I am excited to welcome everyone to my new blog, Running The Race (www.runningtheraceblog.com)! I’ve been working over the last month to migrate all of the content from my Caring Bridge blog over to this new blog with its own domain name. It may need a few more tweaks, but for the most part, it’s ready to be unveiled to the “public” (that’s you)!
I loved the blessing of having a Caring Bridge blog, especially during a crisis time in my life when I needed it the most. I cannot tell you how much writing about my thoughts during cancer treatment--and getting feedback from all of you—contributed to my healing. However, I’m still “healing” from my experience, spiritually, psychologically, and emotionally. The physical scars are minimal at this point, praise be to God.
This new blog has a fantastic search feature and gives me the ability to post videos and photos and include them in the text of my blog entry (rather than having to link off-site for them). Another great feature is that you, the reader, can post comments after my blog entries. I would love to hear from you (as would other readers). Let’s “dialog”!
Every day, I still think about breast cancer and wonder if I will ever have to encounter it again. And every day, I do a little self-talk and remind myself that no one knows the future, so all I have is today. I want to live it as best as I can (see my blog post, “I Want To Live While I’m Alive” for details).
Since October was “Breast Cancer Awareness Month,” I encountered news about breast cancer at every turn. When I went to the grocery store, I received pink, plastic grocery bags in honor of breast cancer awareness month. I heard about it on the news, too, especially when the federal government panel came out with the most recent recommendation for women to start having mammograms when they turn 50, not 40.
None of this is news to me. In fact, I hate to admit this, but I almost wanted it (all the breast cancer awareness news) to go away so I didn’t have to think about it anymore. I was just getting to the point where it wasn’t the first thing I thought about when I got up in the morning. But, realizing how selfish that would be, I’m glad that the general public, and especially women and girls, are being made aware of how prevalent breast cancer really is. I just hope that people don’t go on overload and start to ignore it.
Since my last post, I’ve had visits to my oncologist, Dr. E., at Swedish Hospital, and also to my radiation oncologist, Dr. K., here in Mount Vernon. My visits were fairly routine, for the most part. For the most part, but not entirely. When I went to Swedish a few weeks ago, I expected it to be a very “routine’ day, so I was just planning on having my blood drawn, meeting with the doctor, and hitting the road so my husband and I could find a good Seattle restaurant for lunch.
However, when I sat down to have the blood taken from my porta-cath (no, I haven’t had it removed yet), an immediate problem was apparent. The nurse was able to get fluid IN to the catheter to flush it, but nothing (like blood) would come OUT. This is the first time this has happened. I was a little concerned, but she assured me that this happens from time to time.
Apparently, I had a small blood clot on the inside of my porta-cath. So the nurse ordered a medication from the lab to dissolve the clot. She said it would take at least a couple of hours, so my plans for a routine visit were dashed. During the interim two hours, I visited with my oncologist, who encouraged me to get the porta-cath removed sooner rather than later (at my last visit, she said there was no hurry—that people often leave it in for two years or more).
The reason I am not in a hurry to have the porta-cath taken out is that I have follow-up appointments every three months where blood is drawn and I am what they call a “difficult draw.” In other words, even the “crack IV team” at Skagit Valley Hospital couldn’t get blood out of my veins for my heart MUGA scan. It’s really a demoralizing experience and a little painful, too, to have technicians poking your veins over and over again with no result. You start to feel like a real underachiever.
And I admit to a little bit of “Murphy’s Law” thinking as well. Most recurrences of cancer happen within the first two years after it has been diagnosed. So there’s this feeling that I’m ready in case something else happens (it’s a surgical procedure to place the porta-cath in the first place). Who would want to go through all of that again?
Then I heard a horror story from a friend who said that her sister has big problems with her porta-cath all the time where her neck balloons up and stuff . . . . I’m saying “and stuff” because I stopped listening to my friend after she mentioned her sister’s neck ballooning up. All I could imagine is walking around looking like one of those disgusting frogs. For now, it’s staying in.
It was weird, though. I walked into Swedish feeling pretty chipper and in control. After the nurse failed to get blood out of me, an interesting psychological phenomenon started to envelop me. I began to feel like I did a year ago . . . vulnerable. I didn’t have control over the situation—I was just being carried along and I’d best settle in and get used to it. That’s what cancer does to you—makes you feel that everything in life is out of your control. It’s hard to feel cocky and “successful” when you’re vulnerable and at the caregiver’s mercy. It was a good reminder for me.
While my husband waited for me, he sat across from a husband and wife who were probably in their late 30s. She was obviously being treated for cancer, as she had a knit hat on her bald head. She was a very attractive woman, obviously someone who takes care of herself, dresses well, wears make-up, etc.
At one point, her husband, who apparently couldn’t take it anymore, looked around and said loudly—to whoever was listening—“Does anyone else think this sucks? This really sucks!” My husband looked at him knowingly and said, “Yes, it does. You just have to go with it.”
I didn’t hear this story until my husband and I were sitting at lunch a couple of hours later and I started to tear up when I heard it. Cancer affects so many people. We really all need to support and encourage each other when it touches someone we know. I hope my husband's calm demeanor assured this stressed-out husband that he, too, will get through it, along with his wife.
When I visited my radiation oncologist a couple of weeks ago, everything was very routine. I actually enjoyed going back to his office and seeing everyone again. Remember, I saw these people EVERY DAY for 7-1/2 weeks, so I bonded with them. It’s like seeing old friends again (“Oh, you got a new hairdo—I really like it!”).
Dr. K. pretty much says the same thing during every visit. He tells me that studies show that women who exercise and keep their weight down have less risk of recurrence. The exercise needs to be aerobic (not weightlifting, for example), and a minimum of three hours per week. He said that “they” (the researchers) don’t know if it’s the exercise itself that helps or whether people who commit to exercising three hours a week simply have better diets, or maybe a combination of the two. In any case, it’s a significant statistical difference, so that is my goal.
I used to want to walk on the treadmill to keep my weight down. Now I am motivated to do it so I won’t die. And I know and understand that even people who are physically fit can get cancer, but I’ve discovered that it enhances the way I feel (physically and psychologically), so whatever the case, I’m more motivated to do it now.
Dr. K. said an intriguing thing to me that, interestingly, cheered me momentarily, even though I knew it was a psychological tactic and not really completely accurate. He said, “Just think of yourself as a healthy person who had a lump removed. It’s behind you now, so you can get on with your life.” (Or something to that effect.)
Momentarily, I thought, “Gee, that sounds good. I really do want to think of myself that way. I think I will!” But my immediate afterthought was, “Yeah, but I know better. Something about my immune system failed to counter the tumor growing in my breast. Now I need to try to make alterations to my lifestyle so that my immune system is bolstered and this doesn’t happen again.” So I’m back to where I started (good try, though, Dr. K.).
I still wonder if every single thing I put into my mouth is going to kill me. No lie. It’s there in the back of my mind all the time. I try to keep it balanced, though, or I would go insane. I figure the best things I can do for myself are:
1) Try to eat well (less red meat, alcohol, refined carbs, etc.)
2) Try to exercise more
3) Try to live the rest of my life in peace and repentance before God
I have some exciting news to share on the work front, but I will leave it for another entry so this doesn’t go too long.
Until then, I’m going to leave you with a video that my friend, Laurie, shared recently. I really think it’s lovely beyond words. In fact, I’ve watched this video three times so far and every time, I am greatly moved while listening to the words describing what God has done to restore us to Himself. Enjoy.