Quite a year

I never would have thought, when 2008 began, that I would end the year as a blogger. It just wasn't on my radar, but it has become such a blessing. I have always enjoyed writing, and certainly I wouldn't have picked the reason that prompted me to keep this blog, but it is nice to be writing again on a regular basis.

We probably don't take enough time to stop in our tracks and take stock of where we are and how we got there and where we are going. New Year's Eve is as good an excuse as any, but this exercise maybe should occur three or four times a year.

I am carrying good vibes from 2008 with me into the New Year. There was a great cruise with my mom, daughter and two sisters -- especially sweet because it followed Mom's heart attack last December. Tom and I had several nice trips -- one with my work to Tucson, one for fun to Las Vegas with my sister and brother-in-law and a great fall trip to Gettysburg. Ben's OSU graduation creates new options for him going forward. Professionally, I'm excited about the people I work with and the plans we have for the new year.

There is too much good surrounding me to outweigh the cancer in my gut. I look forward to the entry I will write in this blog a year from now, talking about all the great things that happened after the tumor was successfully removed. Happy New Year!

Taking care of me

Sometimes you just need to relax. That's my game plan for today.

I had hoped the long weekend after Christmas would provide some nice down time, but it's not the same kind of relaxation when you're fighting a bad head cold and you don't have the energy to do anything but sleep and lie around the house.

Yesterday found me back at work, feeling better but still not up to full speed. Rather than risk getting too run down to be able to get my chemo on Friday, I'm staying in today. This finally feels like that laid-back day I had been looking forward to after Christmas.

The present

I fell asleep last night thinking that sometimes I get so caught up in the future, I forget to be thankful for today.

My thoughts soar ahead to when I am done with my cancer treatment, when I am on the mend from surgery to remove the tumor, when I am ready to resume my exercise routine and feel really healthy again. Sure, it's good to keep that positive outlook. But there are lots of days between now and those milestones to come. What of them?

My thinking last night was that my tendency to look ahead and expect good things to come may have been a disservice to my family, and especially my children. As I have encouraged them to strive for their goals, I'm not sure I tell them often enough that they are wonderful just as they are.

How fitting that the sermon in church this morning followed a similar theme! I received it as confirmation of my waning thoughts last night. Yes, look hopefully to the future, but don't overlook the beauty and blessings of the present. Today is a gift we are meant to enjoy in all its glory.

Cold

Sometimes God cracks me up. His latest little practical joke was to give me a good old-fashioned head cold. OK, I know God didn't really give me a cold, but it was kind of like He was saying, "You think cancer's bad? Try this!"

The sneezing and watery eyes started on Christmas and came on in full force yesterday. The effect was I didn't have the energy to do anything but sleep the day away, which I think was the idea behind the joke. If not for the cold, I would have been tempted to have been out and about all day with my mom and visiting sister and brother-in-law. Staying in bed on a rainy, blustery day was much better for me.

Funny how something as simple as a cold takes your mind off cancer. I felt miserable most of the day yesterday, and part of the day on Christmas, but I wasn't focused on cancer, which was nice. I knew the cold would pass and I would feel better soon. I need to keep that same outlook with respect to the cancer.

Less is more

We tried a new approach to gift-giving in my family this Christmas. In years past, it had become embarrassing to see the pile of presents spreading out from the tree in my mother's home. It took forever to open them all and was less-than satisfying when it was all over. Did we really need all that stuff?

The economic downturn this year was an excuse to cut back. Instead of buying for each other, our spouses and our children -- my four siblings and I agreed to do a gift-exchange game between all adults who wanted to participate and to buy individual gifts just for the minor children. Stocking stuffers were optional, and the individualized stockings hanging from the banister down the stairs from the main floor to the family room were a fun highlight of Mom's Christmas decorations.

The new approach was pronounced a great success. Less time was spent opening stuff that we really didn't need and more time was spent enjoying each other's company.

Now if I could just get my tumor to adopt that same philosophy -- less is more, tumor. The sooner it shrinks, the better!

Merry Christmas!

There is something very calming about Christmas Eve if you let it be. In the days and weeks leading up to Christmas, to-do lists are long and the temptation is to keep adding to them. The prevalent thinking is: I still have time to do this, go there, buy that.

By Christmas Eve, it's time to accept reality. Some things won't get done. Some presents won't get bought. Some items will not be checked off the list. The early gift we can give ourselves is to be OK with that and to turn our attention to what will happen on Christmas. Families will be together. Hugs, kisses and love will be shared generously. Good cheer, good food and good wishes will abound.

Earlier this fall, I wasn't sure what capacity I would have to enjoy Christmas this year. On darker days, I questioned whether I would be well enough to participate much at all. Now I am looking forward to a Christmas that will be richer in blessings than any I have known before. It won't be about presents under the tree but about the presence of more love and support than I knew I had when this year began.

In this recessed economy, many have been forced to make do with less. My prayer is that creates more opportunity for all of us to be thankful for the gifts of family, friends, love, support and good health. Merry Christmas to all!

Carry on

I will admit to indulging in occasional bouts of anger. Sometimes I just want to yell, "Enough!" and have my tumor be gone. It doesn't last long, though, especially on mornings like today. How can I be so selfish after reading about a 12-year-old who fought brain cancer since he was five and used his illness to spread God's love to everyone he encountered? The story of Dennis "Bubba" Channel Jr. in today's paper brings tears, smiles and much wisdom.

Nor can I stay down when family and friends -- and some I haven't even met -- reach out in e-mails and comments on this blog. It makes me smile when they say I am inspiring. Don't they realize that they are the ones holding me up?

When life goes as it should, it's all give and take. We use what we have to support each other, and in return we have all we need to continue putting one foot in front of the other.

Ready or not

Good rest works wonders. I don't know how I even contemplated leaving the house yesterday morning, but I certainly made the right decision to stay in.

No presents are wrapped, and a few remain to be bought, but bed beckoned more forcefully yesterday than my long, pre-Christmas to-do list. Groceries must be gathered yet for the family festivities of Christmas Eve and for our traditional Christmas breakfast, but sleep was more important as Friday's double-dose of chemotherapy made its full presence known.

The body aches accompanying my extreme lack of energy during the chemo crash now have an explanation -- the doctor noted the post-chemo shot I receive to boost my white blood cells stimulate the marrow deep inside my bones. As I drifted in and out of sleep yesterday, I comforted myself with the thought that those aches are just another sign of good medicine at work!

I may not be as ready for the holidays as I would like to be at this point, but I know my family will understand if my annual "Mock Flock" calendar for 2009 is a little late. At least yesterday's good rest has returned my energy for the sprint toward Christmas.

Head versus heart

I hate it when my head and my heart are in conflict.

This being my predictable chemo crash day, my head knows what I need to do, which is nothing. My body needs rest today and doesn't have the energy to do much more than sit or lie around the house and maybe even steal a nap or two. But I am not sick at my stomach, thankfully, and the aches right now are slight.

That's what has me wrestling with my heart. I should be attending church this morning, it argues, and then overseeing a quick meeting after services. It's important for me to be there, that little voice insists. What will it hurt to push myself a bit this morning if I rest the remainder of the day?

But my head knows the price. I didn't listen to my head three weeks ago when crash day came in the middle of the week, and I was up more than down, even while staying home from work. It took me twice as long to recover and cost me more head and body aches than it should have. I best not chance that again with Christmas just a few days away, my head reasons.

I should be heading upstairs to get ready by now, if I were going to church. But I'm not moving very fast, and my head is winning the argument. Either answer does not sit well with me, but I have promised my mom to take better care of myself.

Moving right along

We have an updated game plan for attacking this cancer after seeing my oncologist yesterday, freshly returned from his vacation.

Despite the latest CT scan report that the tumor has not shrunk, he continues to believe, as do I, that my abdomen is not as distended as when we started treatment. He noted that the latest CT scan showed several calcifications within the tumor, which he said usually indicates dead cancer cells. He said sometimes a tumor like mine is removed, even without having shrunk, only to find that the cancer inside has been dispelled. Let's hope for that!

He talked about scheduling a Positron Emission Tomography (PET) scan, which can give a better indication of activity within the tumor, and said it is time to see the surgeon again to discuss options with her. I am also seeking a second opinion with a new surgeon early next month. In the meantime, chemotherapy will continue throughout January, which means at least two more cycles. No problem with that, since I continue to tolerate the drugs so well.

Keep those prayers and positive thoughts coming, dear cheerleaders! They're working!

Good medicine

A reunion of sorts last night reinforced why I am doing this blog. I went to the holiday dinner for our board at work. It was a festive event in the Statehouse Atrium for board members and their spouses.

I had last seen most of the board members at their meeting in September, when I was in the process of learning about my lump and not yet talking about it with anyone outside of family. I had not seen their spouses since the August board retreat, blissfully unaware of what I was about to face.

The hugs and support they provided last night were very good medicine. It was comforting to hear many of them are following my progress, cheering me on and offering prayers. It's easier to keep an eye on winning the battle when you know many others who aren't visible day to day are keeping the vision alive with you.

Second wind

It's crazy how something like not getting the test results you had hoped for takes the wind out of your sails. My week has been like that, although I didn't want to admit it for a while.

Hearing last Friday that my tumor hasn't shrunk was more of a blow than I wanted to concede. But at least it's not bigger! It's no longer growing! As much as I tried to remind myself of those positives, it still was hard to evade the disappointment I felt.

It didn't help that I overextended a bit with preparations for Ben's graduation on Sunday, and with a busy week leading up to last weekend. By Monday, I was hurting physically as well as emotionally. It was harder to push aside unbidden thoughts that maybe the tumor won't shrink, or that it might start growing again.

It has been a slow recovery; now several good night's sleeps have helped restore my positive outlook. I know I need to baby myself so I don't get so worn down again and give way to negative thoughts. I am looking forward to double-dose chemo tomorrow to continue the attack.

Gifts

Today is Tom's birthday. What do you get a husband who has everything?

We've been together 40 years! I was 16 and he was 17 when we started dating in high school, so you can do the math. That's a lot of birthdays we have celebrated over the years. Some of the birthday presents have been more memorable than others. One year I sewed him a brown corduroy suit from scratch. Never could get the collar on that suit to lay right! Bless his heart, he still wore it a couple of times anyhow before we gave it away to one of those charities that picks up bags of clothes you leave on your doorstep.

A nice thing about being together this long is we know what really matters, and it's not whatever we happen to buy each other to commemorate another birthday. I'm working on a gift that will keep on giving -- to beat this cancer and stick around to match him birthday for birthday, as long as it takes. Happy birthday, honey!

You are what you wear

I'm sending subliminal messages to my body with some of the choices I have made in clothes recently. It can't hurt, right?

One set of messengers is my collection of pink T-shirts from the many Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure events that I have participated in for most of the past dozen years. The pink shirts are reserved for breast cancer survivors, and the word "survivor" is prominent on the front of them. Paired with pajama bottoms, they make dandy sleep shirts. I take special note of the "survivor" as I slip one on and smile as that becomes one of my last thoughts of the day before drifting off to sleep.

Another special messenger in my wardrobe is jeans that had become my new favorite pair when I bought them in the spring, long before Cancer 2.0 had surfaced. I remember wearing them to dinner for my brother's birthday on Sept. 6, the day I first noticed the lump in my abdomen. As the tumor quickly expanded my tummy, I had given up even trying to wear them, sure that they would no longer fit. But those jeans ended up in my hands recently as I searched my closet for some I could still wear. I pulled them on with low expectations and was delighted to see that their low waist tucked in just under my belly bulge.

The jeans' name? Lucky Brand. That's me -- Lucky survivor!

The graduate

I'm moving a little slower this morning, feeling a little worse for the wear, but I can't stop smiling as scenes from Ben's graduation yesterday keeping popping into my head.

Just a few weeks back, I was afraid I would be too frail for the festivities. But the day went off without a hitch -- even more enjoyable for the focus it took off me and put squarely on this long-awaited milestone. It was like Christmas come early as family and friends joined us to celebrate, our home sparkling with their good cheer and highlighted by holiday decorations mixed with plenty of scarlet and gray.

The entire day was wonderful, but my favorite part was the quiet time at the end. Ben sat down with me and Tom to open a few cards and reflect back on his OSU journey. There were lots of times over the past few years when I felt like a horrible nag with all my questions about whether he was taking care of school work, scheduling the classes he needed, studying enough. The thanks he expressed last night was my graduation present!

Mixed results

Numbers alone don't always tell the whole story. The medical test results I received yesterday are an example.

I have no doubt the tumor in my tummy is not as monstrous as it had become before I started chemo. I can wear clothes that were uncomfortable in early October. My profile no longer shows a distended abdomen reminiscent of seven or eight months' pregnancy. Yet the initial reading of Thursday's CT scan showed the lump is no smaller than just before the chemotherapy drugs began to attack it.

In fact, the doctor I saw yesterday noted the report she received erronously showed measurements compared my first CT scan on Sept. 12 and concluded that the tumor was growing. My tumor was in a frenzy early on and did grow between Sept. 12 and Oct. 2 scans. As she studied the October report, the doctor concluded my lump is about the same size since treatment began Oct. 10, which means it at least has stopped growing. The doctor is requesting the latest scan to be reread, this time against my Oct. 2 scan. She will ask for a comparison of shape, too, since that can change, which may explain why it feels smaller to me.

While the CT report was disappointing, there was good news in another number yesterday. The CA125 blood test we have been watching, which Dr. Brenda calls a "tumor marker," showed great improvement! It was a 5 at my annual checkup with Dr. Brenda on July 1, which gave her some concern but not alarm. She ordered followup blood tests for October just to keep an eye on it. The test was a 48 just before chemo started, and was down to 41 about a month ago. Now it is an 8 -- much better!

The bottom line of yesterday's report: I'm not close to being a candidate for surgery yet, but since I am tolerating chemo so well we will continue to try to shrink the tumor with drugs. My sister promises to send more of her visionary pick-axing angels to work on it!

One down

At least one of my prayers of long anticipation was answered positively yesterday. Ben learned his grades for fall quarter, confirming that he will graduate on Sunday as planned!

It wasn't as if we really thought he was in danger of failing a required class and needing to go another quarter to get his degree. But there is always that unwanted thought hanging out there until it is dispelled by confirmation of good news. Let the celebration begin!

Whether we will also be toasting medical confirmation that my tumor is shrinking may be known later today.

For regular readers of this blog, I apologize for dwelling on this topic of late. And I promise to keep up a positive outlook even if the news does not invoke festivity. Thank you to all my cheerleaders for hanging in there with me.

Anticipation

I have that song in my head this morning from the old ketchup commercial, where the bottle is upside down and the good stuff inside is so slow to emerge onto the waiting hamburger. I am looking forward to this morning's CT scan, and also fearing it a little; not the test itself, but the results.

The earlier tests were easier to approach. With the first CT scan back in September, it was more of a curiosity. We didn't know what we were dealing with yet. My family doctor had said it could be something as simple as a hernia. Then we learned it was much more serious.

Now there's a lot more riding on the outcome. I have been trying not to set my hopes too high, not to expect miracles. Surely today's tests will show some movement in the right direction. I know the chemo has had some effect. My abdomen no longer feels like it is about to explode. The question is how much change, how much improvement, and is it enough to make surgery safe now? I don't really expect to be pronounced ready for surgery yet, but it would be nice to have medical confirmation that good stuff is happening.

I could have the results as early as tomorrow when I see the doctor before my chemo session. Or it could be the following Friday, since my regular doctor is on vacation this week. Like all those kids out there waiting for results on the finals they are taking this week, I'll be counting on some prayers for good news.

Almost normal

It's crazy how off-kilter things can get when you are smacked in the face with a life-changing cancer diagnosis. Routines go by the wayside. Your focus turns inward and all events are interpreted through a new filter. Then, if you're lucky, something intervenes and the cancer gradually stops hogging all the attention. I'm lucky.

It has struck me this week how much normalcy I have regained. Sometimes I even go for more than an hour without thinking of the lump in my belly! I am setting my alarm again to make sure I get into the office on time (or pretty close to it!). This week I am participating in evening activities four out of five nights, and then getting ready for Ben's graduation and open house on Sunday. There were times shortly after my diagnosis that I feared I wouldn't have the stamina to attend his graduation, let alone invite family and friends in afterward to celebrate.

Some days I feel so good I think I am going to wake up and find the lump has disappeared. Of course it hasn't, but I am hopeful the CT scans I will have tomorrow morning will show it is claiming less real estate in my abdomen these days.

My regained sense of well-being poses a dilemma. I have toyed with the thought of using this early-morning time once again for exercise. But then I realize I really like starting my day with the new mental workout that has become my recent pattern. Jogging versus blogging; it's nice to feel good enough to entertain that choice!

Perspective

One of my favorite strategies for dealing with a challenge is to picture being on the other side of it. I have employed that focus for things as trivial as getting through the frantic holiday rush. Ah, I would think, how wonderful it will be to get to the day after Christmas, when I can slow down and relax. How nice, I tell myself, to get through that big presentation or to have finally dealt with a thorny workplace issue.

I probably started picturing today at far back as six years ago, when I began the first of two three-year terms on the governing body for my church. Saying my goodbyes last night after these past two years as president was surprisingly sad. Looking back, I realized I had learned a lot about leadership, and service, and about myself. But finally being done with that commitment, finally being on the other side of monthly meetings for six years, was a bit less satisfying than I had imagined.

My son reaches a similar milestone today, when he will take his last final exam as a college undergraduate. He told me last week as he finished up classes that he thought he would be sadder at this point but instead is excited about the new challenges ahead of him.

How wise! Now Ben has me pondering a new strategy. Rather than just focusing on getting on to the other side of successful cancer treatment, on just getting on with life after Cancer 2.0, how much more envigorating to welcome the next big challenge.

Not just me

I like to amuse myself by reading the daily horoscopes in the paper each morning. I read my own and those of my family and ponder briefly how they might apply to the day ahead. Usually I have forgotten them almost by the time I turn the page, especially if they are their usual innocuous blatherings.

Never mind that each horoscope is aimed at one of every 12 persons in the world. No matter that I can read my horoscope for the same day in two different sources and come up with two different predictions. As I said, this is mostly an amusement; a little something to get the brain cells going as I drink my coffee.

Every now and then though, one speaks to me and colors my outlook a bit longer. I like my horoscope for today because it syncs with my conviction that resources outside what I can muster by myself will carry me through this cancer fight and through other challenges I may face. The last part of today's Virgo horoscope reads: "Remember your past successes and go forward. You are a channel for powers beyond your own."

That Christmas spirit

Could there be anything more perfect than readying the house for Christmas while Mother Nature does a little decorating outside with an unexpected accumulation of snow?

Tom may not share my enthusiasm, since he would have preferred to put up the multicolored outside lights in dryer, warmer conditions. I could not have been more delighted, though, to see the snow starting to fall as we hauled box after box out of the basement. To have the snow continue as we put up the tree nicely accompanied the Christmas music on the radio. The outside lights sparkled against the pristine white as it grew dark outside, making a spectacular season debut.

I think Christmas is like the snow. It takes our everyday world and puts a sparkling new face on it with the promise of love and hope. The snow will melt but we can keep the Christmas spirit around by sharing it.

Pitiful poinsettias

Off my right shoulder in the den where our computer sits is a large stereo speaker from the 1970s with a planter of craggy poinsettias perched on top. There are three plants in the container, all refugees from past Christmases. In the summer, the planter sits in a protected corner of our deck. It comes inside for cold weather from late fall to late spring.

To see them now, you have to wonder why the failing plants are in the house at all, why they were not left at the curb with yard waste several weeks ago with the rest of the withered annuals that had lost their beauty to the frost. But as I pick the dried leaves off the floor and watch the branches become barer week by week, I know this is not the sole existence of this poinsettia trio. As I predict to my husband each winter, tiny new leaves will appear in the spring and by summer the pot will again house lush bushes. The plants may not produce their once-gorgeous red blossoms, but there is still a lot of life there.

We all go through seasons like that. Sometimes we droop and struggle to get through the day. Then we grow stronger and thrive. I'm OK with being a little droopy now and looking forward to better days to come.

Catch this!

Some mornings I wake up knowing what I want to write about as I start the day. Other days, it takes a while for the inspiration to bubble up. This morning, it screamed at me from the front page of the paper. "Happiness really is contagious" is the headline.

Of course it is! We all know how a warm greeting from a happy person -- even a stranger on the elevator -- can put a smile on our faces. But now this study says that effect can be long-lasting and breed more happiness. Even better, happiness is more infectious than unhappiness. And happy people are more creative, productive and healthier, according to the article about this new study.

I'm unabashedly giddy over this news. Think of the possibilities for spreading this infection! Just by resolving to look on the bright side and find excuses to be happy, we can make our families, friends and coworkers all happier. And then they will make us happier! Happiness IS contagious, and I resolve to be a carrier!

Impatient patient

I'm not a very patient patient. My discomfort with being uncomfortable was apparent yesterday as I struggled to just let myself be sick on a sick day from work.

I should have been better prepared, having experienced two of these big chemo crash days already. A day with little energy and a foggy, achy head is predictable now two days after my double dose of chemo drugs. But the previous crash days were on Sundays, when outside distractions are fewer. The Sunday crash days are easier to nap away.

With my third double dose being rescheduled to this past Monday because of the Thanksgiving holiday, the predictable crash came in the middle of the work week. I was not prepared for how difficult it would be to keep myself down as my Blackberry provided easy access to a steady stream of messages. What would it hurt to sign on to my laptop and answer a few e-mails or review some attachments? As long as I'm up, might as well straighten up the house a bit and put on a pot of soup for dinner. The naps I needed were pushed lower on the priority list.

Nightfall found me feeling much worse for the wear. The good news is that my chemo schedule is back to Fridays again, so there should be no more mid-week crashes, and e-mail traffic is so much lighter on Sundays.

Singing a new song

I'm moving slow today, thanks to the predictable crash following Monday's double dose of chemo. But I woke up with a song in my head that won't be repressed. It sent me in search of some old lyrics in need of a rewrite. Here's what I came up with; I think you'll recognize the tune:

It grew so fast, I was aghast;
this mass that I call my lump.
Came out of nowhere to cause a scare.
Now everyone knows it’s shrinking!

The best present yet that I could get.
The chemo gets most of the praise.
It’s knocking it down, so I won’t frown.
Everyone knows it’s shrinking!

It’s shrinking! It’s shrinking!
Thanks to the prayers and the drugs.
It’s shrinking! It’s shrinking!
Death to all cancer bugs!

My apologies to anyone who now has that song stuck on replay. Just try it with my new lyrics and smile along with me.

Pass it along

I'm struck by similarities in my personal recipe for good spirits (No, not the kind you drink!) and by what I have been reading in The Art of Possibility.

Authors Roz and Ben Zander write about opening up to the creative force of passion. They advise, "...notice where you are holding back, and let go. Release those barriers of self that keep you separate and in control, and let the vital energy of passion surge through you, connecting you to all beyond....Allow yourself to be a channel to shape the stream of passion into a new expression for the world." Roz Zander finds passion in nature and her husband finds it in music.

For me, there is also a letting go and an invitation to be filled with life-giving energy, but I find my source in the healing love of my faith. Opening up to that love and asking God to use me as a vessel to carry His love to others never fails to lift my spirits. You can't wallow in despair about whatever circumstances you find yourself in when your focus is on encountering others in love.

The miracle is that the more love you give away -- or, as the Zanders advocate, the more passion with which you embrace life -- the more it comes rushing back to you!

Go with the flow

Sometimes things just work out the way they're supposed to. I was a little put out recently when my double-dose of chemo for round three was rescheduled from the Friday after Thanksgiving to today. I had become comfortable with my predictable schedule and how it allows me to minimize the sick time needed to received the chemotherapy drugs and recover from the inevitable crash on the second day afterward.

I fretted a bit that I would have to take two days off this week -- one to get the chemo and another because I would just be too lethargic to do anything else. The doctor's office was to be closed that Thanksgiving Friday, though, so there was nothing to do but accept the postponement.

Now I can see how perfect the change of plans was. By not having chemo on Friday, I was able to get away with Mandy and Tom for the day to a condo he has in the woods this week to be near his buddies for deer season. And today, as it turns out, I need to be at work before and after my chemo anyway, so it wouldn't have worked out for Tom to accompany me this time. Funny how it is best sometimes to let go and not try to control everything.