CT Scan Scheduled

Sooo, my cancer tumor markers are going up. I know that’s not a definitive test — the CT Scan is. Still, I’m scared and sure could use your prayers.

This also means I’m dropping NaBloPoMo because frankly, I
don’t care. I don’t think I’ll want to blog much in the next 1 1/2 weeks which is how long it will probably take to get the results. After that? — who knows.

Not that writing every day is very important right now. Holding myself together emotionally will be the most important thing.

For those of you who pray, please send some up for me.

Still Sick

So, I have a nasty virus, the doctor said. It typically lasts three to five days, and I’m on Day 4. I guess I got the five day special.

So there’s nothing to do but ride it out. The doctor does want me to have one test done — the stool sample test. Oh, joy. I’m fine with medical professionals taking vials of blood from me, but I don’t even like peeing in a cup. I’m pretty sure I won’t like . . . well, you know. Heh.

He’s being careful, though. He said “with everything else going on” with me, it’s good to be cautious. I’ve heard that phrase before.

So, I’ll go to one of the medical clinics tomorrow and hand them a paper, and they’ll give me a little kit to . . . you know, and bring back to them.

Ewww!

30 Days of Thanks in One Blog Post

Well, it’s November; the month where we give our thanks. In previous years, I’ve written down one thing to be thankful for each day. This year, I just kind of let it slip by, so I’m challenging myself to write down 30 things — one for each day in November — that I’m thankful for. In no particular order (well, maybe the first ones, but not after that), here’s my list:

1. An awesome God who’s always with me.
2. My husband, Absent Minded Professor, who has been a great support throughout our marriage, including when I’ve been in cancer treatment.
3. Our wonderful son, Energy Boy, who is the joy of my life.
4. My family, who is there for me during tough times (and not-so-tough times).
5. My church family, who are not just great people, they’ve prayed for me since the beginning of all of this.
6. My oncologist, Dr. Funky Glasses, who truly wants to keep me around for awhile, gives me hope, and is just a good oncologist.
7. My other doctors who have been awesome in their own rights.
8. Prayer, which to me = the ability to connect on a personal basis with God.
9. My In Real Life friends who are there for me in a pinch.
10. My online friends who are there for me as much as they can be in a virtual world.
11. My house. Though it always be cluttered, there’s no place like home. Heh. Also, I’m glad that in these economic times, we have a roof over our heads.
12. The health insurance from my employer. Even though co-pays and other things have made us “cancer-poor,” I’m thankful that I do have a good insurance plan.
13. My employer working with me on my sick leave, because I do take a lot. *ahem*
14. My dog, Callie, for being a constant companion for me.
15. Food to nourish us.
16. Trips that have fed my soul this past year, including trips to Orlando to see my friend Nikki (and now Jason!), a trip to Kure Beach, NC, as part of the Little Pink Houses of Hope beach retreat program, a trip to Tampa Bay, and a trip to Baltimore to attend the Metastatic Breast Cancer Network conference.
17. Hope.
18. Laughter.
19. When I’m able to focus enough to read, books. I’ve always loved books.
20. When I’m not able to focus enough to read, good TV programs.
21. Sunshiny days.
22. A good, working car.
23. Caller ID.
24. Good music.
25. Going to see live music or a live show.
26. Diet Vernors. Don’t judge me; I need it when I’m sick and trying to rehydrate myself.
27. Understanding co-workers.
28. That I got myself to the hospital when it turned out that I had a Pulmonary Embolism (blood clot in a lung). It truly could have killed me if I hadn’t gone.
29. Living in an era of more and more medicine to fight cancer.
30. Being able to blog my thoughts and feelings out.

Strange Days, Indeed

Most peculiar, Mama.

Nope, nobody told me there’d be days like this. Oy.

I’m still kind of sick. I alternate hot and cold, so I’m staying home. Plus, I feel completely wiped out from yesterday.

I often have strange dreams when I’m sick, and yesterday and today have been no exception.

Let’s see, there was one where I was driving around in one of those smallish trucks — 12-wheeler, Absent Minded Professor said. Now, I have problems driving big cars or big SUVs, so I don’t know why I was trying this out. Well, actually, AMP and I owned it. HUH?! At the same time, Energy Boy was with me because AMP had forgotten to take him to school and had forgotten to call him off of school too. Slacker!

In another dream, AMP got a job working for an insurance company and I got a job working for a paper company (too much of The Office, I think). It was hard finding the companies and I never did find the paper company. I ended up quitting before I started because I realized that we needed the job I have now to make all of our various and sundry payments (which is true; we’re Cancer Poor, i.e. our finances have taken a beating because of my cancer).

Those are the dreams I remember the most, except for the one where I got all up in someone’s face and a little bit violent with this person. Anger issues, much? Yep, cancer will do that too.

Don’t mind me. I’m always off-kilter and not in a good frame of mind when I’m sick. Who is, though?

Strange dreams, indeed. Strange days, indeed.

Sick Today

Well, I’ve been sick today, and worse than that, I can’t find my anti-diarrhea medicine. Oy.

It’s not been a fun day, needless to say. I don’t really have much to write about, but I’m writing because I signed up for NaBloPoMo, and those of us who did that are supposed to blog every day.

Sometimes when I’ve been this sick, I go into the oncologist’s office when they’re open — which will be tomorrow — and get an infusion of fluids to get myself re-hydrated. I haven’t decided for sure if I’m going to do that tomorrow, but I probably will. It helps so much.

I feel weak, and off-balance, and I’ve done nothing but sleep and watch TV all day . . . oh yeah, and get sick too, but you don’t need the details of that. Yuck.

So I’m writing kind of a nothing post just to write, to try to keep the creative juices flowing even though I don’t feel creative at all today.

Hoping tomorrow is better.

It’s Been One Year

and three days.

Last year, on November 2, 2010, I found out that the cancer had returned.

A lot has happened in the past year. Good and bad, much has happened. I want to write about it, but maybe not just now. It’s been a good year in many ways and a painful year in many ways.

I’ve made a lot of new friends, been some new places, had some adventures, and made some memories.

That’s what it’s all about for me now: making memories, especially for my son. Not that I expect to be going anytime soon; I don’t. But, I also know that life is uncertain and I try to do things with and for my son that will give him happy memories of me for whenever it is that I leave this earth.

I slept most of the day today while Energy Boy was at a friend’s house. I’m grateful for the rest; I must have needed it. So far, it’s been a quiet weekend, a nice weekend in which I’ve been online, heard about a friend who isn’t doing well, and rested.

I will write more about this past year sometime, I think. For now, it will suffice to say that I’ve grown and changed during the past year, and I’m happy with the memories we’ve made with EB.

EB . . . . he turns 10 years old soon. My boy is growing up. I’m not sad about that because I want to see him grow up, to change, to mature. I’ve loved all the stages he’s been through so far . . . and no matter what anyone says, I believe I’ll love all the stages yet to come . . . .

Yes, even the teen years, because every moment, every year, every memory with him and Absent Minded Professor is precious to me.

Life is precious, readers. Go make your own memories because we never know what the future holds.

God bless.

Stream of Consciousness

I was just looking at my notes from the Metastatic Breast Cancer Network (MBCN) Conference that I attended last weekend in Baltimore, MD. I was hoping to find something that would lend itself to a coherent, theme-specific post, but instead I find little bits of information, some of them like golden nuggets that I can stash away until MBCN has the conference and power point slides online in about a month.

I wil share some of these nuggets, though, these little bits of information that, for whatever reason, struck me at the time as important enough to write down.

So here goes a disjointed, fragmented post . . . even though it’s all about metastatic breast cancer (MBC). That’s the thread that holds it all together.

One of the speakers talked a little bit about how the Network first was formed because two women, both with MBC, felt isolated and alone in support groups of people with early stage breast cancer. Things like going pink all of October or celebrating the end of treatment “is not possible with metastatic disease.” I know what she means, what the founders meant. I chave totally different conversations with those with early stage breast cancer (BC) than I have with those who have MBC. The ones with MBC seem to intuitively know what I’m going through, what I’m feeling and even thinking. They understand the very real fear of dying, of leaving this earth before I’m ready. They understand the worry I have for my child, my husband, my little family. They know that talking about death doesn’t mean that I’m obsessed with death or that I think I’m going to die soon. They understand that it’s a deep need to understand what will eventually happen to me with this metastatic disease. They understand all of these things because they live with these things themselves.

Approximately 30% of people diagnosed with early stage breast cancer will at some time develop metastatic breast cancer, cancer that has spread to organs other than the breast. Breast cancer, if confined to the breast, doesn’t kill. MBC, however, kills. And there’s very little research done on MBC.

One of the reasons that we also may become, in Whymommy’s words, cancer rebels and pink protesters, is that we can’t be happy and pink during October. We can’t join the throngs of “survivors” if we’re not going to survive this disease. We know we’re different, that we’re what they fear the most. How can we join in when we’re the black sheep of the breast cancer movement, the bad girls of breast cancer?

We can’t. We stand out. People get quiet when we tell them that we have MBC. They don’t, understandably, know what to say, although I think an “I’m sorry” or “I’m sorry to hear that” is always something you can say to people who are struggling not just with breast cancer but with so many other things that happen to people.

We are the 30%. I am part of the 10%, the percentage that was diagnosed with Stage 4 disease from the outset. I guess that makes me one of the REALLY bad girls of breast cancer. And it makes me unpopular with some people, with people who only want to see the happy stuff, with people who are uncomfortable with my diagnosis, with people who just can’t face the fact that I won’t be around someday, that barring a miracle or sudden death from something else, this cancer will take me in a horrible way.

Trust me, it’s not something I like to think about, but I have to. I have to try to prepare my loved ones that someday I won’t be here, I may be in hospice care, they may watch me die. Believe me, I don’t like that image any more than anyone else does, but the difference is that I can’t pretend that it doesn’t exist, I can’t say, “Oh, you’ll beat it,” because MBC is an equal opportunity killer — it takes fighters, optimists, supplement-takers, vegetarians, the religious, etc., just as much as it takes everyone else.

I will die from this. My husband, bless his heart, still says, “I hope not,” even when I try to talk to him about things that are important to me, that I think he’ll need to know about if it gets to the place where he’ll have to raise our son by himself.

*sigh* It’s a hard life. Even so, I love my life and I have an amazing God and I hope and pray for treatments to extend my life for a very long time.

That, and a good medical team, keep me alive for now . . . .
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Cross-posted to Mothers With Cancer.