Far Away

When I finished my radiation I jumped right back into life.

I just couldn't wait to move on and get this all over with.  I started a couch to 5k program.  I helped with the Women's Retreat at my church and I got a part time job at a local Historical Museum.
I was busy!  I loved it.

I quit running when my heart started flipping around in my chest and I couldn't catch my breath.  My body had been through so much and I had sat for so long that I just wasn't ready.  My knees began to hurt and then my hips.  I quit.

I was ready to get back to work.  I had a dress made in a 1920's style in order to work in a Farmhouse at the Museum.  It was great.  I got to learn the history of the museum, the family that lived in the house and some cools facts about the 20's.  The days were filled with school children and some adults who remembered their grandparents house looking just like the farmhouse I worked in.  I didn't realize I was wearing myself out.  I wasn't drinking enough water while working and I certainly wasn't eating as well either. I wound up getting a bit dizzy and falling down the cellar stairs.  I went home early that day.  Then talk of cooking in the farmhouse came up.  Uh, it's a coal stove.  Coal is a carcinogen. I was beginning to panic.  I can't be in a house with coal burning.....I decided to take a leave.  Maybe I'll go back next spring.

The Women's Retreat was the second one I had helped with in our church.  I was excited, but I felt lonely.  It was hard to explain.  God was my comfort, my healer, and my rock throughout my Cancer treatments.  I felt his presence closer than any other time in my life. Suddenly I felt alone.  I had gotten back into life and didn't invite Him in with me.  I was so ready to move on and do things, that I was unable to do, that I spent less time with Him.  I cried often.  I got angry.  How could he leave me now?  But it was me who left.  I had a hard time explaining it to others so I would just tear up and say "I'm so emotional, ya know."  I needed to slow down.  I needed to focus.  I did just that.  I took the time I needed. I stayed home, I worked in the garden, I took care of myself.

Now if I can remember to continue doing that.........

Here are some pics of my garden, my happy place.  While I'm working in the garden it's also a time I get to spend with God.

Fearless

It just hit me....I started to let tears fall, then I stood up.

1 year ago today I was referred to an Oncologist.  The fear.  I have come so far and truly put so much behind me, but I knew this week was the time I learned I may have cancer.

It became a whirl wind and I just got blown around with it.  I was weak.  I was fearful.  My life was up in the air and I couldn't catch it.

I can't believe where I am now. Five months out of cancer treatment.  I fought. I hid a lot pain from my family and friends.  I gave up a few times.  I was joyful and I was sorrowful.
Now I am preparing my little classroom for another school year filled with 3 classes and a total of 36 kids.  I took and passed my Ohio and National real estate exams in May and am now selling.  I am feeling the energy and strength I once had.  I am noticing a bit more patience.  Things just aren't getting to me as much.  Ah.....I guess I have figured out what's important in life.

I do panic once in a while.  I worry about what is going into my body.   What I am eating or breathing even what my skin may absorb. I still get teary when I go to the Doctor, the memories there just hit hard.  I'm sure that won't be forever.  I guess it's good that I am aware.

I am choosing to make each day count.  I am taking chances. I am using the good dishes.  I am taking the time.  I am living!

                                                                         
                                                                          

The Aftermath

I am now nearly 3 months out of treatment and into remission.  My hair is coming back and it looks like I meant to have this cute little haircut.  I walk around this world looking quite normal.  I wish I felt that way on the inside.

I may look good, but I am full of uncertainty and insecurities.  When I was diagnosed I had to learn a new normal.  Once I got that under control I was told it was over.  Now I have a another new normal.  It's a lonely normal.  Those who were there during my journey have faded away.  I understand they have a life of their own.  I sometimes feel that they may talk about me, but rarely with me. You do find out who your friends truly are in this process.

I am not teaching until the new school year, so I went out to find a new adventure for the summer.  I am a historical interpreter for a museum in our area. I get to wear a costume and work with new people.  However I tire really fast as my energy levels have not improved too quickly.  I work with many women who are my moms age and I feel silly needing to sit down or take a break, because they do not know what I have been through.  Do I tell them?  Why should I tell them.

Before I was diagnosed I had taken real estate classes, planning to teach and sell until my youngest got out of High School then I would sell full time.  I never got a chance to take my exams, because of the treatments.  This past month I began studying again and passed my State and National exams.  I'm nervous about starting another career, but I guess if I can get through Cancer I can accomplish anything.

Mexico

I had about 2 more chemo treatments to go when my husband came into the room with something behind his back.  He told me this was not my Christmas present but he just couldn't wait to give it to me.  He handed me a photo album with our wedding picture on the front.  Inside were his vows and more pictures of us and our children.  I flipped through the book in tears, finally landing on pictures of a tropical landscape. He had planned a trip for us to Mexico a month after my last radiation treatment.

Most of these pictures are in the evening, because I spent my days enjoying the sun, sand and water.

This was just what I needed.  After spending 8 months looking at the same walls of my house, I finally felt free!

Our days were spent in the sun and our evenings full of wonderful food, views, music and cards.

We took walks to town and also a taxi to the boardwalk, where we were intrigued with the culture and art.

 All of the sculptures were made of copper and were very interactive.

 Sand sculptures

A week away to remember who I really am.  No thoughts of Cancer or feelings of anxiety. Just living in the moment.

It's been a rough 9 months for both of us. We needed this time not as caretaker and patient, but Husband and Wife.  There is no other person in the world I would rather have by my side on this journey of life.  

Joy, Guilt, Fear, Healing

Joy

February 21, 2017 was the last of my radiation.  It really was rather insignificant in the eyes of the radiology team.  They handed me my mask to take home as a "souvenir",  (I truly did want it.) then sent me on my way.

I scheduled my port removal for that Thursday, 2 days after my last radiation.  I was excited.  I actually was looking forward to surgery.  That port was the last remaining reminder that I was sick.  I joked with the doctors and students while I waited.
7 days after the surgery I traveled to the Center to have my stitches removed.  One student that had followed me throughout the entire ordeal wanted to be in the room.  She made me feel like I had truly accomplished a feat. As I left the office, I jokingly said "I won't see you again, so thank you and have a great life."

Guilt

After leaving the Center I sat in my car and cried.  It did not feel like a happy cry.  I realized that the people who honestly know every emotion I have been feeling and all the hurt I hid, I would not see again.  The Dana Center at UTMC was a great source of support.

I finally went through the medicine cabinet and pulled out all of the pills prescribed to me during this great "detour" of my life.  These pills were to make my pain better and my nausea fade.  I did not take them.  As I open the full bottles I felt guilt that so many people have had to rely on these pills to keep going.  I did not.  I should be happy, but I can't help but feel that maybe I had it "easy".  So many people suffer terribly and I just went on.  Not saying I didn't have my days, but certainly not as bad as others.

I feel guilt for putting my family through this.  I know it was not my fault that I had Cancer, but the emotional toll on my family was terrible.  We all knew that this was not a Death Sentence for me, but it was hard. I'm pretty good at holding things in and not showing what I am really going through, I think I do that to spare them.  My youngest daughter recently told me that with all I was going through she never heard me complain and that she admired me for that.  Is that a good thing? She needs to know that it is alright to cry and show that you are hurt.

Fear

Now anything that hurts or feels out of the ordinary I get scared.  You have to know that I am not a person that sees the doctor for any little ailment, or big one for that matter.  Call it stubborn or stupid, it is what it is. That's why it took me so long to seek answers to my shoulder.  I no longer trust my Doctor.  After seeing him for my shoulder twice in 6 months, having multiple x-rays and prescriptions, and him looking through medical books to figure it out, I just am leery to ask his advice.  
Recently I had pain in my shin for over a week, I went to Urgent Care fearing a blood clot. Nope, just a sore muscle. This was a Saturday I got to spend with my husband.  We were planning to go see a movie and instead sat in a Doctors office. A year ago I would have just taken pain reliever and went on.
I called the radiologist yesterday because I have welts in the creases of my neck, on the same side I had radiation. Thinking it was a side effect of the radiation, but told to just use hydrocortisone and it will get better. Am I becoming a hypochondriac or this my new normal?

Healing

It seems easy to rejoice in the fact that I am done with Cancer.  Physically I hurt as well as emotionally.  My new chance is going to be riddled with questions and concerns.  I wonder how long the process will be.  I do know that my outlook on life has changed.  I want to go experience things.  I want to take chances.  I want to listen, talk, love and help.  I want to be a change for someone else.  I don't want to miss a thing this life has to offer.

It's Done

Daily radiation can start to wear on you.  I drive about an hour to get to the Dana Center for a 20 minute radiation then drive an hour home. Going into the Center is starting to make me "sick". The smell of the hand soap makes me nauseous. Even the smell of the mask they snap into place over my face is getting to me.  The one thing I do enjoy is the warm blankets.  Every time I lay on the hard table in the cold room, with my face smashed into the mask the warm blanket it what I look forward to.

I have only 3 more to go. My left shoulder and neck look sunburned.  Under my arm is black and I have scabs in the creases of my arm.  I'm told this will go away, but truthfully I really don't care. Going through all of this, you realize what is really important, and having a black arm pit isn't one of them.

This past week I had an appointment with my Oncologist. The Doctor pulled up my first PET scan  (positron emission tomography scan) a scan that uses a special dye with radioactive tracers to check disease is my body. My left shoulder was bright orange and red.  This shows where the cancer cells are. The cancer was in the lymph nodes under my arm, in my neck, in the muscle and then into the skin. Next the Doctor pulled up my most recent PET scan from January.  My shoulder was a drab gray.  I almost cried.  It was gone. I know my radiologist told me this, but actually seeing it was wonderful.

The Doctor then said he would see me in 3 months for a follow up.  Just on a whim I asked him when I could get my port removed.  He asked where it was located (my right upper chest) and said "Sure,
You don't need it anymore, why have it."  He then joked that he could cut it out himself today, unless I wanted the surgeon to do it.  I opted for the surgeon. 

It was that simple. After 8 months of surgeries, scans, chemo and radiation, it's over.  It's been the longest time in my life, yet it's been a relativity short time in the whole of my life. I'm excited and I am scared.  I'm pretty sure that anytime I feel "off" I will think it's cancer.  I wonder if I can do it without the people at the Center.  I will miss them terribly, as they have been with me every step of the way. So now the final surgery to remove the one thing that remains to show I am sick.  

I'm so thankful for my Church, my family and friends.  Whether they reached out to me or prayed quietly. I am ever grateful. 

I stepped into the room past a large metal door at least 12 inches thick.  I dropped my purse and coat onto the lone chair sitting in the expanse of space.  To my left were large wood like cabinets filled with masks like the one I made last week.  I stepped further into the large white room to see one "table" right in the middle.  A board really, draped with a white sheet.  I laid down while the nurses and attendants gathered supplies.  I looked above me at my reflection in the machine hanging inches from my face.  A nurse asked if I was ready for the mask.  She began lowering the yellow mesh over my face, I took a deep breath.  Not deep enough, while she snapped the mask into the table.  I started to panic.  It was tight, my face was not in it correctly, it hurt.  I waved my hands above me and she asked if I was alright.  I couldn't speak, I couldn't move.  She unsnapped the mask.  I took a breath.  I didn't realize I had to mentally prepare myself for this.

 Another nurse asked me if I wanted to listen to music to calm myself.  Within a few minutes I heard "Great are you Lord" by All Sons and Daughters.
While everyone was getting me prepped and I was breathing carefully in my mask.  I heard someone sing along with the radio.  I was comforted immediately.

Everyone left the room and I could hear the big door close.  I was alone, stuck to a table.

I laid on the table holding onto handles to keep my arms still, a board at my feet to keep me from moving.  I could only open my right eye to look "around" the room.  The table moved up and over.  Machines circled around me.  Clicking and whirring. The ceiling looks like a dome with wood panels and lights.  I'm singing along to the radio in my head. The only way to describe the feeling is like all the books and stories of alien abduction.   I get to do this 20 times!

Each time I go back it gets easier and faster. The result of the mask cracks me up each time.

It's so tight that I have the imprint.  I refer to it as the "Lizard Lady".  I'm so close to the end.

On Thursday after my radiation, the Doctor wanted to see me.  I went through the blood pressure, pulse and weight.  I am happy to report I lost 2 of the 14 pounds I gained.  The Doctor came running into the room.  Literally Running!  It was getting late in the day but he wanted to see me to see if I was doing alright with radiation. During our conversation, he casually mentioned the PET scan I had last week.  He told me that there were no signs of Lymphoma and that radiation was........Wait......What?  I'm sure he said more but I was stuck on No Lymphoma.  He just kind of skipped over that.  Wasn't that important?  The Chemo worked, I have no Lymphoma cells. Radiation is just to insure that it's totally gone.  I'm still cautious and haven't celebrated in any way at all, but as far as the scan goes.....It's GONE! 

The next step

My Chemo is done, over, finished and I am moving on.  I try really hard not to even think about it anymore.  Some of the side effects are moving on too.  I have feeling in my fingers, I'm only a little nauseated by smells, and my head looks like it's gaining wisps of blonde cotton candy.  So now I get to finish up with radiation.

I visited with my radiologist yesterday.  While I was in his office, we took another look at the PET scan I had done before this whole ordeal started.  On the scan my left shoulder is lit up orange and yellow like it was on fire.  Those are the cancer cells.  As the Doctor moved the picture around you can see some color on my neck and under my arm. The Doctor was discussing with medical students what we were seeing and said the cancer was in my muscle then it presented on the skin.  As I am watching and listening I begin to wonder...What if my shoulder never got red and hot?  How long would I have gone living with cancer and not knowing I had it?  Why did I get to have an outward sign of the cancer?  I started asking the Doctor and he was equally surprised that the mass had shown up on my skin.  Apparently this rarely happens, but that's why it was caught at stage 2.  Oddly I had run around for almost a year with that red splotch on my arm without taking it too seriously.  Other Doctors were unable to diagnose it so I just lived with it.

The Doctor was giving the run down of how he would like radiation to go.  5 days a week for 4 weeks.  20 treatments.  He wanted to have my head and shoulders immobilized to make sure every spot was treated equally each time I was in.  I was ushered into a changing room to put on a gown. Next I was taken to the radiology room to have a cast made of my head and shoulders.  The nurse was training a student so I got to hear how this was all going down.  First I was placed on a board with my knees over a bolster while the nurse began creating the pillow that would form around my head.  Next another board was placed at my feet with cords and handles I would hold to keep my shoulders from moving.  The Doctor then began marking my shoulder.  My shoulder is numb from the biopsy still, so when the Doctor was pushing on my shoulder asking me if this was where the red mark was, I had a bit of difficulty because I couldn't feel where he was touching. He taped my shoulder off and then I was told to keep my head turned to the right and close my eyes.

I felt a warm mesh laid on my face and shoulders.  I could hear the nurses snapping the form into place to the board.  I could breathe.  Pushing and forming the mesh to my face, neck and shoulders.  Cold water and clothes were laid on my face.  I'm still.  I can breathe. The mesh got tighter as it cooled. I tried to swallow but my chin couldn't move. I hear the nurse say she was going to start a scan and that I was doing really well.  She left.  I can't talk.  I can breathe.  The table began to move.  I was holding on to the handles.  I started repeating in my head...Ron, Olivia, Hannah.  Ron, Olivia, Hannah over and over to keep me from freaking out.  It was an eternity before I decided to open my eyes. I could only open my right eye and all I could see was the mesh and a bit of the lights on the ceiling. Ron, Olivia, Hannah, Ron, Olivia, Hannah...The nurse came back in.  She said the Doctor would have to look at the scan it would be a few more minutes, I was doing great.  I raised my thumb as I was still holding the handles.  Jesus, Ron, Olivia, Hannah, Jesus, Ron, Olivia, Hannah...The table began to move again and the nurses came back in the room.  I was ready to have them unsnap me and sit up.  First they had to mark the laser on the mask.  How long will this take?????? Finally they began unsnapping as they lifted the form I still could not move my head, that pillow had formed around the back of my skull keeping me looking to the right. Once they removed the board under my feet I could finally sit up.  I get to do this 20 times.