vegged the day away.  I was challenged with dizziness and, almost, vertigo issues. (I absolutely, positively hate vertigo. Just saying!) Couldn't even stand up in church to sing a hymn. Sigh.

My read on yesterday was that I was a walking, whining, premonition of the Bills Game! Knew right away in the morning hours that they were going to be off balance. Then I saw how Indy's Taylor ran through the Bills...a plane landing on a runway and skidding along the field into the end zone. What a mess! My armchair read is that the Bills are excellent when they get a chance to play football. Come up against a team that obliterates them in the running game, everything is one sided and it's not in the Bills favor. (Guess what? I still love the Bills!) Enough.

Today was my final session in the first three chemo treatments. Went well. Was 3 1/2 hours this time around. Wonderfully, this afternoon I am on a steroid high so I do have energy to write this and work on a much-needed PowerPoint for tomorrow's class. 

Made two new friends today: Pat and Beverly. Vanna was there (not from Wheel of Fortune but just as lovely).  The four of us talked a while, until the Benadryl kicked in and then we were sleeping zombies. Just before dozing off, I looked across the room and couldn't help but laugh when I saw yet another patient getting her treatment. Here is a photo. Hippa Laws dictate privacy. I don't think you will know who she is!

My photo above was a poor selfie taken just as my Benadryl bag was a-drippin' away and I was getting groggy. I still have my eyebrows. Woot! Woot!  

For cancer patients, I have a few quick tips. (Just as I do quick tips for quilting classes, I also share tips with you.) If you get sores in your mouth and on your tongue, 2 - 3 drops of Thieves Essential Oil in a 3 ounce glass of water is excellent as a mouth wash. My sores are dramatically better using this. Also, Aquaphor suave (I ordered both of these on Amazon.) is top notch for your parched, dry lips. It is protecting mine from water - like if I lick them - and helps them heal. At least when someone can see my smile, the smile doesn't hurt!!!!

I do take my own blanket to chemo. I've mentioned that before. Right now I am using the one my Indianapolis sister, Donna, made for me way back when. Today I had it turned so I could read her quotes, and saw one that drew me in. It reads, "Concentrating on this pattern reminds me of the love and care you pour into me." How appropriate a quote - although I'm guessing Donna never knew this would be a cancer quilt - because I could say this to God right now.

Every time we gals and guys get chemo infusions, it's like we have God's love pouring into our veins, accompanied by all the love and care of family and friends. This quote is just perfect for today! Thanks and I love you, Donna. This quilt is so warm...in every way. You hugged  me all across the morning.

Saturday Blessings

Saturday and Sunday are my best days. That's because I get chemo on Monday morning, and it runs the gambit of side effects through the week. On Saturday, I like to teach at the quilt shop because my head is clearer. I also work around the house and get my act together for the following week. It ends up a busy day and that feels good.

This morning I was very fortunate to have my son, Drew, blow the leaves off the front lawn. His job is Superintendent of the East Aurora Country Club so he is knowledgeable about outdoor challenges and has the equipment to tackle whatever. This weekend is his first 'off' weekend since the start of the season. So, I was honored to have him focus for a bit on our front lawn.

It is also entertaining to watch him work. He dresses like the ultimate 'ghostbuster of leaves' and in half an hour the job is done. When Tom and I do the deed, we work away at the project for an entire weekend, fighting the winds at every turn and moaning and groaning like old people. (We just don't like to thing of ourselves in those terms yet!) I know. I know. Our time is coming! LOL

Anyway, I want to highlight this 'clean the front lawn of leaves' event because we are so blessed to receive the help as we need it. I asked and there was no debate. Drew put it into his schedule. Best part, of course, is sitting and talking at the kitchen table afterwards. 

To catch up on each other makes my day. And to see my little Yorkshire terrier trying desperately to be polite and at the same time protect me from this 'big, bad leaf blower guy that is 6'4" and smells like black lab and bull dog' is hysterically funny. 

She sits on my lap and shows her teeth periodically like she's smiling. I call that grinning through her teeth. Then she gets all affectionate and asks for Drew to scratch her behind the ears. Makes both of us laugh. I always say, "Claire has the soul of a wolf!" At least she tries, and she is a blessing in her own little way.

So, this quilting cancer girl is off to teach this afternoon. I am blessed today with clarity, a clean front lawn, a wonderful son, and a chatty little Yorkshire terrier. How lucky am I! And the day has just begun.

Happy Endings

Today is a MUCH better day...at least right now...which is morning. This afternoon I am getting my COVID booster so things might change. Oh well. I don't want to feel super for too long!!! LOL

My post today is a quickie. You are probably sighing and saying, "Well, finally. She's got a lot of hot air." It's not that. It's just that sometimes I only feel good enough to write for a while and then I'm done for the day. That's just the way it goes. Today I want to quilt a while and write a few patterns. So shorter is better.

I have many who check in to find out how I am doing. I love that. I also write the blog so you all know what I am experiencing as it plays out. And you have an opportunity to file some of what I am saying so you may benefit from it in the future or share it with an individual drowning in a cancer challenge of their own.

Interestingly, sadly, I have never been terribly empathetic with cancer patients because I knew nothing of the challenges accepted and confronted. I could empathize with foster parents, abused and divorced wives as well as women whose husband was a child molester. But I knew nothing about the cancer experience. Now that I do, there's something I have come to love...and it is happy endings.

I have always been a sap for happy endings. I LOVE Christmas movies because I so relish the perfect stories with Christmas tea and cookies in the holidays. Those movies incidentally will sustain me through this month of December. (Good time of year to have cancer? Hmmm. There is no good time!)

Where am I going with this? When I meet someone in the quilt shop or the grocery store or even church, and they tell me about Uncle Bob or Sister Catherine or Grandma Bea, I pause and listen, hesitant about their ending. When the story presented demonstrates no hope, I cringe, panicked that it will hook the scared little kid within me.

Often now (I have learned the hard way), I will interrupt those stories to ask, "Does this have a happy ending? If not, let's talk about something else."

I invite everyone to keep that in mind when chatting about cancer. While each one of us with cancer has a different journey to pursue, we all want to focus on an ending that is hopeful and filled with joyful friendships in one way or another. Your experiences are welcome, and happy endings are so much more inspirational and uplifting. I am grateful for the faith-full positives you share with me. You calm my inner child. Where would I be without you?

Signed in love, The quilting cancer girl

Talk with me about Answered Prayers

Just in case there are skeptics reading this - I mean folks who doubt the existence of God's Love - I write today about prayer.  Often people pray and later exclaim that God never answers. He is absent. He doesn't care. He doesn't hear me, they say, and they move through life's challenges forgetting to pray, "thank you," or "I need your help", or "please partner with me." 

Well (and I know that's a deep subject), this quilting cancer girl would like to share a few answered prayers. They are worth noting. Believe me, trust me, they are worth noting.

As background, I relied on God growing up. I knew him early on when our family camped in the Adirondacks on the shores of 7th Lake in the Fulton Chain. My folks would ask my two sisters and I to plan Sunday worship around the campfire. Plan we did. And the outpouring of gratitude for the sunrises, sunsets, calm waters and family time filled our little worship prayers. Life was good.

When I birthed my three sons, I was grateful for the miracles of  birth and growth. I raised them along with 13 foster children; some who were emotionally crippled from abuse and abandonment. "God give me patience," I would pray, "at least for this  moment that I may love them the way they need to be loved." God did not fail me even as their were times when I felt quite alone. Today the kids have their wings and they are amazing people contributing their talents to this world of ours. Thank you, Lord.

Cancer arrived for me the second week of September 2021.  It flattened me. I agonized as I grieved and finally eased into accepting that I need to do what I need to do in order to cleanse myself of the tumor. I decided to return to church. That experience I had eliminated after relocating in the city, not successfully finding a church that clicked with me. There just wasn't any chemistry.

Dedicated to enriching my spiritual self, I came to the following peaceful feeling: "I trust God. Because I trust God, he will guide me on this cancer path."  You will never guess!!! When I attended church that first Sunday back, the sermon topic was: "If you trust God, he will guide you through this." I cried all the way home (seems I do that after church on Sunday) because God and me...we were on the same page...and I was so grateful he was hearing my pleas.

The next week, I was asked by the oncologist on Thursday to make a decision about my treatment plan. He gave me the options and I spent Thursday through Saturday pondering those options. I talked to cancer survivors. I prayed for them and me. I consulted with nurse friends, valuing all the input I could get. I wanted to be informed. I decided where I stood and what option seemed to make sense. I was ready to tackle the chemo treatments with every ounce of my emotional, physical and spiritual energy. So early Sunday morning, I wrote about my decision on the patient portal and went off to church.

Now church was almost a surreal experience, especially when I saw that the sermon title was: "Challenge Accepted!"  God was speaking directly to me through the words of our pastor. Others felt the same way, I'm sure, even as they are living in a different life situation. But for me, this was another answered prayer. God was hearing my anguish. God was affirming  his love and support. I would manage the challenge okay with him holding my hand. And he was 'in'!!!! That was enlightening. I had accepted the challenge and so did He!

This week, my husband Tom and I have also been playing with our finances to figure ways we can manage food, insurance and medical expenses in conjunction with other obligations. I hugged him last week and said, "This will work out. I just know in my heart the finances will fall into place. We will do what we need to do." Tom is a bit more of a skeptic than me. 

Day before yesterday, we were notified that a Meal Train has been initiated in our behalf by quilting ladies in my life who continuously are my sunshine. I never knew there was such an animal as a Meal Train. Meal Train? What is that? It's what happens when love takes over and kind, thoughtful people join in force to provide occasional meals and supportive help with finances. When I told Tom, he looked at me in disbelief.  I said, "We really will manage this. God will see us through this."

I know this is long. Sorry. Sometimes I talk too much when I get excited and have great news to share. So, I go back to the beginning of this article and pull in the following sentence: This quilting cancer girl likes sharing a few answered prayers. They are worth noting. Believe me, trust me, they are worth noting...as long as you are open and receptive to the miracles of love. We are so blessed, Tom and I, even with cancer staring us square in the face.

I can do 'wonky'!

Today is one of those 'wonky' days when everything is a little off balance. Like my hand shakes when I journal. I hit the wrong keys if I text or type on the computer. This is a day when I know I am headed for a 'spinning your wheels' kind of day and a nap in the afternoon. 

Of course, any of  you quilters 'out there' know that I can do 'wonky'. I do not mind making wonky quilt blocks or crazy Christmas trees. I enjoy making all different sized quilt blocks and then spend time putting them into an 'improv', sampler type quilt. I invite 'wonky' because it challenges me (us) to be creative within my routine and do something way different from normal. So, I am thinking I will embroider 'wonky' houses today. That will keep me moving and bring a smile to my face at the same time. (Thank you very much, Sheila.)

The larger issue here is accepting how cancer treatments can throw me a curve. Just when I think I am doing really well, something changes and I don't feel so good. Everyday is different. That is a given. I no longer go to bed pondering what I am going to accomplish the next day. I plan only to wake up, God willing, and then assess my state of the nation (pardon the cliché) before moving forward. Today is just one of those 'wonky' days.

It worries my husband. He made the comment this morning, "This is so not you. You're always so strong." At which point, I inputted a few defensive comments about the concept of strong. (You know me. Here was a teachable moment!)

I share that I am strong in my commitment to confront cancer head on. I am doing just that by standing up to whatever comes around the bend in these coming months. But then I realize that there are times when I am not emotionally or physically strong and I need time to process that reality. I cry. Sometimes I sob...like I did last week in the car as I drove home from church on Sunday. Somehow I needed some release and release I did. Almost had to pull to the side of the road. 

Simply put, I am overwhelmed with the love I feel from everyone and I will not always be strong. Periodically, weakness happens and can be cleansing . The concern and caring that you extend to me is phenomenal. And I know that the power of God's love is forever active giving me lots of amazing days. 

For any of my fellow cancer friends, please let me share my rather novel perspective about chemotherapy. Some think of chemotherapy as infusing their body with toxins to kill the cancer. Me? Wonky me? I take a different stance. My vision helps me find peace.

My infusions are filled with God given LOVE that is so powerful and protective and healing.  As it courses through my veins, racing like little Pac Men toward the cancer, I feel peaceful because I know that bad, awful, horrible, terrible cancer will hopefully be suffocated by God's genuine, dedicated love for me. (It becomes personal for each of us facing cancer and with this view I don't feel so sick.) 

Simplistic. Maybe. And yet God's love combined with knowing that cancer today is handled with treatments that can create miracles, gives me hope that my weak, wobbly, wonky days will eventually bring me back to the strong I do enjoy.

Valuable Lessons from Cancer

 

As I make new friends in the cancer world, I am learning several valuable lessons. And of course, you know me, I am going to share how those lessons translate very easily to the non-cancer way of doing life.

First, everyone has a story to tell. It does not matter whether an individual is a patient, a doctor or a nurse. It does not matter if they quilt or sew garments or make purses.  As long as that person is relating to me, I am confident he or she has a story to tell. I just need to figure out how to get them to open the door.

With this reality in mind, every single time I encounter a technician who connects me to a machine, or a nurse who guides me through painful news, I ask a few questions because I want to make certain they are well trained and investing in me: "So do you like your job? Do you look forward to coming to work everyday?" And of my doctors, after those questions trigger discussion, I ask: "In my situation, what would you advise your mother to do?" 

You see, I thoroughly believe that while they are experts, they are still human, just like you and me. Along their life path, they chose their special field so that God could heal and love and care for us all. They are the angels among us who take our hand and lead us through the bad news and the good. And I tell them my viewpoint so they each know how much I value them and their guidance. In the end, we connect and life is good. (I do the same in my quilting classes, ladies. Be prepared! LOL) 

Second, talking about feelings helps me stay positive. I am very aware that those who share their mad, sad, glad, and happy feelings help heal themselves. We as patients (or as quilters) frequently find ourselves in tears, or angry, or depressed. Does a world of good to talk to our supporters (quilting friends) about those feelings because then we are not carrying them alone. 

For many years, I found it difficult to cry. Then I entered menopause and cried over McDonald's commercials or Budweiser Draft Horse ads. Weird? Yup. And suddenly I had a hysterectomy and could cry over my divorce after 25 years and how I did not believe I had been a good mom and the science teacher who gave boys in the class preferential treatment over girls and the pets I had to bury over a lifetime and the four patch I sewed and 'un-sewed' incorrectly four whole times, and...my list was long.

Fact is those tears cleanse my soul and help me forgive past grievances. They help me heal and connect with others (and my quilts) in happiness and joy. If we do not share that gambit of feelings, the feelings fester. They damage the bodily house we live in. Gradually our heating and cooling and plumbing and mother board systems cannot function. Sometimes the festering suffocates us and lets cancer sneak in or creates some other life threatening issue.

I  have a poem from Jenny Lou Ernst that I have referred to for many years. It's easy to remember. You might grab it and put it on the refrigerator, or your sewing machine. Goes like this:

            I can reveal the way that I feel,

            By the things I say and do.

            Changing the things I say and do,

            I can change my feelings too.

Here's an illustration. Man and wife are fighting over their financial situation. Doorbell rings. Mom answers the door with, "My goodness. It's good to see you. Come on in." Changing what she said very simply helped her hook into a more positive stance. It is possible. I know you have done it. When it becomes conscious, however, then we can more consistently choose our own positive path.

Finally, having a belief system is extremely helpful. Whatever you do, find your way into some all encompassing belief system that can sustain you - fully sustain you - when the going gets rough. Many of us in my cancer world (and non cancer world) are invested in developing a strong relationship with God. We are realizing how much we need to balance our emotional, physical and spiritual self. 

I have always known that God was there for me. Started that as a child when my mom read us the book, If Jesus Came to My House by Joan Gale Thomas. Actually molded my approach to life. (Yes. I make sure my grandchildren all have a copy.)

And now, strangely, I would not miss this cancer experience for the world. Cancer is an opportunity to deeply strengthen a more mature relationship with God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit. With gratitude -  sometimes with pleading and desperation for peace to handle what lies ahead - we talk. It is helping me reaffirm my faith and the goodness I see in people. I do morning devotions, meditation and prayers very aware that God is loving me and one way or the other, everything will be okay. 

Signing off, The Quilting Cancer Girl

A Warmer Look and a Shorter Day

Highlights from today's chemo adventure are fun to look at actually. First, I must explain that my hubby thinks I'm a goofball, rather idiot, because I love to take photos of everything. I mean everything. On the way into the Roswell Clinic in Williamsville this morning, I plopped my stuff down in the snowy parking lot to take photos of the outside of the clinic. "Why?" you ask. My answer, "That's just me!!!"

Moving on, we walked into the office at 7:45 a.m., the first ones there which meant I could get right down to business. Lab tests completed, I started with 6 bags instead of 12 or 13, hoping to be done by noon. This is a short day, you see, and not as intense as last week.

Who puts a picture of their feet on a blog?

This time I was more prepared. Ever go to a quilt retreat and leave most of your supplies at home (not planned), and then wonder how you're going to manage? That was me last week. I wasn't as prepared. My bottom half was cold, especially my big feet. 

This week I wore my toe socks, some Sherpa lined sweat pants (ahhhh), and used a quilt my sister made for me several years ago (on the back there's the fuzziest fleece I have ever felt). Being warmer made a huge difference. I actually rested more and didn't feel as under attack from the drugs as I did the first time around.

Being the first one there, I could welcome patients as they arrived. (You know me! I love to greet people at our sewing events!) First came Elizabeth, then Bonnie, and Vanna. So I made three new friends, all with their own stories to tell, and we talked our way into treatment until they infused us with Benadryl and we all fell asleep! You see when you make new friends at chemo, you actually sleep together and it's perfectly okay!!!

Then I came home, had lunch with Tom, did crossword puzzles from the newspaper, and of course, had to hug the bouquet of flowers I received from my boys on Saturday. It is priceless. (They would say it was pricey.) 

This bouquet stands slightly over 24" high (measured naturally with my quilt ruler) and displays a multitude of absolutely perfect, gorgeous flowers of color. The card reads: "Cancer should be afraid of you!"  I'm still pinching myself that the boys sent me flowers! Wow! Tears here every time I think about it.

My day is complete because already, my little dog, Claire jumped into my lap for snuggles. She doesn't mind the smell of chemo at all (not so far). I was so afraid she would have nothing to do with me. Seems like we are closer than ever. She and God are becoming my best buds. 

Next on the agenda...at 6:15 p.m., I get my hair cut to about an inch. This week or next I will be losing my hair to chemo so have chosen to preempt that major change with a new do. This part is hard. I stand and look in the mirror and realize I will never ever look the same again and then think maybe baldness and new growth on the other end will show you a better me. Sure will be an adjustment! This is an experience in good, better, best! Best is on the horizon...a long way forward. Just you wait!

No Worries

With my cancer diagnosis came worry. Yup. Never before did I think I was a worrier. It hit me between the eyes, and created a serious ache in my heart, after I heard a voice on the other end of the phone say the words, "It's cancer." I was numb and very alone. Immediately I jumped into, "My life will never be the same," and I was scared.

I couldn't think or stop shaking. Surely, I was going to spontaneously combust. I couldn't remember where I put things. I lost my keys. I misplaced my phone. I think I forgot everything I ever knew!  I couldn't even cook or do the laundry. Weird. Just weird.

And the 'what ifs' plagued me from day until night...for about a month.  What if I had a stroke? What if I was unable to handle this horrible, awful, terrible cancer? What if I can't teach anymore? What if my friends abandon me? What if the dog doesn't like the smell of chemo? What if my children walk away? What if my husband won't stand by my side?  What if I lose my hair? What if I die? Yup. I worried and I prayed, "Dear God, please help me. I can't do this alone."

And then three things happened. I received a box from the Cozy Quilt Ministries out of Ellicottville, and in that box was not only a fleece quilt to use during chemotherapy but a book: When God and Cancer Meet by Lynn Eib. It was an answer to my prayer, enabled by my friend, Laura. I was not alone. Such heartfelt reassurance that box brought to me...and I got myself on track with strengthening my spiritual life and meditating with God every morning and afternoon and evening. I want Laura to know that was a turning point for me. Bless you.

Second, more than ever, I immersed myself in sewing. The wonderful, creative world of quilting - a world which I know well - helped me calm my shaky hands and forget. Yes, that's right. I began to realize that when my brain was focused on sewing, three or four hours would pass without my thinking about cancer, and that was a victory beyond victories. I was letting go of the 'what if's' and focused readily on 'what is'...in this moment, on this day, right here, right now...and I was still creating. For that gift, that miracle, I shout a loud, "Hallelujah!"

And third, my good friend Alyssa, spontaneously hugged me with a hug so warm and genuinely loving that I felt transformed into, "You can do this, Eileen, because you are important to us." Thank you, Alyssa. You helped jump start my healing in that moment. You touched my soul, and I am better for your caring. 

I have since made three decisions. (1) I'm not going to be a blind optimist or pessimist. I deal better with realism: facing the facts, studying up on treatments, reading lab reports, and having straight patient/doctor talks. Then I know I can deal. (2) I've let go of all the 'what ifs' and instead I trust God. I trust that he will lead me through this. Together we will find the strength I need. (3) I am finally at peace with what I need to do. I have grieved for my pre-cancer self and accept the challenge of growth with cancer. This is a journey, an adventure, beyond anything I have ever known.

So, I move forward, with God as my partner, praying always for strength, courage and peace. And daily I quilt, loving every minute of my vacation from cancer. I also continue to teach quilting. It is therapy for many of us. Truthfully, I love every minute I am with you quilters 'out there'. We do have a good time, don't we?!! Hmmm, let's see what we can create today! 

Signing off, The Quilting Cancer Girl

Being Open Really Works for Me

One of the immediate and most important decisions I made at the onset of this cancer challenge was to be open and straight. I am not a person who can keep secrets - unless it is about a surprise party - and while this is its own kind of surprise party, I know I must talk with people. Whether its venting or crying or proclaiming a good test result, I must share. That's just me.

Well, after numbly telling my husband the results of the core biopsy, I connected with my two sisters - one in Indianapolis and one in Chicago - and then I contacted my children. Never did I want them angry because I had withheld facts about my situation. So, immediate family - even my little dog, Claire -  has been in on everything, right from day one.

I also am open with all of you. You are my quilting ladies or you are my camp staff or you are campers from years gone by or you are friends in the neighborhood. You know that I have cancer and I ask for your love, that you may remember me in your ongoing prayers, that I may survive this as calmly and gracefully as possible...that we may continue in communion with each other for years to come.

Here is my challenge: to be on the receiving end of such love. I have lived a life of giving. Each morning when I wake, I pray, "How can I make a difference today, Lord?" and "What challenge are we going to tackle together?"

Now you are making a difference to me. The love that surrounds me is staggering...overwhelming. God speaks to me through your notes and conversations and sense of humor. You are with me. You are steadfast. Your prayers are felt.  I am beyond grateful because I feel hugged every single moment of every single day. How reassuring is that! I am so blessed. Thank you.

Opening the Door to a Whole New Me

Hearing those words, "You have cancer", is a moment in your life when the world literally stops and you shake your head and say, "No. Not me. Please, not me!" 

You have done everything right. You never smoked. You do not drink. You don't do drugs, don't even take prescription medications, just vitamins. You eat healthy. You exercise regularly, riding your bike and walking the dog while visiting with the neighbors you meet. You attend church. You say your morning and bedtime prayers. You are kind to others. You live to make a difference in this crazy world today. "Please, Lord, not me!" What makes it real is telling your husband.

 I cannot explain how numb I felt. I cannot explain how my 'self' went into a spinning, exploding, shaking state of disbelief. I was suddenly into a whirlwind of 'what ifs' that looking back were meaningless. But I will tell you that we ladies go there: what if I can't handle this? what if my husband won't love me anymore? what if I die? Interestingly, I could not cry. This was like a state of total and utter shock. My hubby - so you know - handled it well.

Together we decided we like to face life head on. So, I decided to process this whole business very carefully, dealing with facts and letting go of what-ifs. I read every lab report submitted to my primary physician through the patient portal. Before long, I knew my diagnosis before meeting with the surgeon: Invasive ductal Her2 aggressive breast cancer. Yuck!

Well, the medical world quickly catches you up into medical tests that force you into reality. There are blood tests for genetic testing. There are ultrasounds, core biopsies, a breast MRI, a PET Scan, and an echocardiogram. Then the installation of a mediport so you can be plugged in like an electric car and revved up with chemotherapy. (And no, I do not have the gene that predisposes me to breast cancer. Yahoo! A gift to the family.)

My treatment is chemotherapy first, hoping to shrink the tumor to nothing. Doctor is fearful that if they did surgery first they would miss something that could then return as cancer yet again. Mind you, every treatment for each one of us is totally different. We are all affected in different ways with cancer popping up wherever it chooses to create havoc. 

I finally started to cry - during the core biopsy of a lymph node  - and I couldn't stop. The nurses were so loving and caring. Today I call them angels. They nursed me through that sob session and later called me to say there was no cancer in the lymph node. Hallelujah! I have easily cried ever since. 

I have also turned the radio off in the car. Aside from my morning and evening prayers and  meditation time, I converse with God in the car. Sounds funny, doesn't it? All the way to work and home again, we talk. Anytime I run errands, car time is my quiet God time. 

I'm sounding like John Denver now - LOL - but car time is part of my search for peace. By opening myself to a new and better me, peace and acceptance of this new reality is surrounding me with an unexplainable love that comes from friends, family, and the arms that Jesus once used to calm distraught individuals. 

I now say, "Lord, why not me" because this experience is guiding me into a deep, spiritual oneness with God that I never knew existed. It is balancing my spiritual self with my emotional and physical self. And in all of that, I am finding joy, a joy that let's me appreciate humor and receive love from amazing folks like you.

Thankfully, the quilting cancer girl

    

    

    

First Day Chemo

No cancer adventure is easy. I am the first to say that. I am also the first to admit that this has become a journey in my lifetime that I want to share, just in case there are some of you out there who might want to connect with questions, comments, words of advice, and prayers.

This first entry is about my first day of chemo. In later entries, I would like to share my days prior to chemo and how I prepared for this mind-boggling cancer event.

Yesterday was a Monday. We arrived at the Roswell Park Williamsville Clinic on Park Club Lane at nine o'clock, signed in, paid our co-pay, and were ushered into a huge room with lines of recliners and IV poles next to each recliner. My hubby was with me. We did lots of hand holding. He even kissed me before we opened the door to the chemo offices. 

Had a kind, masked nurse named Holly. (Good way to start the Christmas season.) She was patient while explaining the process and procedures. Hooked my med-port for taking two vials of blood and sent them to the in-house lab immediately. We wait to make sure my blood levels were what they were supposed to be and then started with the chemo.

Now I will tell you that I panicked slightly when she hung up nine bags of drugs...and later added 3 more. Said to my husband that I would see him at bedtime! But I learned over time that each one of those bags is filled to a different level and each bag drips either slower or faster, depending I would guess on the drug. 

Also each time a bag was complete, a huge beep notifies the heavens that it is done, and Holly would explain what next we were chugging into my human house. (It's like we are getting rid of the black mold!)

I brought things to do. Wrote about ten notes during the first two or three bags. Then I began to feel tired, not sleepy, just tired. So I stretched back in the recliner to answer messages on my phone. But about then the north winds began to blow and I was freezing. So glad for the wrap and fleece blanket I brought with me. (Next I will bring a heavier quilt.) And of course, this is too funny, I feel asleep.

Falling asleep in a chemotherapy room becomes a snoring orchestra for the nurses. It is meant solely to entertain them! So glad we all wore masks. That meant no one saw that my mouth was gaping wide open as I lay on my back. (That's where my hubby would normally poke me and tell me to roll over.)

Sorry if I offend anyone. We must keep humor in this process. It helps us heal. So let me share that when I fell asleep the room was full - and I mean full - of people. When I awoke, I had two remaining bags and everyone was gone...just gone. It was me and Holly. Of course, in the course of events, I stumbled with my IV pole to the bathroom, but I never noticed that the people were disappearing. I was just too sleepy. Sat down and resumed a one person solo!!! 

Gradually, I warmed up. Called my husband to pick me up in an hour and a half. He came early. We talked with Holly, eventually waving good-night and sleep-tight till next Monday.

I ate supper. I walked my dog, and slept well, although this is advice for you and me. After a day of chemo, wear Depends to bed because my sleep was so heavy, I woke slowly and then dripped my way to the bathroom. In fact, I had a little of that same trouble during chemo, so Depends might be a good investment! Just sayin'. Note to self.

This morning, the day after chemo, I'm good. Slept from 8:30-7. Did my devotions. Ate breakfast with my loving husband. I am shaky but okay, and drinking water that has electrolytes in it like it's going out of style. We have 48 hours to wash the chemo drugs from our system. So I'm on that because I want to be alive, awake, and enthusiastic for classes at the end of the week.

Final note to anyone starting chemo. If you are able, avoid starting the first Monday on the weekend that the clocks were changed. That's like a double whammy for my system to handle, although so far we are doing well and will probably do some snoring this afternoon!

Thanks for joining me by the way. May you become a follower so I can stay in communication with you. Look forward to your responses. Love you all... Signed, the quilting cancer girl!