I am scared again

I can't believe it has been a whole week since my April 20th surgery! Guess I should be thrilled that time is moving forward better than it has for the last six months. There were some winter days where that day felt like a year all by itself. Admittedly, I was a bit bogged down and discouraged, but I have been true to my mantra, "Never give up."

An interesting awareness has been gnawing at me this last week. I am very aware how since surgery day, I have turned my feelings off. I have felt a bit numb, like the world is in fact moving forward and I am not feeling as grateful or humorous or thoughtful as I have been across this cancer journey. I want to be an active participant in the day to day, but I'm not there yet. Darn!

It is almost as if I met a goal, that being the surgery. I had to do chemotherapy before arriving at the surgery date. I made it. The lumpectomy was harder than I imagined. I got through it. And now I'm trying to figure out what is happening inside my soul. Not sure what to say. It's weird.

I do realize that I am anxious about what the test results from surgery will show. And beyond that, will I have to do radiation for a month? I've been praying over this for months.

Positive feelings about the whole radiation process do not exist in my frame of reference. After experiences my mom and grandmother had many years ago, I fear radiation. Now I understand that it is easy to discount those familial experiences as happening in a time when medicine wasn't what it is today. Still, in my heart and psychologically, I harbor scared childhood feelings about radiation. 

So, I spend much of my sewing time pondering my current numbness. Maybe if I turn off my feelings, and leave it all to God, I will get passed this. How do I admit that I have inserted myself back into the 'what if' scare I felt when I was first diagnosed. Even though I keep slapping myself - figuratively speaking - I'm there. Can't help it. Pray as I may, the apprehension is alive and well in my gut. 

May 5th is my follow up appointment with the surgeon. By then, my incisions should be healed, and I will hear what the labs reveal about my cancer. 

Meanwhile,  my husband and I drove out to camp on Sunday during that glorious 80 degree April day. What an awesome way to enjoy a respite from daily worries. The trees are greening up. Birds are showering us with spring songs. We opened the slides on our trailer and raked the campsite. Felt really good. I must admit I am looking forward to summer.

I'm finding my energy a little at a time and I'm searching for the enthusiasm that generally fills my soul. When that comes back strong, I can handle anything, and my scare will subside. This current state of mind must be a plateau in the larger scheme of things, a pause, a time of healing, and I keep thinking, no news is good news. Just maybe, by some miracle, I'm okay. Now wouldn't that be wonderful!

Surgery day

 Today was my lumpectomy surgery. It was a whole different chapter to my cancer adventure. We were up by 4:10 a.m. (hmm....I was up by 4:10) and after my morning prayers and shower, Tom was up too. With a nod and a kiss, we left for Milliard Fillmore Suburban Hospital and a 5:30 a.m. arrival. Checked in with a very chatty, pleasant admission lady. I was her first patient admission for the day. If she hadn't been caring, I just might have questioned whether this surgery was necessary! Not really. LOL

Was called into my first accommodations by a nurse named Mariellen. She was truly an angel. We connected immediately, exchanging information and stories. I loved that she was a good listener, and had a sense of humor, whereas I was a bit nervous. Not scared. Just nervous. And my blood pressure registered at 180. Maybe I was scared.

The other reason this woman was an angel. She inserted my IV in a split second, and I never felt her do it. Hallelujah! Then she convinced me that a short term blood thinner shot was required - in my upper thigh...Egads - and again, she was so good, I never felt it. God works through genuinely talented people.

And then I was wheeled through the freezing halls to see a radiologist. Honestly, this was my scary part. He was handsome, caring and kind, but his job was to insert a J-shaped wire into my left breast while giving me a mammogram. Actually, the wire is required so the surgeon knows where the microchip was placed during my initial core biopsy;  a consequence of my cancer lump disappearing during chemo. That wire indicates from where to take tissue samples during the lumpectomy. 

You have to know that I was shaking cold in that room as the wire was inserted. It might as well have been a fish hook. My breast was not numb. No lidocaine. Just me clutching the mammogram machine like I was squeezing Jesus's hand. The doctor and his nurse assistants kept telling me I was doing well.

When they took a second mammogram and readjusted the fish hook, I thought I was a goner. But then I felt better because they taped a paper cup over the wire.  Talk about taking my breath away!!! The fashion statement was outstanding, literally and gave me something to laugh about.

Back in my original room, my lower legs were wrapped in plastic covers. Plugged into a pump that hung on the side of the bed, the plastic covers expanded and contracted slowly, one leg and then the other. That set-up also protects against blood clots. 

Tom was there, watching TV; then the pre-op parade began. We met a variety of medical people: the assistant surgeon, interns, the anesthesiologist, and the surgeon. I can list their names, but why? 

The cutest was Jake, an anesthesiologist, the last jovial face I saw after getting situated on the narrow operating table (I was sure I was going to fall off) in the HUGE operating room. Filled with machines, attendants, and freezing cold air, I very quickly left for la-la-land and dreams of a completed surgery.

About an hour and a half later, I awoke to the fourth room in my adventure, shaking and quaking - No, the room wasn't shaking. That was me. It was a large recovery room. Nurses scurried. They were angels wrapping me and my bare head in hot blankets, bringing warmth to what was a very cold day. Sigh. Eventually, they gave me medications to stop the shaking and slight nausea. Without them, I might have gone back to sleep.

I became more human after an hour or so, and then was pushed to a fifth room where I got dressed and was given a snack. Apple juice and graham crackers were not my choice for a first meal. However, they were a signal that my stomach was better. And before I knew it, Tom had my coach to the hospital exit. He whisked me home - the gem that he is - and I slept in my beloved recliner for nearly four hours.

This story of my surgery is 'out there' so some of  you doing a lumpectomy might know what is involved. It only took the morning; we were home a little after lunch time. 

This is not meant to scare anyone. Your situation will be different. For me, with angels for nurses and Jesus holding my hand, this was a miracle day. The start of my morning devotions: Be Not Afraid...for I am with you!

My two incisions are tolerable with only extra strength Tylenol; my honey is happy with soup and sandwiches for supper. I am so blessed. Besides, I really got to see a lot of the hospital. It's amazing, and I was a fashion statement for a while, thanks to a very simple paper cup.

Awaiting now the tissue results from this day, I sign off,  The quilting cancer girl.

Amazing days

Big news! I rode my bike yesterday! Now I could end my post here...but it is such BIG NEWS that I have to write just a bit more. My balance is returning as my energy improves.

All during my chemotherapy, I had goals. One was to finish the Amish quilt. I did that last week. Another was to get my geraniums propagated so there were extra plants for summer. I have succeeded in doing that. A third was to walk my dog, Claire, without feeling like I was going to collapse. I'm doing well with that now. One day at a time.

My last 'keep-me-going' goal was to ride my bike. This week I made it. I am jumping - figuratively - for joy! It's like I have my wings back again, even though I can't ride as far as I would like. I have to take it easy because my legs are weaker than I would like them. But they will come back...in time.

There's nothing like riding on a warm spring day, smelling the fresh air, and enjoying the camaraderie of a neighborhood friend. To hear the birds, see the spring flowers, and look around at families emerging from their homes - raking, cleaning the garage, cooking on the grill, and teaching their kids how to ride their own bike - is a gift that I have longed for on my darker days.  Hallelujah! I can actually stay upright, and that is a major victory.

May you all have goals. Doesn't matter whether or not you have cancer. Goals always give you something to look forward to when you need a boost. 

List your goals and then reach for them everyday, and in your prayers.  They will motivate you to keep on keeping on when all else feels discouraging. Reach. Reach. There is always hope...and your goals, along with love of the good Lord, will give you reasons for being. Make each day amazing. Trust me. Each day will be both balanced and wonderful. Celebrate and be grateful.

Fingernails and Toenails

For those involved in their own cancer story, I want to talk about what can happen to your fingernails and toenails. I was totally in the dark over these past months. The nurses would look at my nails and ask about my fingers. Never did I have any issues...until the few weeks prior to my last chemo appointment. Suddenly, I had chemo nails. Thought I was going to make it without any problem.

At that time, my fingers and toes started with a soreness that was unsettling. Pulling on my underwear or taking off my socks was a challenge. I couldn't easily unscrew tops on jars. Making the bed was a chore.  And like having a singular sore toe, I kept hitting my fingers and toes across the day on countertops or my computer or sewing machine. They hurt. Every single one really hurt.

Gradually, they developed dark brown lines. My toenails especially turned dark brown. My two big toenails developed a smelly infection. A few of my smaller nails fell off. Weird. Totally. 

Nurses told me that the brown color was like a fungal infection and the best solution was soaking my fingers and toes in a solution of apple cider vinegar and yellow Listerine. I did that for a time, but then applied my own remedy - Vicks Vapor Rub - because Vicks is excellent at fighting fungal infections. We used it on my husband's toes when he had a problem and it solved it with flying colors. The Vicks was my answer!!!! It worked.

My fingers never developed a tingling feeling. Apparently, some individuals will get tingling in their fingers. That is something the nurses call neuropathy. I was fortunate not to go in that direction, and do not think there will be lasting nerve damage.

Also, I had a bad tooth throughout my chemotherapy. There was an upside to that awful, aching tooth: the oncologist prescribed an antibiotic to fight infection. Then, when I had the tooth pulled, the dentist prescribed a second round of the antibiotic. That antibiotic helped fight the toenail infections immensely as did finishing my toxic chemo drugs. Happily, the chemo is no longer feeding my nail infections with its toxicity. 

I address this today so that you will not be frightened if you have your nails turn brown. Stay on top of it with Vicks Vapor Rub. Massage it into and under your nails.

Today, my fingers are tender but no longer hurting. I can type my message to you and it does not hurt. The brown color is retreating. Although the damage has been done to some nails (you can see in my photo how they are turning white), I will probably lose them. Fact is, they will grow back and I will be fine. So will you if this happens to you.

Signed with healing fingers, The quilting cancer girl

Celebrating

Today I quietly celebrate. This morning I am not scheduled for my weekly infusion at the clinic. What a freeing feeling to know that my Monday is my own! In fact, I will not return for another infusion until April 18th. Yeah!!!! Now that is worthy of an hallelujah!!!!

Throughout this cancer journey, I have heard different ones of you say, "Now that's a reason to celebrate." Interesting. Because I was burdened with cancer fatigue, I did not equal your celebratory vibes until this morning. 

I woke up, looked at the clock, and immediately revisited that elementary school feeling on the first day of summer vacation, only my small vacation is from the cancer clinic. No treatment today! 

There is no need to prep for my infusion. No special treatment for my mediport. No dressing in my infusion friendly clothing. I enjoyed my devotions, expressing gratitude for this freedom on a sunshiny day. I could eat breakfast and do the crossword, listen to the news and chat with my honey. It's the simple things that make me gloriously happy.

Guess I need to take a moment here to explain that with the cessation of chemo drugs, my energy is returning, very slowly - with two hour naps most afternoons - but it is finding its way back and that makes me smile. 

I have been sewing non-stop, especially in the morning hours, and that feels so good because my brain is less foggy. I am not constantly re-educating myself about piecing and quarter inch seams. My mind is crawling out of the haze a day at a time. I am not as shaky. Obviously, I'm not all the way there yet, but I am improving, and that feels mighty good.

A shout out here to my Indianapolis sister who every single week was on her phone texting me during my infusion time. She might as well have been sitting in the chair next to me, holding my hand. We chatted about our respective weeks. She listened to me dealing with my side effects. We discussed things we could look forward to, and quilt projects on our sewing tables that occupied our minds with something other than cancer. 

I appreciate that this Indianapolis sister - her name is Donna - would dedicate that time to just be there. She patiently accepted my hardships and kept me upbeat. We prayed together and laughed at the fact I was only good - during the infusion - until the Benadryl kicked in and I totally submitted to sleep. Donna would say, "Good night". Then, I was off into a drug induced coma in my clinic recliner until the nurses roused me from my loud snores. It was time to walk a crooked line to the car where my husband awaited, ready to drive the coach home and tuck me into my home recliner for a long afternoon healing nap or escape from reality. Those were often hard days! I celebrate you, Donna.

My infusions will continue, a kind of maintenance infusion, until November, or so I am told. Minus the toxic drugs, these infusions are every three weeks, and consist of two good cancer fighting drugs to make certain the cancer is constantly confronted within my system. I'm thinking of these drugs as little Minions, busy within me, fighting my battles where I cannot.

So I celebrate for a variety of reasons: my reprieve from weekly infusions, my renewing energy, my patient sister, and my sewing room. By the way, it is looking like I may finish a quilt today, which is delightful. The picture above is what I have been working at, off and on, since my diagnosis last fall. Soon it will have a forever home. I will feel supremely joyful, and have yet another reason to celebrate! Hallelujah! I am so blessed.

Signed in 'let's finish this quilt today' mode, The quilting cancer girl