Thoughts on Tevye

I’ve always become a bit verklempt when certain events occur, and I know to expect it since it’s happened to me all my life. Some examples are times such as when The Star Spangled Banner is sung and everyone stands with their hands on their hearts--what a wonderful display of patriotism and pride. It happens when I’m at a parade and the marching band comes down the street playing its songs. It’s happened when my children have been in productions throughout their lives or when they’ve graduated or been given an award. But I honestly didn’t expect to have that feeling of choked emotion when it happened this past weekend as Barry took the stage in the role of Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof as part of a production with LTCC, our local community theatre.

It came upon me all of the sudden as he began the first little soliloquy. Then when he started singing the first song, I realized once again just how talented this man really is, and my heart filled with pride and my eyes with tears. What an amazing gift he has to be able to sing so beautifully and with such clarity. No need for a microphone for his booming voice either!

Although the entire cast did a great job in Fiddler, my favorite was Tevye. He made me laugh during the performance, and me makes me laugh in life. I’m so very proud of him.

Now, "talk amongst yourselves" a bit while I regain my composure.

Facing Goliath

Today's sermon was about David and Goliath and how we all have a Goliath of some sort in our lives.  Right off the bat, I started thinking about several Goliaths in my life, but I knew my biggest Goliath had been breast cancer.  I thought about family and friends whose Goliaths have been alcohol, drugs, debt, infidelity, grief and other biggies, and I realized that some of the Goliaths in life are choices, and others simply happen to us.  And I know that I didn't choose breast cancer--it chose me.

If we're smart enough, we fight against our Goliath just like David did and with his same faith.  David chose a slingshot, some smooth stones and no armor, and he beat the giant down in spite of the fact that he was just a boy and untrained in the ways of war.  His story is one of many examples in the Bible where God equips those who are called to do mighty things.

As I think on some of my friends who have conquered the Goliath in their lives, I feel like one of the cheerleaders in their camps, and it's almost as if I have been part of the battle.  After all, we all need people to believe in us and to cheer us on.  Barry always told his youth groups to edify each other and to lift one another up, because without the support of our friends, life is tough.  Several of his youth who are now adults have made a point to tell him that they still remember to edify others in life.  Lesson well learned, guys.

Although I feel the cancer Goliath has been conquered in my life, I still have reminders of how it almost got me.  I get check-ups every three months with my chemo oncologist and my radiation oncologist.  I get a mammogram every six months, and I see my surgeon once a year.  And because my tumor markers have been elevated on two occasions since finishing treatment, I've had two PET scans.  All of this is to make sure that my Goliath doesn't rear its ugly head back up into my life.  I dislike going to the doctor, but I'm thankful for modern technology and for these visits "just to make sure". 

My next visit to the chemo oncologist is this Wednesday, and I'm anxious, just as always.  I'm trying not to worry about the "what ifs", because I've been living life like a normal person.  Even though I have a scar on my breast and under my arm, I have trouble at times with discomfort in my right arm, and the hot flashes are fairly relentless, cancer is becoming a distant, unpleasant memory.  I have truly moved on!

I remember it being such a surreal feeling that people could just keep on going and doing, having fun and living life when I was going through the tough days of treatment.  How could they?  I know it's  the same way my friend Becky feels right now as she misses her mom and my good friend, Glenda.  How can people go on and be so happy while others are in the midst of the pain of grief?

For any of us who are dealing with an insurmountable Goliath, until the battle is won, we wonder how people can go on as if life is normal.  Although my Goliath is gone, the memory certainly lingers.  And life has gone on around my battle, whether I've liked it or not.

Glenda--The Ultimate Cake Lady and Friend

We met Glenda Garver in March of 1997 when Barry came in view of a call to First Baptist Church, Marion. Mark Baber drove us to Glenda’s house to practice a duet for that Sunday’s service, and he introduced us to one of the feistiest and most loving individuals I’d ever met--Glenda.

I remember practicing our song while she played, but more than that, I remember her telling us that day how beautiful her grandchildren were and her showing us a new picture to prove it. She showed us a photo of a little girl with long, dark hair wearing a flowing white dress, and I remember thinking that this child was definitely beautiful. It was her Hannah. Hannah and our Kelsey were the same age, so I was very interested in my youngest having a friend to make her feel at home in a new community. And good friends they became.

Glenda also showed us photos of some of the cakes she had made for birthdays, weddings and special occasions, and Barry was in love with her immediately. She took him to the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl of icing and just handed him a spoon--it might as well have been elixir of love! And to this day, I can’t tell you how many wonderful, absolutely delicious cakes Glenda has made for our family. The most recent cake was for Kelsey’s senior recital at OBU in April, and people LOVED the cake. Once you had a taste of a Glenda cake, all other birthday and wedding cakes just didn’t measure up. No kidding.

Once we came to FBC, Marion, Glenda and I worked together over cooking teams for Wednesday night suppers, and I got to see a different side to her. We planned menus, and she would make trips to wholesale distributors or to the grocery store to make sure we had what we needed each week for the meals. She would do whatever it took to make things work no matter how much time or effort was involved. She cared about people and about helping others when she could, and I could always depend on her.

Glenda went on mission trips with Barry on several occasions, and all he had to do was to ask her to be in charge of food for the trip. No worries from that point on! She had the job covered, and the mission team would look forward to breakfast, lunch and dinner prepared by Mrs. Glenda. One of my favorite stories from a First Presbyterian, West Memphis, mission trip to serve at The Kitchen in Springfield, was when Glenda left a big plate of cake with Sister Lorraine (the founder of The Kitchen ministries). Glenda told Sister Lorraine (who was around 82 yrs. old at the time) she was leaving a big plate of cake with her to share with the other two sisters who lived at The Little Portion. Sister Lorraine said that she would, and the mission crew returned home from the trip. About a week later, Glenda and Sister Lorraine were visiting on the telephone, and Sister Lorraine told her that she had a confession to make. She said, "Remember that plate of cake you left for us and asked me to share with the other sisters?" And of course, Glenda said she remembered the cake. Sister Lorraine said, "Well, I ate the entire plate of cake myself and didn’t share a bite!" Yes, Glenda’s cakes were that good. And I love that a Catholic nun made a confession to Glenda!

Glenda was also a wonderful seamstress, and she helped countless folks with hemming and altering over the years. She was as stubborn as they come, and although she helped me on many occasions, she would never take a dime for the work. Even with arthritis problems, she continued to play piano and to help others with sewing projects.

One part of Glenda that I loved and cherished over the years was her sense of loyalty to the people she believed in. I always said I wouldn’t want her for an enemy, but I certainly loved having her in my corner. I knew that no matter what, if me or my family needed anything, she would do her level best to meet that need. That’s just how she rolled. She passed that gene on to her daughter, Becky, and Becky has been known to take in stray people and animals over the years. She is compelled to help others as part of her basic nature--just like her mom.

Glenda had a dry wit and she could dish it out AND take it. I think that’s why so many people loved her. There were countless, wonderful aspects of Glenda Garver, and there is no way I can do justice to her in this simple blog. She was an amazing person, and my entire family will miss her dearly. How do you fill a the gap when someone such as Glenda is removed from your life? I’m praying that God will give us all a peace that passes understanding and that time will heal.

One thing I do know, we’ll always have a special place in our hearts for Glenda.

Simple Life. Simple Pleasures

My Grandma Allred was my dad’s paternal grandmother, and at the time I remember her, she lived in Bismarck, Arkansas, in a small, wood frame house with a porch across the front and a small porch to the side. I guess I was maybe eight or nine, and I remember Grandma Allred being very old. She had out-lived several husbands, and we called her husband at the time, "Mr. Carpenter". I thought for a long time his name was "Mr. Cobbinder" because that’s what I heard when Grandma Allred called him. I feel certain they were both older than dirt, and he eventually outlived my Grandma.

Grandma Allred was a tiny lady with a face so worn from weather and work that I was never sure if the wrinkles were from smiles or frowns, but I think they were from smiles. She was pleasant enough to visit with, and she always wanted to give us some little something from her house such as a doily or some home-canned goods. We’d look at mom for the okay, and she would either nod or shake her head if we were offered a gift. You just never knew what you might come home with.

I remember my mom taking us kids to visit them every month or so, and often mom would help Grandma Allred and Mr. Carpenter by cleaning out their refrigerator, straightening the house and cooking them a meal. Both of them had very poor eyesight at this point, and I recall a small, open container of jelly with a spoon on their dining table on top of a lazy Susan with a few other condiments. They never knew about the steady stream of ants mom cleared off the table when we were there, and that she dumped out the jelly dish and replaced it with a sealed jar of jelly. She cleaned out some of the canned goods, too, that had gone bad. Grandma would give her jars of the canned goods, and often they had not sealed properly, and mom would take them home and dump the contents into the trash. The old jars were still good for canning, and some of them were so old, they had glass lids. The contents were often dark brown, but Grandma would hand a jar to mom and say, "Now here’s a jar of peaches." Or, "I believe this one is muscadine preserves."

On one particular visit to Bismark, my brother, Steve, and I begged mom to let us go down the road to a little stream to play, and it was shallow enough water, so we were fine. I don’t remember ever seeing a snake or worrying about any, but I’m sure they must have been around. The water was perfectly clear in the stream, and we saw perch everywhere. We waded into the water and actually began catching fish with our hands, but we had nothing to put them in. We ran back to the house to tell mom that we were catching fish with our hands, and she gave us an old white, tin bucket from the side porch (the kind with the red rim around the top), and we took the bucket and began to catch a dozen or so perch. It was so much fun, and we proudly returned with our bucket full.

Steve helped mom clean the fish, and she added them to the meal along with the vegetables she had already started cooking while we were fishing. She made a lemon cake that day, and I can still remember there being no cake mix and mom just making it from scratch with flour, sugar, baking powder, sugar, etc. and some lemon flavoring she found in the cabinet. How did she know those ingredients would make a cake? I believe that was the first day I saw how much talent and work and ingenuity it took to be a good cook and manager of what you had on hand. Making do. She made a lemon buttercream icing, too, with margarine, powdered sugar and the same flavoring--nothing from a can or a mix.

And then we sat down to a great meal of fresh vegetables, fried perch, corn bread, iced tea and hot coffee and then lemon cake for dessert. What a feast! It’s been many years ago, but I still remember the fish and the lemon cake from that day.

Barry and I recently drove past the place where the house used to be, and there is another house located there now. I still think about our visits, and I’m glad mom took us to see Grandma Allred during the winter of her life. It gives me a perspective on things that I might not have had. They lived simply, Grandma and Mr. Carpenter. And they didn’t mind eating perch from the stream or having a meal from scratch prepared by my mom. Simple life. Simple pleasures.

Saying Goodbye to Melissa

Although I never met her, I prayed for Melissa Dockery every single day.  We both had breast cancer.  Just a week before I started treatment in the Fall of 2010, Melissa began treatment.  Our mutual friend, Anne, introduced us to each other via e-mail and Caring Bridge.  It shouldn't be this way, but Melissa died today.

My initial diagnosis was about the same as Melissa's, and we mostly e-mailed back and forth about our experiences with chemo and what was working for us to help with energy or nausea.  It was somewhat comforting to know another person going through similar treatment, and Melissa became a friend or a sort-of e-mail pen pal.

Within a couple of months, I learned our journeys were taking very different routes when they found Melissa also had esophageal cancer.

 As I continued and finished my breast cancer treatments, Melissa continued on with treatment after treatment for esophageal cancer which eventually took control of her body.  She kept such a positive attitude through it all.  In the midst of treatments, she traveled to New York City and also made a recent trip to San Diego with family, and she lived life to the fullest.   Melissa was smart, and as an ER doctor at UAMS, and she knew from her medical training that esophageal cancer was brutal and left no survivors.  She took advantage of the good times and focused on the people in her life, because she knew the most difficult times were ahead of her.

It has been a somber week for me as I have thought about Melissa and hospice, and it has taken me back to where we both were a year and a half ago.  I am very sad for Melissa's family, and I pray a peace that passes understanding for them as they deal with her loss.  I still say it just shouldn't happen this way when a person is still in the prime of working and living life.   But cancer isn't fair.

For the time that I knew you, I thank you for being the encourager that you were, Melissa.  You will be missed.

Just Us--Part of My New Normal

One of the fun parts of life with grown children is that Barry and I don't mind going off and doing things on our own.  We've actually taken several vacations without the girls, and we liked it!  This past Sunday, we went to church, had a nice lunch and then did a little shopping--just the two of us.  It was so pleasant with no one giving us their opinion, and it was amazing how easy it was to decide where to eat and where to shop!

As we went from place to place, I was struck with the realization of how good I felt.  I realized I am able to go and do without it taking a toll on me physically.  It's amazing!  Unless a person has been through chemo or radiation, I believe it is difficult to understand what it can do to disable you.  In the days following a dose of chemo, I can remember my legs literally shaking when I would stand for too long a period of time.  There were achy joints and bones that were relentless for days.  There was nausea, breathlessness, puffiness, racing thoughts, and just a feeling of being dog tired.  And yet, there was determination to get better and beat this thing.

And as time has gone by, I have gotten better and better and better, and now it's almost as if it was all just a very bad dream.  Oh, I know I will still have doctor's appointments every three months for a while to make sure the cancer hasn't crept back in, but I can't tell you how good it feels not to see a doctor each week, not to have blood work.

This realization hit me in the face as we were shopping, and I thought, "I feel good, and I'm not tired!"  I knew I wouldn't have to take a nap to recover from being out for the afternoon, and that felt wonderful.  I don't want to ever take for granted feeling good and being ABLE--I feel blessed to be out and about.  I am grateful for so many things.  Truly grateful.

I'm trying to get back to normal in other areas of my life that had to take a hiatus, but some things are slow upon returning to normal.  I need to lose weight, for instance, but that hasn't happened so far, and it will just be a topic for another day.  One area that I truly miss is singing in the church choir.  I haven't gone back to singing in the choir yet because I can't bear the thought of wearing a choir robe and having a stole up around my neck and then having hot flashes on Sunday mornings.  It's hot enough for me wearing short sleeves and sandals, and there truly might be a scene if I start throwing off my choir robe or other articles of clothing in the midst of a flash!

Since I've not been singing in a choir each week, my voice is not in as good a shape as it should be, and now we've promised to sing a duet at church in the next couple of weeks.  Barry and I practiced our duet this evening, and I could tell my voice wasn't as strong as it was before chemo.  I remember it being very weak during chemo, and I hated that.  I think it was inflammation, and I literally had difficulty speaking loudly without coughing.  Right now I believe the problem is lack of practice and lack of use.  After we finished going through the song a couple of times (and by then I was a little hoarse), I told Barry I was concerned about how I sounded.  He said, "Surely you know you sound good?"  I said, "I know I'm better than the average bear, but I just don't want to embarrass you."  And then he got me.  He said, "I'm never embarrassed by you.  When we sing together, we're like oxygen in air, we just go together."  Oh my.

Even though I'm feeling good these days, it may take me a while to get everything back to normal in my life, and I realize there are things that will have to be a "new" normal.  Regardless, I think I'll be just fine as long as I have my oxygen to help me!  Yes, I'm grateful, and I don't want to take anything for granted.

Easters and Deviled Eggs

I've always believed that every true Southern Belle needs a deviled egg plate and to know how to make deviled eggs.  I'm sure there are hundreds of recipes.  One of the local grocery stores where I live has a plate lunch, and last week one of the ladies behind the counter said to me, "And we have stuffed eggs today, too, Sweety."  Stuffed eggs?  I'd never heard them called that, but it works.

As Traci and I were talking tonight about deviled eggs and Easter things and the different ways people decorate and hide eggs, I was reminded of several Easters when my mom, my brothers and sisters and I would go to my grandparents' house when they lived in Heavener, Oklahoma.

My Papa was in charge of maintenance at Heavener High School,  and the three-bedroom home they lived in was right across the street from the school.  Once again, we all thought it was the coolest thing for them to live right on campus!  The house was situated on the edge of a field that was used for football parking, and the stadium loomed large in the distance.  I remember it being brand new at the time, but that was in the early 70's. 

One year, the City of Heavener had a community-wide Easter egg hunt on the Saturday before Easter, and my sister, Cheryl, who was maybe five or six at the time, found a prize egg!  She won a big, stuffed rabbit and even got her picture taken for the newspaper.  She was so very excited, and the rest of us were so very jealous.  Some weeks later, my Nanny and Papa mailed her a copy of the newspaper clipping showing this tow-headed little girl smiling shyly at the camera along with the other prize egg finders.

One Easter when I was in sixth grade, I saved up my money and bought some pierced earrings in the shape of white gold crosses.  My ears weren't pierced at the time, but I knew my Aunt Judy could do just about anything that had to do with cutting or fixing hair, and surely piercing ears wouldn't be an issue for her.  We went to Ben Franklin's and bought the largest needle they had (no kidding).  We numbed my ear with ice, and then Aunt Judy placed half of a potato behind my ear lobe and pierced both of my ears.  Yes, it hurt, but I was never so proud than to have those shiny crosses in my ears on Easter Sunday morning.

As to the deviled eggs, I remember us dying 12 dozen eggs one year.  There were a lot of us grandchildren, and it took quite a few eggs to fill our baskets.  After church that day as my Nanny, my mom and my aunts were finishing up on the lunch preparations, all of the kids hid and hunted eggs.  We had been at it for a while when I remember my Aunt Kaye Kaye coming out back to ask us for our cracked eggs.  We didn't want to give up the eggs, but they were needed for deviling in the kitchen.  As we looked through the baskets, some of the younger cousins cried to keep their broken eggs, but after some discussion and egg swapping, the crew reluctantly gave up our cracked eggs.  After all, they were difficult to hide without getting grass stuck in them.

My Traci can't believe we used eggs that had been on the ground, that had been cracked open and that had been out of refrigeration for hours.  But we did, and I lived to tell about it.  I don't remember any of us getting sick from the double use of the Easter eggs either.  My family was just being resourceful.  Granted, many of the eggs were tossed out, but the better ones found their way onto the lunch menu.

It's funny, but one thing I do remember seeing was a little bit of Easter egg dye every now and then on the whites of the eggs on the deviled egg plate. I ate around that part.

Nanny & Papa

Whenever my grandparents would call me during college or after I was married, they always had a slight inflection in their voices--a special tenderness when they said my name.  My Papa would just say, Vicki, but he would say it as if he were talking to a little girl.  Perhaps he saw me as the same little girl he had seen grow up from a baby.  My Nanny would call me, Vicki Ann, and she would also have a different pitch to her voice when she said my name.  Just thinking about their voices right now brings tears to my eyes because I feel transformed to the little girl they were seeing in their minds' eye.  My Papa has been gone now for more than a dozen years, and today is the day my Nanny died.  She was nearly 86.

Nanny was only 15 when she married Papa, a mere child bride--at least that's what she always called herself.  She had my mother when she was 16, and then my mother had me at 19.  Nanny was a 35-year-old grandmother and was much too young to be called a "Granny" or a "Grandma", but the name "Nanny" seemed appropriate for her, and that's what I called her as the first grandbaby.

I almost feel as if I grew up with her in some ways.  I remember her being a hard worker who didn't mind getting her hands dirty.  My grandparents ran a country store/gas station during my early childhood, and the store was near a railroad crossing where trains would switch cars.  I remember the haunting sounds of train whistles blowing at night and the clanking of the cars hitting each other as they were disconnected and reconnected.  I also remember seeing hobos sleeping propped up against the gas pumps occasionally, and Nanny would tell us to stay away from them.  But she'd send Papa out with some biscuits or some other type of food to make sure they didn't go away hungry.

Nanny's parents died fairly young of TB, and she quit school in 8th grade.  She got her GED years later after her children were grown.  While she lived in Oklahoma, she went to then Carl Albert Junior College to get every college credit hour she could.  I remember her working for Head Start as a cook and a driver, and she took a few of us grandkids with her at times (This was before privacy and seatbelt laws.)  I remember her driving a white station wagon with the back end of it chock full of children.  She flew over those dirt roads, and I recall the smell of the dust as it came through the car's open windows.  She also did a good job cooking at Head Start, but I remember the car rides the most.  Perhaps she put the fear of God in me with her driving?

She cooked for church camp, too, and I was proud that my grandmother could cook for all of the campers from the church.  That takes preparation and talent.

When I was in junior high, she and Papa moved back to Arkansas to work at the School For the Blind in Little Rock, and I helped them move into their apartment on the school grounds.  I thought it was so cool that they lived right there on campus.  Papa was in charge of maintenance for the school, and Nanny started out as a house parent.  She eventually got her Master's degree at UALR and had her certification in teaching the blind.  She taught at the school for many years before retiring.

I remember going to visit them in Little Rock on many occasions to sing at their little church, and Papa would take my car each time and fill it with gas, and at least one time I remember finding some extra spending money in the middle of my Bible when I got back to college.  They loved me.  When boom boxes first came out, Papa bought one that I swear was about three feet long, and at a special concert when I was in junior high, he propped that thing up on a seat in the front row just so he could get a better recording of me singing.  I think he still had the same boom box when he recorded me singing in college! 

Nanny and I USED to be the same height (5'7"), but she had scoliosis issues and eventually had to have a rod placed in her back.  Eventually the rod was removed, and she began to shrink, so she was a tiny, short person as she aged.  We also wore the same size shoe, but Nanny had bunions, and I can't tell you how many really nice pairs of shoes I inherited that were only worn once or twice.  She liked cute shoes, but cute wasn't always comfortable.  I've often told Barry that if there is anyone I was most like in the world, it was my Nanny.  I favor her and my build is very much how hers was some years ago.

My grandparents had to endure the loss of two of their daughters to cancer--one to liver cancer and one to uterine cancer.  It wasn't fair for their girls to be taken from them at 40 and 45, but cancer isn't fair, and it doesn't care about the age of its victims.  I know when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, it broke my Nanny's heart.  I believe she saw it as another death sentence for someone she loved.  My mother and my aunt faithfully printed off my CaringBridge posts for her and put them in a notebook so she could see how I was doing on a regular basis.  If I didn't give an update often enough, I got a phone call about it.

Both of my grandparents showed love for their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren by "doing" for them whenever they could, and they DID for all of us as often as their bodies, their time and their money would permit.  Honesty and integrity were important qualities to both of them, and they were so proud of all of us.  And in turn, I'm proud to have been their granddaughter.

Today I am thankful that Nanny, the child bride, is once again with my Papa, her Prince Charming.  And I know I'll see them again someday in Heaven.

Imps and Rubber Snakes

Anyone who knows my husband, knows that he can be a bit impish.  I'm not sure if it's because he works with young kids or if it's just his nature (I feel it's the latter), but I often accuse him of acting like a 5th grader.  No offense intended to any 5th graders, but you do hope they grow up and out of it.

When we were in Gulf Shores last weekend, we had no specific agenda other than lazing around, enjoying the beach and the ocean and of course, eating great seafood.  We hadn't been to Souvenir City in several  years, so after dinner one night, we decided to wander through the store.

We stopped right inside the shark's mouth to get a photo of Barry and his mom, and I sent the picture to our girls since this has always been a fun place for them since they were very young when we would go there on vacations.

We walked up and down the aisles, and we actually found  a few items of interest.  This place has everything a person can imagine that could be made out of a seashell or a coconut husk.  In addition to the treasures from the sea, there are t-shirts, trendy sandals, postcards, logo coffee mugs, toys and prank items--you name it.

At one point, I noticed a young mother following a boy of about three or four, and he was wreaking havoc with the things within arm's reach on the shelves.  Although his mom walked behind to try and corral him, it was easy to see the boy was in control.  We rounded a corner with Barry ahead of me but just behind the boy and his mother.   I noticed several items on the floor that the boy had played with and dropped, and I had actually picked up a few things to return them to the shelves.

About this time was when Barry and I heard a loud, "Barry Dean!  Did you do this?"  We turned around and saw Barry's mom holding her chest and looking down at a rubber snake on the floor at her feet.  Of course she thought he did it.  Made sense to me.   I had already blamed him a few minutes earlier when the same young boy "lost his manners" just ahead of us.  Could have been Barry, but he swears it wasn't.

I'm sure it was the little boy.

Strength and a Clear Scan

Good news first--my PET scan came back clear! Unless you've had cancer or taken care of someone with cancer, this may not mean as much to you, but it means the world to me and my family. I was able to get my scan on Wednesday morning, and then I drove over to Methodist Hospital to pick up the CD of the scan so that Dr. Peacock could look at it along with the report on Thursday morning.

I didn't sleep well the night before the scan, and knowing that I couldn't have anything to eat beforehand, I kept dreaming I was eating candy through the night, of all things! I'm not even a candy eater, and it made me very nervous in my dreams that I kept eating something I wasn't supposed to have. I didn't sleep well the night before my office visit, but I did dream that I got good news.

When I got to the cancer center yesterday, I noticed a Relay for Life sign on the wall with my name that some sweet ladies who work there had purchased. Very sweet. My brain was thinking, "I wonder if they put up the sign just to try to make me feel better?" Crazy, I know, but that's how my mind works.

While I was waiting for Dr. Peacock, his assistant took my vitals and then left. After a bit she came back in and told me the doctor wanted me to put on a gown. I said, "Well crap. That doesn't sound good. He just examined me last week." I reluctantly took off my shirt and bra and donned the gown, wondering what the doctor was looking for. When he came in the room, I know my heart was racing, and he began to explain the test results to me.

One of the things I have always appreciated about Dr. Peacock is that he never talks down to me. As the medical terms rolled off his tongue, my cloudy brain tried to decipher if he was saying "yes" or "no" to any additional cancer. While he talked, he looked at the scar on my breast and then again at the scars under my arm where my lymph nodes were removed, and he seemed satisfied. I finally said, "So there is no evidence of cancer?" And he said no, that the PET scan showed thickening of the scar line, and he was 100% sure it was as a result of my radiation treatments. Whew! Was that all? I'll take a thickened scar any day!

He didn't know exactly why my tumor markers were elevated, but it could be due to inflammation of some kind. Losing weight and eating bright veggies and more whole grains ought to help with that, and you should see the world of color I just bought at the grocery store!

One of the things I didn't want to Dr. Peacock to see (as he has lectured me about skin protection while out in the sun) was a strip of sunburn on my arm where I missed with the sunscreen last weekend. I didn't figure he'd examine me again, so when he had me put on the gown, he saw the skin peeling on my arm and of course he asked me about it. Busted. But I promised him I tried to cover up and that most of me got slathered with 100 SPF!

It's been a whirlwind week of fear, anxiety, relief and now elation. I've been given another shot in the arm of that feeling where you don't want to take things for granted ever again.

And tonight, Traci took Barry and me to dinner to one of our favorite places, The Bourbon Street Grill. Our regular waitress is Mary, a black girl who went to school with Traci and who has three kiddos. We enjoy having her wait on us, and we ask for her whenever we eat there. She knows about my cancer journey, and we've gone to the restaurant to celebrate on several occations. Mary asked me how I was doing, and I told her about my good news this past week. She hugged my neck and said, "You might think this is weird, but I think about you sometimes, and I wonder how you're doing." She said she feels as if she knows us better than most of her other customers. This was about the sweetest thing she could have said to me. I thanked her for thinking about me, and I asked her that whenever I come to mind like that for her to please just say a little prayer for me. She said she would.

The cirlce of life is tough, and it doesn't always follow along with our plans. I didn't expect cancer to interrupt my life at age 49 and to follow on my heels as it's done. I'm sure I'll be guarding against more cancer for the rest of my life, however long that might be. My grandmother, my sweet Nanny, is in the hospital right now in Little Rock, and she's in extremely critical condition following surgery on Wednesday. She's lived a long, sometimes hard, but a very good life, and she will be 86 next month. I was her first grandchild, and she was just 34 when I was born. I have many fond memories of her, and if there is anyone in the world who I am most like, it's her. She was always a strong woman.

I'm strong, too, and I am one fortunate gal, and I know it.

Elevated Tumor Markers

I have two friends in hospice care right now, and I feel a bit self-absorbed even writing about my slightly elevated tumor markers. I saw the radiation oncologist last week, and I had a great report. My blood pressure was good, I felt good and I was glad to be finished with another doctor's visit. The next day I saw my regular oncologist. Blood was drawn for my CBC, my complete metabolic panel and my tumor markers. The CBC was done right away, and the numbers were all good. The CMP came back on Thursday morning, and those numbers were also good.

The results on the tumor markers take a bit longer as they take the blood and mix an antibody with it to see how it reacts. Those results came back on Thursday afternoon, and they were up from last time, so the doctor was setting up a PET scan to check for more cancer. I wasn't expecting this news, and we had just arrived at the beach for our mini-vacation that Barry won last summer in a Facebook Contest about Gulf Shores. We stood in the parking lot of the condo, and Barry held me as I cried. I couldn't shake the sadness, and I literally wept for two hours. I even texted Traci and Kelsey the results because I knew I couldn't talk to them without crying. It was tough.

After hearing from my prayer circles, I started feeling better. I knew there was nothing I could do about the situation while I was at the beach, so I put on my PMA (positive mental attitude) and enjoyed the rest of the trip. It also helped that I saw dolphins swimming by each day. Who wouldn't have a good attitude when they see that?

For the technical explanation of my tumor markers, when I finished chemo last March, my numbers were at 35.5. Normal is 38 or below. A few weeks after my last chemo, my numbers rose to 39, and that's why Dr. Obaji sent me for a PET scan in May. The scan was clear, so my higher numbers didn't mean anything at the time.

At my next visit, my numbers were in the mid-30s, and then in November, my tumor markers were at 37.5--creeping back up. Last week, they were 40.2, so I'm on my way to get a new PET scan this week. Once again, you can think you've escaped from the clutches of cancer, but it will find you if only to freak you out for a week or so until you know what the heck is happening inside your body. Although time is moving, it is standing still for me as I ponder the what ifs.

And in all honesty, my life has resumed a normal ebb and flow over the past months, and I like it. There are things I want to do and that I will do, but it's almost as if a limiter has been placed on me until I hear the results of the scan.

My friend, Tracy, described me this week to another cancer survivor, and she said, "Vicki's the kind of person who is an over-achiever, someone who has to have the highest score on everything. It's probably the same way with her tumor markers!" I'm hoping she's right. (Although I don't know if this is how I would describe me, lol.)

I do know that I'm going to be okay on this journey. I'm sitting here thinking about my friends in hospice, and I'm praying for their comfort and for their freedom from fear. I'm praying for their families, too.

Cancer really bites and it is no respecter of persons, and I don't like it disrespecting me or my friends and family. Please pray that I have a good PET scan and that cancer will leave me alone. Forever!

Ash Thursday

Back in 2001, my friend, Bess Jenkins, moved back to this part of Arkansas after living most of her adult life in Lake Village.  While she had been raised a Baptist, she married a Catholic, and over the years, she became a very devout Catholic.  When she moved to Marion, she was already at retirement age, but she’s one of those folks who think they need to keep on working so they won’t be a burden to their children.  So she came to work at the same law firm where I worked, and we became good friends.  I loved it that we could be close friends even with more than 20 years of difference in our ages.

We’ve remained close over the years, and I know she holds no hard feelings for the prank that Barry played on her early in our friendship that I call “Ash Thursday”.  The day before my breast cancer surgery, she brought over a big pot of delicious, chicken noodle soup and one of the best German Chocolate Cakes I’ve had in years, so I think we’re okay.

Here’s what happened on Ash Thursday:

Bess must have been pretty busy on Ash Wednesday of 2002, because she totally forgot about it until Thursday morning.  Feeling pretty remorseful, she told me about it at work that morning, and then I shared it with Barry when I went home for lunch.  Being the prankster that he can be, he called Bess immediately  and pretended to be “Father O’Malley” from the Catholic Church in West Memphis.  There is no Father O’Malley at the church.

He told Bess that he hadn’t noticed her name on the list of folks which he said they often pass down the pew for parishioners to sign when they attend Mass, and he was just calling to check on her since he knew she missed Ash Wednesday.  I don’t know where he comes up with this stuff, but Bess bought it, hook, line and sinker.  She began to confess right there over the phone, and I could hear her saying, “Father, I got so busy yesterday that I totally forgot about it” and “I’m so sorry Father.”  Then Barry offered to do a makeup Ash Wednesday session or an “Ash Thursday” if you will.  I was laughing, but at the same time, I didn’t want to hurt Bess’s feelings, and I was sitting across from him telling him to let her off the hook.  I had to work with her after all, and I wasn’t sure how she’d take this.

After trying to interrupt her several times, Bess finally stopped apologizing for missing Ash Wednesday.  When the realization of the prank set in, I heard her say, “Barry Bates, you just wait!”   We all laughed about it, and it’s been a story worth re-telling over the year.  I’m just glad she was so good-natured and we were able to remain friends.

(And not to make light of this observance, but if anyone missed Ash Wednesday, please know that my husband will gladly perform make up services if needed--just might put you a little behind on Lent.)

Two out of Three Ain't Bad

I still miss All My Children, and out of sheer force of a 30-year habit, I come in each day during my lunch hour and turn the television to ABC.  The Chew is what greets me now.  And it's not that I dislike The Chew, but it just seems wrong that it took the place of my soap opera.  This past Friday as I watched  Michael Symon  cooking, I thought it might be good to try the dish he prepared called "Orecchiette with Sausage and Swiss Chard".

Barry and I bought groceries on Friday night, and nowhere at Kroger could we find Orecchiette.  By the way, Orecchiette is shaped like a tiny ear, and it gets its name from the Italian word "orecchio" meaning ear.  I knew I needed a pasta similar to the orecchiette to hold the light sauce in the recipe, so I studied all of the pastas on the aisle.  The one I came up with was "Campanelle" pasta, and each piece of pasta was shaped like a little bouquet of flowers.  It wasn't even close to the orecchiette, but it was cute pasta.  That counts, right?

And I blame this on living in a small town, but we often can't find ingredients that stores in larger cities might carry.  I guess I could have driven to Memphis for the Swiss Chard, but it wasn't worth it to me for this one ingredient.  I stood in front of the various greens in the produce section, and they offered mustard, turnip and collard, but no chard.  I finally decided that fresh spinach would substitute nicely for the chard, and the flavor would be fairly mild with its addition to the dish.

So last night, I put all of the ingredients together, and it made a lovely, lemony pasta dish with Italian sausage and spinach.  Barry and I liked it well enough to make it again, but Traci didn't care for it much.  Although I really enjoy trying new dishes, it's great when I hit a homerun with one.  This one wasn't quite a homer since Traci didn't like it, but I'll try again.  Two liking it out of three ain't bad!

December 7, 2011

I continue to be amazed at how many lives are touched by cancer. There is hardly a day goes by that I don’t learn of someone new who is going through this battle. Pretty scary when you think about it. I count myself as one of the lucky ones since I’m doing well. My mammogram was good in September, and my tumor markers were below "normal" in November. Barring any unforeseen complications or issues, I don’t see the doctor again until March. I didn’t even have any cavities at my last dental visit! This all makes me happy for the here and now of my life.

I have recently begun praying for a young woman who was just diagnosed with breast cancer that has metasticized to a couple of places in her body. She has an eight-month old baby, and she tells in her story on CaringBridge of how she has plans of being around to raise her baby, so she’s fighting ultra hard to beat this thing. Although my babies are nearly 22 and 25, I know how she feels about wanting to be there for your children. I remember when my girls were very young, and I would pray that God would protect me and keep me safe and well so that I could raise them and so that they would know me. That may seem a bit selfish on my part, but I really do enjoy my girls. I love them more than life itself, and I am so proud of the wonderful, talented young women they have become. But regardless of how grown up or independent they may be now, I still think they need their mama around for a while.

Cancer doesn’t care who it touches, and I learned last night of a toddler from Wynne who was just diagnosed with leukemia on Monday and began chemotherapy on Tuesday. I have never dealt with this disease from a parent’s standpoint, but I can’t imagine watching my child go through treatment. It ought not be that way.

My heart is also hurting right now for a fellow breast cancer patient who was diagnosed just ahead of me last year. She also has esophageal cancer. We compared notes at first, and both of us did pretty well with treatment. But as I finished my treatments, new spots were discovered in her body of where the esophageal cancer had spread. She’s been such a fighter, but the doctor told her just this week that she probably has only 6-8 months to live. What do you say to someone in that situation? I’ve tried to think about it, and I honestly don’t know what I would want people to say to me.

Another friend who lives in South Arkansas just learned that her husband has cancer, pretty much all over his body. The news wasn’t good, and he’s in quite a bit of pain right now. I think all of those who know this family are hurting for them, too.

In spite of all of this "bad" happening all around me, it snowed about three inches of lovely, pristine whiteness on everything this morning. It was so exciting to see the beauty of the snow and enjoy how clean it made things appear. It’s funny how there can be dirty, nastiness in life, and yet something like snow can make it appear a bit better. The pain and despair of cancer is still there, and little can change that. But there CAN be hope for each one of us, particularly during this season of hope.

I want to be and long to be around for my girls and for Barry for a long time to come. And I must qualify what I have written today with the fact that my news has been good recently, so I am upbeat in how I feel about life. I don’t know what I would be writing if my news had been bad. It’s easy for circumstances to color our attitudes and outlooks.

In the here and now, and in spite of frequent hot flashes from my Tamoxifen, I am keeping myself busy most evenings making Christmas goodies, decorating and enjoying the Christmas tree. I am taking it one day at a time, and I’m enjoying feeling good. It’s a far cry from where I was this time last year.

September 20, 2011 - A Year Later

I got my first mammogram last week--post-surgery, post-chemo and post-radiation, and it was good!  I don't know what I would have done if it hadn't been good, but it was good nonetheless.   I feel very healthy right now, and my hair has grown back enough that I've actually had two haircuts!  The hair right around my face is grayer than it was before, and I don't know if it will remain that way or if it will eventually darken a bit.  Even it stays gray, I like to consider it as if those are my new highlights.  My profile picture was taken about four weeks ago just after my second haircut.

I had a visit with my surgeon yesterday for him to look at the mammogram and examine me almost a year to the date from when my biopsy came back as breast cancer.  Dr. Whitt said everything looked good, and that's the kind of report you want to hear from the doctor.  I asked him if I could resume what I consider normal activities with my right arm, and he said I could lift things that were 15-20 pounds with no problem.  I told him I had been doing that for nearly a year now, but that I would try not to lift any sofas or pianos.  He says I'm okay to do yard work and just about anything I need to do in the house.  Woo hoo!  He even said I could go back to an underwire bra when the tenderness is gone, and although the surgery site is no longer tender, there is a bit of lingering tenderness from where I had radiation.  Still, it's all good news.

I remember this time last year when I learned of my breast cancer, it seemed so surreal that life could just go on for everyone else when I was suffering from an indescribable pain.   Although none of us know what the future holds, having cancer gives a definite reality check with so much unknown of how the body will respond to chemo or radiation or if the cancer will be eradicated.  I tried not to compare my breast cancer to that of other people, but it was hard.  Someone would have a better prognosis and others would have worse.  I learned it was best just to think about my own situation and continue to pray for everyone else who had cancer since no two people are alike.  Life does go on in spite of cancer.

I sit here today, thankful that my treatment is over and thankful that I'm not faced with months of not feeling well. It sounds crazy, but I can hear about a friend going through chemo and experiencing difficulty, and I get queasy.  Seriously.  I wonder if it will always be that way?  Even though I know chemo can kill cancer cells, I feel in my heart that someday there will be a better way.  People shouldn't have to get so sick in a fight to get well.

As to my immediate future, I see my oncologists every three months to check tumor markers, etc., get a mammogram (right side) every six months, and then a full mammogram once a year.  All of this goes on for two years, then the time between doctor visits gets longer.  I am taking Tamoxifen twice a day to keep estrogen levels down since my breast cancer was estrogen positive, and the main side effect I am having from the drug is hot flashes.   Lucky me.

I am just happy to be here, and I hope to be around for a long time to come.

August 1, 2011

I know the theme song from Cheers says, "Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name," but after ten months of surgery, chemo and radiation, everybody knows my name at Bethesda Cancer Center.  It's not a bad thing, but I don't think it's quite the same experience as sitting around in a bar atmosphere sharing a drink or two with good friends.  At the cancer center, we swapped all kinds of stories and suggestions, but the only liquids we shared were in bags attached to IV poles.  Pity.

I didn't miss going to the cancer center the first week following the end of my treatment, because we headed to the beach.  And let me clarify that Barry and the girls spent time on the beach and at the pool while I was in the condo most of the time due to sensitivity to sun.  Like a vampire, I would emerge from the building each night about 7:00 and enjoy the ocean for about an hour and a half.  It wasn't too bad, but I did miss being with my family having fun during the day.  A pod of dolphins swam by each day, and I LOVED watching them through the binoculars.  What a blessing!

After we returned home and I would drive to work, I thought about my radiation buddies who were still in treatment just down the road, and part of me wanted to go by and see them.  But part of me was
glad to stay away.

I had my two week post-radiation visit last Thursday, and the doctor said everything looked good.  Other than the burns to my collarbone area, my skin held up pretty well, and even the burns have healed to a lovely suntan color.  I am still very tender in the radiation entry point areas, but I've been able to wear a bra just about every single day for the past week, and that's progress.

My next doctor's visit will be a mammogram in September (both breasts and then one every six months on the right breast).  After this next mammogram, I'll have a visit with my surgeon to check on post-surgical changes, post-chemo and radiation changes, and then I'll have a visit with my radiation oncologist for him to look at the mammogram, too. 

My chemo oncologist examined me Thursday, and they drew blood for a complete metabolic panel as well as to check tumor markers.  My next visit with him is in November, and then every three months after that for two years.  My liver enzymes are slightly elevated, but that's to be expected.  I'm also overweight, and I plan on doing something about that as soon as the temperature outside is comfortable enough to do anything more energetic than just breathing!

My tumor markers didn't come back until today, and I was a bit anxious waiting on them since they were one point over normal last time.  They are at 35.4 right now, and for that I am grateful.  I don't know why the markers are lower than last time other than chemo is a four-months-ago bad memory at this point, and I began taking Tamoxifen just over a week ago.  Maybe the drug lowered my estrogen significantly in just a few days.  Who knows?  Dr. Obaji asked me if I had experienced any hot flashes yet, and asked him how soon that would happen.  His response was, "Immediately."  I thought I was having a hot flash on Sunday morning at church, and I fanned myself with my bulletin, but then I noticed Barry fanning himself, too.  Are hot flashes catching?

I've joked about Barry being my "pool boy" over the past couple of months because he is out in our pool just about every day, and he's done an amazing job keeping it pristine.  We were out in the pool over the weekend (yes, after 7:00 when the sun was setting), and I looked over at him and thanked him very sincerely for sticking with me and taking care of me over the past ten months of pretty much uncertain times.  He looked at me and saw the tears glistening, and he said he loved me.  I don't know what I would have done without him and his steadfastness.

Just so you'll know, I may not update on here as often as I have in the past.  I am doing well, and if there is anything you can pray for as far as I'm concerned it's for my right arm.  I haven't experienced lymphedema, but doing very much at all gives my arm a feeling of fullness in my underarm and forearm, and I'm constantly aware of the changes in my arm over the past year.  I am hoping some of this will get better as the nerves have time to heal from all that's happened to them.

I WILL update after doctor's visits and if anything significant happens.  For now, I am thankful not to have as much to write about.

July 10, 2011 - Nearing the End

Tomorrow marks the end of ten months of cancer treatment, and although I haven't enjoyed the time in treatment, I am a little frightened of being finished.  With the pain and discomfort I've experienced, I've known the cancer was being battered and torn apart with each chemical or shot from the laser beam.  My consolation of being finished with treatments at the doctor's office is that I will be taking Tamoxifen for at least five years to keep down estrogen levels, and I'm told my breast cancer was estrogen fed.  Take that, cancer!

Someone told me the other day that they hadn't called me or written to me since my diagnosis because they didn't know what to say.  I told them that I was pretty much the same way toward others before I was diagnosed myself.  But oh my goodness what a tiny tumor can make in my attitude toward this dreaded disease.

I have learned that people with cancer do not need to be left alone to heal on their own.  They NEED cards, letters, notes of encouragement, occasional meals, a little happy every now and then, a cup of Sonic ice, gift cards, money for doctor's bills or "to go" food.  A diagnosis and the treatment of cancer can literally consume a person, making it difficult for them to function anywhere near normal, and just getting through the day can be a major accomplishment.

I have been so fortunate to be blessed with friends and family who have been attentive to me during this great unpleasantness.  I know that Barry and the girls are so glad for me getting closer to being "back to normal", and I love them for their patience.  I don't think they always understood, but they were always good to help me in any way they could.  What more could I ask?

And I can't even begin to tell people how fortunate I have been with my job and the people I work with.  Seeing me on a daily basis, my good friend, Tracy, would know when I was having a particularly difficult time, and I don't know how many times she had a little suss in my chair just to brighten my day or try to help me to feel better.  Each time I had chemo, Mike and Cathy Mayton would send a gift to me to give me courage--that first gift included the pink boxing gloves and the sign they painted that said, "Fight Like a "Girl"!  And that's been just what I've tried to do, fight as hard as I could along the way.  On Friday, Cathy Edwards had a bouquet of flowers on my desk just to help me feel better--she knew how much the burn on my neck was hurting me.  Other co-workers have given me gifts of money and gift certificates for food and sent flowers along the way.  I think I'm one of the most fortunate people in the world to be blessed with this type of work family.

So many friends have been there to stand in the gap for us--Janie for taking me to and from treatment many times or being with me at the hospital for different procedures.  Bless her heart for having to watch me "lose my cookies" more than once!

My EEE friends have sent notes of encouragement, flowers and food, and it's been 28 years since we were classmates.  Lots of loyalteee!  I just love my gal pals!

My small group circle of friends have been wonderful prayer warriors, and they've also brought food and sent cards and letters to help me heal.  Three of ten in the group have dealt with cancer issues, and more than that have had close relatives who fought cancer. 

Faith Baptist Church of Cabot sent the wonderful lap blanket early on, and I have continued to get cards each month from them to lift me up.

Hillside Baptist Church in Camden has sent me prayer cards every single week, and I just love those folks!  Our girls were born when we lived in Camden, and that place holds a special place in my heart.  What a wonderful ministry, and I always think of the postage expense they have shouldered over the years to continue sending out prayers cards--what a blessing!

There have been so many who have just dropped by to bring something or who have helped us in some way, and for each of you, I am so grateful. I still get a card every single Monday from a lady in Enid, Oklahoma who prays for me daily.  Amazing.

I pray first each morning for my friends who have been affected by cancer whether they are survivors, family members or individuals in the throes of treatment.  I want to lift them to God first because I know some of the issues they're facing.

As to my continuing journey, my last radiation is tomorrow, and then I won't see the radiation oncologist for two weeks.  The skin on my neck was at its worst this past Thursday, and it was a very uncomfortable day.  I had to wear a bandage over the burn on my collarbone (3 1/2" X 2" area) when we went to Memphis that day, and when I took off the bandage, nearly all the skin came off with it.  Yes, it hurt like the dickens, but once all the skin came off, it's been better and better ever since.  I still have a nasty-looking place on my neck and collarbone, but it's not so gruesome that I can't go out and about with that area exposed.

I'm also still not wearing a bra because of the discomfort, but I am hopeful that I can wear one in the next couple of weeks.  The skin is just too warm and fragile to wear anything that fits snugly in the treated area.

I see the chemo oncologist in just over two weeks, and he will draw blood and check tumor markers once again.  I'm hopeful all future visits will be uneventful, but I'm told by other cancer survivors that every test or scan brings many days of anxiety and fear of what could be.  I've now graduated to this group of "waiters".  Once again, the joys of dealing with cancer never truly go away.  When people say, "The scan was clear--no cancer!", it is a reason for celebration.  Unfortunately, it doesn't mean there will be no more treatments or issues related to cancer.

I'm told I will get a baseline mammogram in September which the doctor has warned me will be "abnormal" based on all of the changes from surgery and treatment this year.  I will see the chemo oncologist every three months for a while to check tumor markers, and we are counting on them being normal or below normal.  That's the hope of all cancer survivors.

I would ask that you please keep praying for me and all of the cancer-treatment-related issues I'm still having.  I feel like damaged goods at this point in my life, but I am so very thankful for those of you who love me anyway, warts and all.

July 2, 2011 - Scary Monkey

The view above my radiation table has a textured ceiling, and when the beam hasn't been directly bove me, I've picked out several different designs in the texture.  I've found a pumpkin with a nice pointy stem.  I've found the face of comedy, but thankfully, I've never found tragedy.  I've found the profile of the Grinch, and among other designs, I've found an angry, scary monkey up there.  I can still pick out all of these things in the tiles above me, but over the past week or so, I've lost the monkey.  He's just disappeared.  I'm kind of glad I lost him, because he was a bit scary to me, and monkeys aren't supposed to be scary. Ok, maybe if they're the flying monkeys on The Wizard of Oz.

As I looked for the monkey the other day, I thought of how he symbolized the scariness of radiation when I first started six weeks ago.  I was angry at having to even do something like this to my body, knowing that the effects aren't just what I'm feeling now, but effects that I will be subject to for the rest of my life.  I've had ten months of treatments, long, scared waits for test results, nausea, changes in physical appearance and in habits--changes for a lifetime.

My surgery in September changed me forever, and having my lymph nodes removed is something I wish had not happened, but it did, and now I get to deal with a host of potential issues in my right arm. I'm constantly aware of my arm and the tightness and discomfort that will never go away.  Radiation has made it worse, and it's made me be extra cautious with my arm.

And rightly so, my family is being very protective of me and of what I do with my right arm.  In spite of their arguments, I waited tonight until the sun was starting to set, and I went out with my hand clippers and trimmed some small limbs that were hanging down from the trees in the yard.  I can't stand being inside and not doing anything at all outside.  Having my right arm up over my head is a good thing, and as long as I don't overuse it or injure it, activity is good for my arm.  Besides, I only used my right arm and hand to hold limbs.  I used the "good" hand so much that I now have a lovely blister at the base of my thumb!  Serves me right.

Honestly, if I quit doing, what quality of life will I have?  I am the first to admit that I'm very stubborn, and after I recover from this stint with radiation, I'm not sure how much of my "used to" activity I'll be giving up for good.  It's hard not to do when it's what I've done forever.

I posted some pictures of what my neck looks like right now.  I didn't really understand what the doctor meant about skin breakdown until one day last week when one of the little moles on my neck turned black from being fried with radiation, and when I scratched at it, my skin peeled off like a peach.  As the week progressed, Kelsey said my neck looked burgundy rather than just pink or red, and in the evening it IS a purplish burgundy.  I can't put cortisone on it now since the skin is broken, so I'm just using Aquafor to keep it from burning and itching.

The rest of my skin is holding up very well right now, but it's still too tender to wear a bra.  My last five treatments (yes, I only have five more!) are directly to the tumor bed straight into my breast.  The doctor drew a kidney-shaped mark on part of my breast (an area smaller than a chlid's fist), and the treatments that start Tuesday will be shot from three inches away straight into that area.  I'm told I shouldn't be able to tell a difference from the other treatments I've been getting, and I hope I can't tell a difference.  One of my biggest issues all along with cancer treatment has been that I want to know what will happen, what to expect, what I need to do, what they are going to do--all before it happens.  I don't do as well with the unexpected.

I didn't expect cancer to strike when I found the tumor last September, and there have been many times when I've had to fight the urge to pull out chemo tubes or jump off the radiation table and just run away.  But I'm still working to finish up what has been started to cure me, and I'm hoping to be cured.  I know there will be more blood tests, more PET scans, more of all of it which will mean more tense waiting in my future.  Bring it on.  We are never promised life without issues.

And I'm glad the angry/scary monkey has made himself scarce these days, because I don't need that in my life right now. Maybe he's moved on because he knows I'm about finished with radiation.  Maybe he's only there when people ARE angry or scared.

June 24, 2011

Today marked treatment #23 for me, and I'm not very comfortable right now.  My right underarm and the bottom side of my right upper arm are tight and a bit swollen--probably a bit of fluid and for sure some affected muscles.  Having two days of freedom ahead of me from the laser beam is a wonderful prospect.

I noticed at the end of last week and over the weekend that the right side of my neck was becoming very red, and since I've been one to break out in hives occasionally, I didn't think that much of it.  When I noticed a definite line just to the right of center on my body where the redness started, I felt as if it had to do with the radiation treatments.  On Monday, I asked the radiation tech why my neck was so red, and she explained to me that my treatment field went all the way up over the lymph glands in my neck.  I knew the lymph glands at the top of my breast were being radiated, but I didn't know about the ones in my upper clavicular and neck areas.  I asked the tech if my lymph glands would be damaged from the radiation, and of course she said I would need to speak to the doctor about it.

Learning of this radiated area threw me considerably, and I got very quiet.  She half-jokingly asked if I was upset with her, and I told her, no, and that it wasn't her fault I was having to get treatment such as this.  She then explained the protocols that they were following to give me a longer life and to hopefully keep down any recurrence of my breast cancer.

The next day when I saw the doctor, I asked him about the treatment field all the way up my neck and shoulder, and he said, "We talked about this."
No, we did not.

You can ask just about anyone who knows me well, and there are certain things (unfortunately both good and bad) that I do not forget--Barry calls me an elephant.  As a singer, I believe I would have remembered that the edge of my voice box and vocal cords were being radiated.  I would have come home and talked about it, and I would have written about it here.  I believe I would have remembered being told that the corner of my thyroid was being radiated as well.  So it must have been someone else in that discussion with the doctor.

I asked if my lymph nodes would be damaged and if they would be able to drain infection from my body, and the doctor said they would be damaged temporarily but they should recover eventually.  How fun is that?  Eventually.  He said I might be a little hoarse for a while, but my vocal cords would also recover.  He also said that the amount of radiation hitting my thyroid was "therapeutic" and that it shouldn't cause thyroid cancer that comes from radiation exposure.  Hmmm.  This was a lot for me to contemplate, and it made me overwhelmed to think of the whole process.  The doctor explained to me, again, as the tech had, that the treatment they were giving me was protocol to add to my life expectancy.

Maybe so, but how do they come up with the magic number of 33 treatments?  Did people have a greater recurrence with only 25 treatments?  I want to understand more of why this has had to be done to my body.  I've never been one to buy into the old saying that something is done because that's the way it's always been done or because that's what everyone is doing now.  And yes, I'm hardheaded and difficult at times, but I'm doing everything they are asking me to do.  I had all eight chemos with the three drugs they said I needed.  I've endured 23 days of radiation and will have ten more radiation treatments with the amounts they say I need--for protocol sake and hopefully and ultimately for my sake.

Don't get me wrong, I am very thankful that I have health insurance and a cancer policy and that there is a treatment center nearby with nice people who will listen to my concerns and answer my questions.  I don't have to like any of it, though.  I think I would rather be told about "protocol" from someone who has been through treatment because they honestly know what it's like.  I asked the oncologist one day if he had ever had chemo before, and I think it startled him.  He said, "No."  And I told him that he could visually see what happens with a patient getting Adriamycin, but he would never know what it felt like unless he ever had to take the drug.

As I read back over my words, I know I sound harsh, but I want to be honest here.  Once again, cancer absolutely sucks.  Treatment has placed on hold much of my life for the past ten months, and I am thankful there is light at the end of the tunnel for me.  That being said, the trade off for good health and being alive is the ultimate goal, and I am truly thankful that I am cancer-free.

As to where I find myself right now, I haven't worn a bra for more than two weeks because the elastic is just too much for my tender underarm.  I bought a radiation camisole from the American Cancer Society website, and although the shoulder straps show under my clothing, it has definitely helped me as I go to work or if I want to be out and around people.  It DOES insulate the heat, however, and by the end of the day, my breast and underarm are very red.  My skin is still in decent condition, so I'm hopeful there will be no blisters or breakdown of the tissue.

I have a good rapport now with my radiation buddy who has throat cancer, and when I came out of treatment on Thursday, I didn't realize he was seated right beside the door where I stopped for a moment to speak to my chemo buddy, Robbie.  He nudged me and sort of grinned, and asked me how I was.  I told him I was good, and I asked how his throat was, and he said it was better.  I cocked my head to the side and asked if he was telling the truth about his throat, and the whole room laughed.  One lady said, "Honey, that's what we tell people when they ask how we are."  And she's right.

I looked around the room at the group of unlikely friends, and I realized we all had a commonality.  Cancer.  Some of us are going to win the battle, but others are not, unfortunately.  Every single one of us, though, are fighting like hell to make it to next week, next month and next year.

June 19, 2011 - Father's Day

We've had a great Father's Day today with lunch at a Carrabba's in Memphis, then a little bit of shopping. I actually wore a bra today knowing that being out in the heat like that would cause chafing issues for my arm and breast, but the four hours I had it on were more than enough to remind me of how tender my radiated skin is.

The skin actually looks pretty good, but the tenderness is there nonetheless. Having the weekend free from radiation is nice, and I can't tell you how much I'm dreading tomorrow and this week of treatments. I told Barry yesterday that I can see why depression is one of the side effects of radiation treatments--a person's life is disrupted to the point that regular activity or habits are not comfortable. When you can't do what is routine without it potentially bothering your skin, it's not fun. I'm not too tired or anything like that, but I have had to watch how much I do. I did take the time to read a book, so I AM sitting down some.

18 treatments down--15 to go.

Although my cancer was Stage IIIa which is not the worst but certainly not the best, I am continually reminded of how fortunate I am. Each morning when I go for my radiation treatments, there is an older, black gentleman in the waiting room with me, and he gets his treatments just after me. He has throat cancer.

Over the past couple of weeks, I've learned he's had surgery already, he's had all of his teeth pulled to get him ready for mouth and throat radiation, he has a feeding tube in his stomach and he also has a port installed, ready for chemotherapy. The radiation is beginning to affect his throat and make it scratchy and sore, and he still has a ways to go. He doesn't want to have to use the feeding tube, but he may eventually be forced to if his throat gets too raw. He's concerned about chemotherapy, and I've told him a little of my experience and how each person reacts differently to treatment. I told him of the importance of eating right whether he felt like it or not, and I told him that Sonic ice was my best friend during chemo. He lifts his head now and smiles when I come into the waiting area, and I smile back. I'm embarrassed that I haven't asked his name yet, but I'll find that out soon. God knows who he is.

Life is tough, but there is always someone else around who has it just a little tougher.  I'm not saying I won't whine and grumble about the discomfort I'm in, because I'm human.  But I really DO know how fortunate I am.

June 12, 2011

Friday marked treatment #13 out of 33, so that means I have 20 more to go.  That's 40% finished with radiation, and I am literally counting the days until it's completed.

I've said before that I don't feel anything when I'm getting radiation, but the discomfort comes later in the day or several days later, and by the end of this past week, I was ready for a break.  By Thursday, I could see a pink rectangle shape from the middle of my chest to just past my right underarm and about an inch onto my back.  The skin is still in good condition, and I am applying aloe gel, lanolin and Aquafor on it as often as I can to keep it soft and well-hydrated.  Under my skin is a different story.

I told Barry that it feels as if someone has given me an Indian burn under the surface of my skin and up into the back side of my right arm.    The problem is, that feeling doesn't really go away.  I am doing activities around the house and will continue to do certain things, but being still with my arm elevated feels the best.  For those of you who know me well, this has slowed me down considerably.  The more I do with my arm that involves much lifting, being out in the heat, having my arm hanging down too much--all of this adds to my discomfort.  I'm a bit better each morning after resting through the night, and then I get hit with another dose of radiation which gives my underarm a full, heavy feeling.  I can't see that I have edema in my arm, but I know there is SOME fluid because of what I'm feeling on the inside.

Wearing a bra has become uncomfortable, and I have gone pretty much all weekend without one.  Not a pretty sight--and after wearing a bra for 40 years or so, it's not in my comfort zone to go without one.  I have friends who tell me one of the first things they do when they get home each day is to set those puppies free, but not me!  Even though I don't like going without it, I'm having to adjust my clothing to accomodate this omitted undergarment, because even the slightest constriction is causing me tenderness and discomfort.  And I've never been one to like "skin on skin" contact, so corn starch is my new best friend.

Based on where I am today with tenderness and redness, I shudder to think of what I will be like by the end of the week.  The doctor told me the worst would be between treatments 20-25, and that's nearly two weeks from now, so a lot of radiation to go before then.

I've gone without my wig for a week now, and it feels SO good not to have a "hat" on all the time.  I do get a lot of stares, but I've kind of felt like my short hair is a badge of honor right now after having survived eight rounds of chemo and 13 rounds of radiation.  There are lots of us out there if you pay close attention.

I took my radiation team some fresh strawberry preserves this week, but I don't think it will mean they will turn down the beam any--they've gotta do what they've gotta do.  In spite of radiation, I'm doing okay emotionally, and I haven't been too fatigued, but not being able to move much without discomfort is not fun.  And please continue to pray that I don't develop lymphedema.  That's a bigger concern for me than getting blisters in the radiated areas.

Thank you for thinking about me!

June 4, 2011 - Relay for Life

Last night was the Crittenden County Relay for Life at Tilden Rogers Park in West Memphis, and I was proud to be the honoree for Crittenden Regional Hospital and Bethesda Cancer Center.  Cyndi James from CRH contacted me a couple of months ago to ask if I would consider being the honoree, and I told her I wouldn't mind at all.  I didn't know what all it would entail, but I was honored just to be asked.

Another CRH employee, Rebecca Winter (friend from First Presbytrian), worked with Cyndi to make the booth a great representation for both the hospital and the cancer center.  The backdrop was a sign that said, "Cancer Never Sleeps", and they brought in a twin bed with a handmade quilt, and there was a rocking chair to the side of the bed with a pink sash across it, and the sash had my name on it.  Rebecca's daughter, Gabby, who just finished 6th grade, took information from my CaringBridge posts and wrote a fairy tale/bedtime story about me, and the story and great illustrations was presented in a nice scrapbook and laid across the pillow on the bed.  I was amazed at the wonderful, creative job Gabby did to turn a considerable amount of grown up and "not so easy to understand" information into a story suitable for a bedtime story.  Thank you again, Gabby!

The Survivor Walk was at 7:00, and I have to admit as the survivors emerged from the crowd to make the walk, I was a bit ver klempt as we began the trek led by the Relay for Life folks.  At the end of the lap, we were met by other Relay for Lifers who hugged us and placed medals around our necks.  Very moving.

Then came the Care Giver Walk.  Barry, Traci and Kelsey were toward the front of the group, and I could see their faces as the person in charge had them first look at their hands.  She said, "These are the hands that have cared for the one with cancer, the ones who have helped bathe them and feed them."  Then she had them cross their arms across their chests, and she said, "These are the arms that have comforted and held the one with cancer."  And finally, she had them place their hands over their hearts, and she said, "These are the hearts who have loved the one with cancer."  I saw tears falling from Traci's eyes after the first few words, and by the end of the exercise, she was pretty broken up.

Kelsey has done what she could when she's been home, but when you are away at college, you don't see as much of the daily-ness of how cancer affects a household.  Traci and Barry have seen how sick I've been.  They've waited on me hand and foot, they've brought me medicine and prepared food or made a run to get something at the store that I thought I might be able to eat.  They've all hugged me when I've cried through this ordeal.  So honestly, the Care Giver Walk was more touching to me than anything. They made their lap just as I did, and they were greeted with hugs and handshakes by the Relay for Life volunteers at the end of the walk. And as Barry and Traci approached me, I saw tears flowing from both of them.  Such a sweet moment and affirmation of a job well done.

Whew!  And then at 9:15 or so, the names of survivors or of those who had passed were read, and luminarias were lit along the pathways at the park.  Although we were exhausted from the near 100 degee heat and being out all evening, we made the walk around the park to see the beautiful lumarias lit to honor so many. It was a very nice evening in spite of the heat, and it was good to see so many people working to raise money to find a cure.  I can't wait for that day when a cure is found either!

As to how I'm doing right now, I have had eight treatments and have 25 more to go.  I will have 17 more just like I'm getting now, and the last eight will be a "boost" to the tumor area.  I have a nice pink booby now, and even though I don't have treatments on Saturdays, the pinkness is still there, and I'm trying to be as careful as I can to keep the area moisturized so that I won't get blisters.  I'm afraid I may not succeed, but it won't be from lack of trying.  I haven't noticed swelling in my arm, but I do have a "full" feeling in my underarm area, and I walked around quite a bit last night with my arm up over my head just to try to relieve pressure from the underarm area.  It's almost like I have something under my arm, but when I feel of it, there's nothing there.

As I said before, radiation doesn't hurt when I get the treatments, but the effects occur sometime later, and the effects will gradually worsen with more and more radiation.  I went to the local health food store today in search of Emu Oil, which I have read is good for burns and inflammation.  The only thing I could find showed alcohol as the third ingredient, so I didn't buy it.  I DID buy Calendula ointment (Marigold derivitive) which is also supposedly good for burns and inflammation of the skin, and I used it earlier in hopes that it might be of help to me.  I also got Calendula soap, which I will try out tonight, and it actually has bits of Marigolds in the soap!

Thank you all for your cards, notes and comments of encouragement.  I still need them!

(I'll post a few pictures from Relay for Life in a bit.)