The truth

I am going to tell you the truth. That's what this blog is about. The truth. 

I found myself back at the beginning today...back to feeling lost and anxious...only this time in the radiation world. I've found my way successfully through all the cancer protocols, but this radiation business happens in a whole new arena and it makes me apprehensive. 

After my hard time with the radiologist right before the lumpectomy in April, it is difficult to feel at ease with yet another radiologist. My unanswered question is does a radiologist have feelings or are they a group of doctors who are numb to the human experience. I am uncertain about how to respond to that, and hope that this time around the radiology barn I come away with a more positive outlook.

So this morning was not hard. I met at length with a nurse to fill out paperwork and answer lots of questions regarding my history. Then I had the freedom to ask all kinds of questions, after which time I watched a 10 minute educational video. The radiology doctor came in and recited a memorized speech about radiation therapy. The nurse returned and then I was transferred over to a secretary who schedules appointments. It all seemed so mechanical. 

Interestingly enough, as I drove home, I was angry. I am not sure why. I know psychologically that I must have this whole breast radiation to insure that my cancer never comes back. But I don't have my next appointment until June 14th and then it will be two weeks later that I start radiation. That is July and for the entire month I go every weekday for radiation.

That sure does mess with my summer. During the winter when chemotherapy was the pits, I focused on the pleasant joys of summer to keep me optimistic and upbeat. We love to go camping. July is the best month, great for hanging out in the hammock and spending time with good friends.  

And I have to commute back and forth to wherever they send me for twenty treatments. Worst of all is hearing that I will be fatigued and need to sleep. Darn. I slept away the winter and now I'm going to sleep away the summer too? 

I have loved having my energy return. Just today I finished two t-shirt quilts. Woot! Woot! Last week I finished one that was transported to Massachusetts. It's awesome to be my 'self' again. 

So this is one of my rare pity parties? I guess so. I dumped on my husband when I came home from this radiology consultation. Poor man. That wasn't fair to him. His reassuring response was that we will get through this too. My guess is I need to spend some time in prayer, and probably have a good cry. Haven't done that yet. In time. In time. 

What I actually decided to do was see if I there was something funny 'out there' to make me laugh or at least tickle my funny bone. A saying about a scarf came across my screen first. Was just silly but made me giggle. 

Strange how some little thing can get me out of my funk. And then I found this picture of the small elephant, and suddenly, finally I was able to cry. Now I feel so much better. Relief. Sigh. That's the truth and I'm sticking to it. 

Signed in a more positive state of mind, The quilting cancer girl

My camping soul

 No. I haven't stopped writing my blog. I've taken these last weeks to tackle COVID. Yup. My turn around the Covid world, and thanks to medication provided by my oncologist, I am guessing my trip through this illness wasn't as bad as it could have been. Hallelujah!

My husband works at Lowe's. They stopped using masks some weeks ago. And so we both stared at each other and the wall together, wondering if soon we could be well and drive out to camp. That is what we live for every year...camp.

We are fortunate to have a campsite at Skyline Campground near Attica, NY. Wonderful friends there support and love us no matter what challenges we face. Together we tell stories about our relative winter adventures, all while sitting on the deck, around the campfire, or just standing and talking in the sunshine. It's the best.

The winter season - from October to May - drained my psychological and biological battery this last year. Trudging through the chemo journey and then surgery means the worst is behind me. Now I am hoping that camp will give me the boost to muddle through radiation so I can enjoy the rest of the summer. I need that camp recharge. 

Recipes are shared along with delectable creations, aimed at teasing the taste buds and keeping the weight on. Just this morning I had the best French toast casserole from the neighbor next door. It was to die for! I think I need that recipe!

In my book, this is the best time of year. As people open up their campsites and pine sap leaves its mark, anticipation for a pleasant, restful summer floats softly through the air. I breathe it in every May, recharging my 'self', after a long winter. It feels similar to those first days of vacation from elementary school in June. Our steps are a little lighter and summer laughter lifts our souls. 

I have already raked the campsite and swept the deck. A campfire is blazing - and it's only 11:00 a.m. The small shed is open so we can pull chairs out and set them around the fire. The awning is up; the picnic table is in place. And already I've had visits from three or four friends, just to catch up. 

We are tending our plants. I've walked the dog. My senses are enjoying the pine trees and soon the hammock gets hung. Now I'm about to share some molasses cookies with the neighbors, and later this afternoon, more friends check in from Phoenix, Arizona.  This is the life. We are living the dream. I am so blessed.

Signed an enthusiastic camper, The quilting cancer girl

Today's update

Last Thursday I had my follow-up appointment with the surgeon. Great news for all of us: I am cancer free. Such relief comes from those words!!! Instead of "You have cancer," it is, "You are cancer free."

Thursday was a chilly, sunny spring day and I tasted freedom from cancer overload, carried since last September. New beginnings. Along with the spring flowers and budding trees, I will bloom again.

Still, there is more to be done. Complete freedom does not surround me until after a month of radiation and continued infusions every three weeks into November. I have my consult appointment with the radiologist on May 24th. That is the day I learn of my radiation plan. How exciting!

The surgeon tells me I have the worst behind me (chemotherapy and surgery). She says radiation will be a piece of cake. Hmm. I know I am dreading the radiation even more than the other two, because of family history with radiation. My grandmother and mother both had radiation and it was bad. Today things are different, I am told, so I can relax and not worry.

You will be happy to know my energy is returning. Woot! Woot! I have completed several quilts in the past week or so. I am riding my bike and mowing the lawn. I've been baking and cooking again, much to my husband's delight. And yesterday we opened camp at the Skyline Campground out near Attica, NY. Feels so good to be back there. 

I continue my 'struggling hair farmer' status. Is my hair coming in? Yes. I am happy to announce. Yes!!!! However, I look like a brand new baby (or my dad at 98) with uneven short fuzz making my head itch. This too will pass. I know. The fuzz does give me hope for better hair in the future. I pray it comes in consistently so I don't have to wear a hat all summer.

Interestingly, the clinic presented me with three free summer caps at today's infusion. The nurses said I will like my hair again but not until November. November!!! Sigh. Patience is possible actually, knowing that I am cancer free. God has been good to me...to us! We have pulled together and I am succeeding because you love me. Thank you. Thank you. It really does take a whole year, and we are so good together. I am so blessed, and very grateful.

Signing out as the struggling hair farmer, The quilting cancer girl

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