tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-322971562024-03-27T20:13:51.489-05:00Garden of DandelionsKristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.comBlogger627125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-46174975814504764352023-11-26T14:48:00.002-06:002023-11-26T17:00:08.615-06:00Happy Birthday, Mom <p>Today my Mom would have been 82. We would have taken her lunch, most likely KFC, a cake she would have said wasn't necessary, yet would have eaten every bit of the piece we gave her, then would have said in Southern disbelief, "82?! Lawww me!". </p><p>We would have bemoaned how close Auburn came to winning the Iron Bowl yesterday, then bid our farewells as the girls would need to get back on the road to school. I would have kissed the top of her head, told her we loved her, and she would have said, "I love you too. Thank ya'll <i>so much </i>for comin'". </p><p>And while I am so comforted knowing where she is spending <i>this</i> birthday, I sure do miss her. </p><p>Something in every single day makes me think of her. And I'm surprised by how often it hits me again that she's no longer here. </p><p>Seeing a roll of Necco's at the grocery store and starting to put them in my cart to hide around her room for her to find. </p><p>Seeing a warm little velour sweatsuit and automatically checking to see if they have an XS for her. </p><p>Dragging out my Christmas decorations this week and thinking, "I need to swing by her room and switch out her Fall decorations for Christmas...".</p><p>Don't even get me started on Christmas. Last year I cried so many times from anticipatory grief, decorating her little tree in her room, thinking it might be the last year. </p><p>This year I'm even more of a mess. <i>Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, I'll Be Home for Christmas, The First Noel, O Holy Night, Silent Night, It Came Upon a Midnight Clear</i>...just (quite) a few of the songs that bring instant tears. Whether the lyrics get me, the memory of her singing them next to me in church, or just the familiar tunes reminding me of Christmases gone by that she made so special for us... cue the waterworks. </p><p>I know she'd say, "Girl, don't cry for <i>me</i>. I'm happy. I'm free of ailments. My mind is new and whole. I'm walking tall and upright. I'm with Mama and Daddy. I got to meet my 2 grandchildren we never got to hold. And, most of all, I'm with my Savior, whom I served my whole life, and longed to see face to face. And while I'm looking forward to seeing you again, your time hasn't come yet. You have a lot to do. Kids to finish raising, grandchildren of your own to meet, a husband to take care of. Soon, we'll be spending eternity together, but until then, quit makin' David do all the cookin'. He's a marvel." </p><p>There'll be more posts to come about my Mom. Some that make me laugh. And some that make me cry. Because I don't want to forget a single memory I have of her. </p><p>And in all my sadness of missing her here, I am so thankful she'll be <i>home </i>for Christmas. </p><p>Happy Birthday, Mom. I'll have David whip us up something tasty to celebrate. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKh6GZpTP0UWzHYYovQRSLujynr0WNJ9LIMper1p3pDU3wPPYzUtuFcWWs4NEyTTIG31xlc-Vzv5fhcym9bjVecswSOYuR5mPKIzJcBivOz_U7wdh9NwpjMhcfDK3MheZlf_HftCD_DL46POHA0YF1BtcPkT-rvThEGyJktWYA9ZNq5_5R3nyh/s2577/IMG_4253.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2577" data-original-width="1848" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKh6GZpTP0UWzHYYovQRSLujynr0WNJ9LIMper1p3pDU3wPPYzUtuFcWWs4NEyTTIG31xlc-Vzv5fhcym9bjVecswSOYuR5mPKIzJcBivOz_U7wdh9NwpjMhcfDK3MheZlf_HftCD_DL46POHA0YF1BtcPkT-rvThEGyJktWYA9ZNq5_5R3nyh/s320/IMG_4253.jpg" width="229" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-13650432616172248172023-07-19T21:26:00.004-05:002023-07-22T18:54:34.841-05:00Gulf Getaway<p>Every trip we go on, I take notes throughout, in preparation for writing a recap blog to remember it by. Inevitably, after we return home, I slip into not just the <i>post vacation blues</i>, but the <i>real life is meaningless, I miss the beach, my family actually drives me bonkers much of the time, I should quit my job and live off the grid </i>depths of despair.<i> </i></p><p>Which, unfortunately, can take me awhile to climb out of. And by that time I've lost the desire to write about our adventures, lest it send me tumbling back into the depths. My notes from Paris/London are still on my phone. Perhaps one day they'll make it on to my computer for your reading enjoyment. </p><p>I have just awoken from a delightful afternoon nap, snuggled up with Gizzie, who was most excited to get picked up from the kennel today. I try to explain to her each time, that we went away on a long trip and couldn't bring her us. We didn't just drop her off at prison and party at home without her, which is what I always fear she believes happens. George is her protector at the kennel. They sleep together, eat together, and when they let them outside, Gizzie runs ahead but continues looking back to make sure he's right there with her. </p><p>At home, he can't even look her direction without her snapping at him and letting him know she's the boss here. Her little 8 lb yorkie poo self putting his 80 lb pit bull self in place. </p><p>Now where were we? Ah, yes, refreshed from the nap I convinced David I needed after an exhausting day of travel (2+ hour flight from Tampa). And so far, I'm still in good spirits (no doubt he had the flight attendant slip a little something into my cranberry juice). </p><p>"Why do you get cranberry juice on every flight?" Reese asked. </p><p>The answer is. I really don't know. I think I started doing it back when I first started flying. Before I was an adult and could buy my own juice. And it's just a habit that's stuck with me. I realize stores carry gallons of cranberry juice that rarely makes its way to our fridge. But by golly, that little 6oz cold plastic cup of cranberry juice from Southwest Airlines is a treat. </p><p>You know that ice breaker question, "If you could have someone do one chore for you for free for the rest of your life, what would it be?". And normal people pick cooking, or cleaning? Mine would be...packing! Ok, yes, my view of this question is a bit skewed because I <i>do</i> have someone who does the cooking and his name is David. But I absolutely <i>abhor</i> packing. I only have to do it two or three times a year...but I. Hate. It. It stresses me out. It overwhelms me. I procrastinate until the literal last minute, usually finishing up as we're heading out the door. Tossing in random things like a gun is pointed at my head and this is the last time I will ever be in my house. <i>What do I need to grab??</i></p><p>Meanwhile, David saunters upstairs the night before, grabs a few undergarments and socks from his neatly organized drawers, a few pressed shirts off his symmetrically hung hangers, then lastly, retrieves a few swim trunks from their special little designated area, and <i>voila</i>! He's done. As I'm doing one more load of laundry to get my last few pairs of comfy undies clean, digging around the bottom of my closet for shorts that still fit and that will semi match my shirts I already had to dig to find. Where the heck my swimsuits are, your guess is as good as mine. </p><p>So I was already in a tizzy the day we left, cursing David under my breath for scheduling a morning flight the day after I had worked a 10 hour shift. If he had only scheduled it for later in the afternoon, I would have been better prepared. That is a lie. I would <i>not</i> have been better prepared no matter what time that flight would have been. I would still have procrastinated to the point of frenzied panic. </p><p>The evening prior, I spent tidying the house, in case our plane went down and all five of us perished. Except I ran out of steam. I thought about leaving a note explaining we weren't ransacked and taken hostage. We left of our own free will on a family vacation to Florida. I just didn't have time to organize my side of the closet by color like David's. </p><p>Oh, and David was out of town before our trip so I had to harvest cucumbers from his little backyard garden like Laura Ingalls Wilder at 7 o'clock at night because I promised him I'd watch over it while he was gone. </p><p>I assumed my hot flashes and tendency to overheat was due to my body still trying to regulate itself from my chemo induced menopause, medication side effects, and my grand finale last summer...my hysterectomy. But no. I think it's just who I am now. David turned the air up...down...whichever way it goes to save money while we're gone and by the time I plopped down in the car to head to the airport, after my hectic morning getting ready, I looked like I had just emerged from the depths of hades, sweat dripping from my face, hair plastered to my head. </p><p>"Everybody ready?" David singsonged cheerily. I grunted affirmation. </p><p>We've never had a travel disaster, thank goodness, when flying that I can remember. Like a cancelled flight, lost luggage, etc. Just some minor hiccups. David bought all of our tickets weeks ago, then remembered after the fact he has companion status, so I fly for $5 anywhere he goes. So he called the airline the night before and explained the situation. They credited him the amount he paid for my tickets, but I had to recheck myself in. Of course, I was now in the C boarding group. So I watched my little family line up in the A group, laughing and having the best of times together. I quickly texted them in the group chat to cut it out and quit making fun little inside joke memories without me. </p><p>I finally made it on. After family boarders, B group, anyone wearing the color blue, anyone named Martha May, and all those wearing checkered pants. David will only sit on the aisle. Tate and his 10 foot long legs has discovered he <i>also</i> prefers the aisle. Which means I was stuck smack dab in the middle of the girls. I made it seem like a fun, desirable arrangement. But I really just use them to get me onto David's free Southwest wifi that I can never figure out. We all got boarded, some maintenance men were tweaking a few things, then the announcement came that we all had to <i>de board </i>because the toilets wouldn't flush. But never fear, another plane for us was near. </p><p>Off we shuffled to the new gate. Where we waited another hour for the "plane that was near". </p><p>"Tate, were you kind to your seatmate on the plane?" I asked. </p><p>"Yep. I told them my name, where I lived, what school I go to, and my social security number," he replied. </p><p>A simple "no" would have sufficed. </p><p>Our plane finally arrived and we bid our goodbyes once again as I waited my turn with the C groupers, whom I was beginning to become rather chummy with. I looked up and saw David pointing at me and talking with the gate agent who also turned to look my direction. What on Earth. They stood there visiting for a few minutes, looking at the computer, each kid telling their name to him, then more pointing at me. Dear Lord, we're not making it on that plane. </p><p>Turns out, the system showed Reese had already boarded somehow when she was clearly standing right there. They got it figured out, deemed her a non threat, and boarding continued. I bid a fond farewell to my C listers who would more than likely be scattered about the plane in random middle seats as I settled in betwixt the girls and began to recalculate at precisely what time I would be squishing soft white sand between my toes with our late departure. </p><p>Most Hollaway Getaways are sun up to sun down, cram in all the sights, open and close down the parks, do all the things, eat at all the places, c-r-a-s-h. Repeat. Don't get me wrong. They're awesome. And a lot of fun. But they absolutely wear us out. This vacation, Drue was adamant be relaxing, play it by ear, not a lot of planned activities, just enjoy the moment. Which is now my new favorite way to vacation. And is what I'm guessing vacationing is all about. </p><p>6 years ago, we splurged on a beach photographer, whose photos still adorn our living room walls to this day. We decided to splurge again this trip. Seeing as Tate barely reached my shoulder in the last family photos and now <i>I </i>barely reach <i>his</i>. The only slot she had available was the night after we arrived, which was perfect, before the three pale faced people in our party got charred by the Southern sun. The magic hour is 7:40pm-8:40pm apparently, so I prepared our posse that we wouldn't be eating dinner until <i>after </i>pictures. </p><p>"<i>After!</i>?" exclaimed my man child with two hollow legs. "Why <i>after</i>?!". </p><p>"Because I have to fit in my dress," I explained. "And if I eat dinner <i>before</i>, the photographer will say, 'Oh? I didn't realize this was a maternity shoot'!".</p><p>I mentioned how I cry at the drop of a hat these days. Especially when memories of my Mom hit me. When Reese arrived home to go with us on our trip, there was a package waiting for her. It was a beautiful heart necklace with dried flowers from my Mom's casket inside. Tears immediately streamed down my face and she hadn't even been home 3 minutes. As I was getting ready for our pictures, Reese must have came out in her outfit and David remarked on her necklace and how Grandma Judy would be in our pictures. I quickly heard her shush him and say, "Don't say that to Mom! She's already got her makeup on!".</p><p>I want to be cool. I really do. And witty to talk to. But I'm just not. I'm socially awkward and my family thinks it is absolutely hilarious. Since I was the one who booked our session, I walked up to our photographer and introduced myself and the family. Things were off to a good start. Then she asked how our vacation was going so far and my awkwardness engulfed me. I said something dumb about the lizards there and she said, "Oh, is this your first time to Florida?". </p><p>I began stammering around about how we <i>had</i> been <i>before</i>, but not this far South, blah, blah, blah and heard instant snickers behind me. Later that night back in our condo, David couldn't hold it in any longer. "We've been coming to Florida almost every October for the past, what, <i>9 years</i>? To Orlando! You made it seem like it was our first time here!". And he and the kids proceeded to have a good 15 minute chuckle about it. </p><p>David was a tad disappointed at the caliber of our condo, no beach chairs/cabanas to reserve, etc. But the kids and I never care where we stay. Tate was just happy to have a bed. He's slept on the couch many a vacation. As an added bonus, we got a daily dose of marijuana from the stairwell. I am still so naive and always say, "Ewww, I think a skunk sprayed nearby,". To which the kids just roll their eyes, "Really, Mom?". And then I say, "Wait! How do you guys know what that smells like?". It's a whole thing. </p><p>Our first full day was a success. Other than Reese getting sunscreen in her eyes and having to take an extended break back at the condo rinsing them out with my contact solution. David and I headed to the store to grab a few things we'd forgotten and the babies (Drue and Tate) bonded at the beach together, discovering that an 18 year old girl and 17 year old boy actually do have things in common and can enjoy each other's company without insults and name calling exclusively. I really don't know how we could have forgotten anything. The night before we had all gone to Publix for the week. I don't know what it is about vacation but we suddenly needed <i>all the food</i>. Things we've never eaten before in our lives made it into our cart, including my newly discovered favorite snack, Sprite flavored tic tacs. I made fun of Tate for getting them, then gobbled down the whole entire container myself over the next couple of days. </p><p>In keeping with our relaxed vibe of the trip, we decided to go explore a place each morning, then finish our days at the beach. David is obsessed with botanical gardens and has decided we will visit one on all vacations. So off we went the morning after our photo shoot. Tate is no longer the little boy who runs off. He is now the big boy who likes to go off the path and climb over railings. I looked up and there he was. Precariously perched above the pond of lily pads, and I'm guessing, crocodiles. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMq1P_fOC4AdqQ-7CYmsUTIwtVS6JCxPhtEuDK0YePdY6SXEb5G4MaSJn8aZ0q0Ki4Mw25EdX6u74s-9e061GQe5Rf66c3pFwET1Ev4FGzx-XAb0XXf9_vyGJQNdduwbchXzCnE9q09mIIceY5Jc-ODKtIzTMoDZQe2iUkoSxa04zm-nSFa5oN/s4032/tate%20one.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMq1P_fOC4AdqQ-7CYmsUTIwtVS6JCxPhtEuDK0YePdY6SXEb5G4MaSJn8aZ0q0Ki4Mw25EdX6u74s-9e061GQe5Rf66c3pFwET1Ev4FGzx-XAb0XXf9_vyGJQNdduwbchXzCnE9q09mIIceY5Jc-ODKtIzTMoDZQe2iUkoSxa04zm-nSFa5oN/s320/tate%20one.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p>"We're going to be the first family to get kicked out of a free botanical garden," David mused. Every trip, Tate comes up with some random pose for pictures. I present this year's odd pose:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEFwobn4BFg4e20VYrCQiVp2eAi0UCrAJbtornusAuPGAzJB4HnxwESD-QXCvzMA-haFnHOYrsQFx4TWnYHy5pP-G_YF1-ZzVgiZ7hPMwJ2TC0J0gGCGb14gkM6zEQbR8bzQJruljfr8iq718JzhYMvPdsAg6WeANrZXBgLe8sA8ehUHZ06Zwr/s4032/tate%20too.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEFwobn4BFg4e20VYrCQiVp2eAi0UCrAJbtornusAuPGAzJB4HnxwESD-QXCvzMA-haFnHOYrsQFx4TWnYHy5pP-G_YF1-ZzVgiZ7hPMwJ2TC0J0gGCGb14gkM6zEQbR8bzQJruljfr8iq718JzhYMvPdsAg6WeANrZXBgLe8sA8ehUHZ06Zwr/s320/tate%20too.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p>Is he praying? Meditating? Giving thanks to the universe at large? Who knows. But these are the precious memories we'll have of him. </p><p>I wouldn't be doing my duty as a Mother if I didn't constantly worry about dangers lurking around us. Weeks prior to our trip, I kept reading about the riptides in the Gulf. So I helpfully sent an article about them in the family group chat. As well as a picture of what to watch out for. Thankfully, we didn't encounter any during our stay. In fact, we surprisingly found a lovely sand bar out in the ocean filled with sand dollars we took turns collecting. When my turn came to take our stash in to shore, I headed in, then remembered that to get to the sand bar we had to cross a part of the ocean where we couldn't touch. There I was, not the best swimmer, but a darn good doggy paddler, fighting against the current, swimming one armed and clutching these sand dollar treasures with my bad arm, and I thought, "This is it.". This is how I am going to exit this world. </p><p><i>Mother of 3 Drowns Swimming to Shore with Armful of Sand Dollars</i> would be the headline I suspected. Hey, I couldn't think of anything more creative in my final moments. And just when I turned to get one last look of my precious family at the sandbar in waist deep water, I felt the bottom of the sea beneath my toes, and realized I'd made it back to where I could touch. Stop the presses. I would live another day. </p><p>After we showered and settled in for the night, a red bump on the front of my neck caught my eye. <i>Are there mosquitos at the beach?</i> I googled. Not likely so. Had it been a mosquito, I would have been covered in bites and there was just the one. I decided I must have been stung by an invisible sea creature and left it at that. I was just thankful it'd happened <i>after</i> pictures. </p><p>David has always known he can't carry on a pleasant conversation with me past 9pm, and the kids now realize that as well. The beach drains me. I was exhausted every night. The first night, Tate randomly asked something about OJ Simpson. "Oh wow, that all happened when we were in college," I reminisced.</p><p>"<i>What </i>happened?" he asked. </p><p>"The infamous car chase after he murdered his ex-wife," I said. </p><p>"What was her name?" David asked aloud. <br /></p><p>"I don't remember," I replied. </p><p>David continued to try and come up with it then said, "Well that's terrible."</p><p>"What is?" I asked. </p><p>"That we don't remember her name."</p><p>And my irrational, tired self reared her ugly head. "Why is that <i>terrible</i>? She was nobody to me. I didn't know her. She certainly didn't care what <i>my </i>name was!" I said grouchily. </p><p>Four pairs of eyes just stared back at me with laughter behind them. </p><p>"I'm sorry, dear," David apologized mockingly, "I didn't realize you felt so passionately about this."</p><p>Then the name <i>Nicole</i> came to me along with <i>three word name</i> and I blurted out, "Anna Nicole Smith" which resulted in more laughter and Tate googling it and correcting it to <i>Nicole Brown Simpson.</i> </p><p>"I do not care!" I said and promptly went to bed. </p><p>We couldn't go to the Gulf and not feast on a good old fashioned seafood boil. And feast, we did. Drue chose to stay home that night so just the four of us ate shrimp, crab legs, and corn until we were stuffed to the brim. Then topped it off by sharing a one pound piece of chocolate cake called "Big A$$ Chocolate Cake" on the menu that the kids took turns saying because, "Mom, that's what it's called!". </p><p>As we rolled ourselves back to the car, Tate was already planning what he would eat in an hour or for his second dinner. </p><p>We discovered evening ocean swims this trip. I think before I had been too scared we'd lose one of them in the twilight or that sharks would mistake them for an evening snack. Evening swims are lovely. We don't have to worry about getting burnt. Hardly anyone is in the ocean. Very relaxing. And very beautiful as we watched the sun set each night and the clouds turn pink. As we floated peacefully, Tate asked, "When does this close?". </p><p>"The ocean? It doesn't," I said. </p><p>I checked on my neck bite when we got in and it hadn't changed whatsoever. David decided I could be carrying little seahorse babies in it and kept watching for one to crawl out. "Moms don't carry the babies, the Dads do," the kids set him straight. </p><p>Monday was Busch Gardens day, just to throw some thrill rides into the mix. But the tropical storms put a damper on the day and we only got a handful of rides in before the rain shut everything down. We headed back early and as David followed the GPS, there was a split in the road on one of his exits. He went to the left when he actually should have gone right. No harm no fowl. I advised him kindly of this and our GPS rerouted us immediately. A few moments later he said, "Hey, I recognize that. This is the way we came this morning." </p><p>"Yep," I replied offhandedly.</p><p>"So we're good," he went on. </p><p>"Yeah, the GPS rerouted us," I explained. </p><p>A few minutes later, "But this is how we came this morning. So it all worked out," he said again. </p><p><i>What is happening here? </i>I wondered in my head. <i>Does this man not know how a GPS works?</i> </p><p>"Right, because it got us back on track," I said, a little more invested into the conversation at that point. </p><p>For some reason, he wouldn't let it go and was trying to prove a point, but was sounding more and more ridiculous. He doesn't get irritated very easily but his next phrase came out like <i>I </i>was the one who didn't know what was going on. </p><p>"This is the same way we came this morning," he said slower and a little aggravated, "So it all turned out ok, is all I'm saying."</p><p>And I was too tired. Too tired for a rebuttal. So I tried something new for me. I kept quiet and closed my eyes. Dissolving our marriage over this wasn't going to be worth it. And we still had one full day of vacation left together. </p><p>As we all floated in the waves, our new happy place, that evening, the subject of the GPS resurfaced. "Yeah, Dad, what was that about? You weren't making any sense!" Drue said. "And, Mom, I looked at you and you didn't even say anything!".</p><p>"Me too!" Reese said. "When Mom just quit talking, I thought 'what the heck' and just went to sleep."</p><p>I still don't know if David's brain glitched or what. In hindsight, I think maybe he didn't realize the GPS rerouted us and he thought his wrong turn was actually the <i>right</i> turn when we started passing familiar places. Either way, I was just proud of myself after 25 years of marriage for letting it go in the moment and staying quiet. We all had a good laugh about it and I said, "I was literally seething in my seat!".</p><p>"You were?" David asked, as he doubled over in the ocean. </p><p>"Yes! I thought 'we're finna get divorced over this dang GPS!'". </p><p>As relaxing as our time in the ocean was we, in fact, look like the redneckiest redneck family around when we're out there. Tate on his Pabst Blue Ribbon inner tube (don't ask), Drue and I on rafts, David standing out in the sea as our "anchor", holding on to a rope that is tied to Tate's inner tube and that Drue and I also hold onto so we don't float away. Reese usually has the goggles on diving for things. But she's scared to go too far from us so she usually kicks one of us in the face or splashes us all as she resurfaces, and we all yell at her in unison. Prime entertainment for other beach goers, no doubt. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig4IKYNbU_NGHJLJglmQpAOumrMk-TgjL171m9izWhKNIzQTxd-AMnNpu4I-_IPqzazWlHuH9ZPg0quceV8TbTwwuacdPhbnYIf-oydC_ywL5LM0er9AeA_9q1y5SuGLh-wzvMHGnwi-ZQIqhRJs8zVEkqCkPTNxsbGN0juBXDKtT4fLOC5O5q/s2906/fam.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2053" data-original-width="2906" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig4IKYNbU_NGHJLJglmQpAOumrMk-TgjL171m9izWhKNIzQTxd-AMnNpu4I-_IPqzazWlHuH9ZPg0quceV8TbTwwuacdPhbnYIf-oydC_ywL5LM0er9AeA_9q1y5SuGLh-wzvMHGnwi-ZQIqhRJs8zVEkqCkPTNxsbGN0juBXDKtT4fLOC5O5q/s320/fam.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p>When no sea horses escaped from my neck, I diagnosed myself with a leishmania parasite. "Can cause high fever, weight loss...oh nice, I kinda hope it's that," I announced. </p><p>One of the nights (after the O.J. Simpson fiasco) Reese asked, "What was your favorite beach day we've had?". Yep, it was after 9pm. I started reflecting on the days then snapped, "I don't know! I can't pick a favorite! I've enjoyed them all. That stresses me out. Why do we have to pick just <i>one</i>?". </p><p>Again, all the laughs. And reminders not to ask Mom anything at night. Ever. </p><p>One of my favorite parts of our condo vacations are the nighttimes. We're all clean, fed, and cozied up in the living room watching movies together. "Mom, is this your dream come true?", Tate asked. "Yes, yes it is," I replied contentedly. The night before we visited the Clearwater Aquarium we watched <i>Dolphin Tale</i> which was filmed there. I don't see any notes from that day so there must not have been any marriage ending arguments or kids falling into the turtle tank. It was neat to see though. And made me want to move there and be a marine biologist who rehabs animals. First, I'll need to update my resume and add "expert in Leishmania parasites". </p><p>I love, love, love our family vacations. David likes to burst my bubble of happiness each time by saying, "You know, this could be our last one with the five of us." Tell me that after 9pm buster, and you might get a right hook to your jaw. This one was the perfect amount of days. Not too long, not too short. I always start out, "Everything is wonderful and I love spending time with all of you" then end up "MUST YOU YAWN SO LOUDLY?!" near the end. That's when we know it's time. Time to get back to our regular lives and schedules, going out in 5 different directions most days. Catching glimpses of each other leaving <i>for</i>, or coming <i>home</i> from work. </p><p>I think I covered all the noteworthy happenings. Now I'm off to read Nicole Brown Simpson's biography, because I still feel guilty for saying she didn't mean anything to me when I was tired. Then after that, I'll come up with another diagnosis for this unsightly red bump on my neck. </p><p>Plunging into the post vacation depths of despair will just have to wait for tomorrow. </p><p><br /></p><p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-64195131254153295632022-06-19T21:02:00.002-05:002022-06-19T21:15:05.032-05:00A Little Less "Organ"ized...Get It??<p>Greetings from my bed, snuggled betwixt our yorkie poo and pittie. Who, I would <i>say</i>, make excellent caregivers, <i>except</i> for the fact that Gizzie's way of checking to see if I'm alive is by standing on my stomach. And George is just living his best life because he normally doesn't get free reign in our bed until nighttime.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdyBsvZVmSqAAi6Z2KS33eRitkVIuAKg_TuttCEU1q4w79hoce2LQWVrbA6Khq8hIExjjYDcxXgT5ze6oKv6sp9RpVk2Dy5ApNM3qdfVASod5IjYyCoe70ANzzdr1Qx26j423unVV_ZF9hS1AGO3tG4cO2Xf0Oba53fpJDRnG7dHLyUbsSiA/s4032/george%20giz.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdyBsvZVmSqAAi6Z2KS33eRitkVIuAKg_TuttCEU1q4w79hoce2LQWVrbA6Khq8hIExjjYDcxXgT5ze6oKv6sp9RpVk2Dy5ApNM3qdfVASod5IjYyCoe70ANzzdr1Qx26j423unVV_ZF9hS1AGO3tG4cO2Xf0Oba53fpJDRnG7dHLyUbsSiA/s320/george%20giz.jpg" width="320" /></a></p><p>Surgery went well. It was a little trickier than my doctor had expected, because there was a lifetime's supply of endometriosis hiding <i>behind</i> my uterus that surprised even her. I like to keep my healthcare team on their toes apparently. </p><p>My 4:15am alarm was in no way welcomed. But we were on our way by 4:45ish. David was most excited about the perfect parking spot he found, right near the entrance to the hospital. "You gotta get up <i>pretty</i> early to find a better spot than me," he said proudly. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWx1ZrAO1HMCOajba4n6KGQfn_-G5Tq602ihnD10YEtDnXRpEYAFzxHVlTTeYhU3G4J4ahyu8qzrNQnYTvj87US-rt6oz1UqsnMH23uF6ZRFD1PiFr_-01HSsWyDC2pFxmxmOP2XdC_zXXWOLRkQq_-Pf-bFllHC59_Peb4FoykkCIxCMx0Q/s2208/surgery.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2208" data-original-width="1242" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWx1ZrAO1HMCOajba4n6KGQfn_-G5Tq602ihnD10YEtDnXRpEYAFzxHVlTTeYhU3G4J4ahyu8qzrNQnYTvj87US-rt6oz1UqsnMH23uF6ZRFD1PiFr_-01HSsWyDC2pFxmxmOP2XdC_zXXWOLRkQq_-Pf-bFllHC59_Peb4FoykkCIxCMx0Q/s320/surgery.JPG" width="180" /></a></div><p>Got all checked in and headed back to pre op. He got to come with me this time, and of course, provided much comedic relief for all those within earshot. When the nurse stepped out he asked, "Did they say they could get me a warm blanket?"</p><p>"What? No!" I hissed, hoping they hadn't heard him. </p><p>"I think <i>you</i> have to request it and then slip it to <i>me</i>..." he suggested. "Also, I have a mosquito bite that's been bothering me. Do you think they could take a look at it?". </p><p>Oh <i>here</i> we go. It was at this moment I began to rethink him being back there. </p><p>The nurse returned and went through all the routine questions. Name, date of birth, do I know what surgery I'm having, etc. I answered "hysterectomy and oophorectomy". David looked puzzled and asked, "And where exactly <i>are</i> her oofas?". </p><p>Out the nurse went again to check on her other patients. David was starting to get restless by then and began inspecting my gurney. "I wonder what this button does?" </p><p>"Leave it!" I warned. </p><p>"Do you want me to start your IV?" he asked as he picked up my arm and began tapping it to wake up my veins. "Or turn on your oxygen?".</p><p>"I don't want you to touch a single solitary thing," I admonished. </p><p>He sat back down in his chair and while he was repositioning his mask, one of the strings broke. Honestly. He's like my 4th child. He began scanning the room like MacGyver, looking for something he could use to put it back together. "I need a suture kit," he decided. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcTWws5-tYbX5-3T2VFMM1maifXrwThxlahonD2pl6XKgV0fjd2bYDkM76iZnHjJt8DIDyQgJMNN2m2RtKuKqg3VetloKXwacx4glKVxZhJzxwTbngSrN8BfSWS8D4DnTjAVyftUSfJUJfhu4UbzjwKOMP6gq5edcSxXD2xCztlowU2obV9w/s3088/david%20mask.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcTWws5-tYbX5-3T2VFMM1maifXrwThxlahonD2pl6XKgV0fjd2bYDkM76iZnHjJt8DIDyQgJMNN2m2RtKuKqg3VetloKXwacx4glKVxZhJzxwTbngSrN8BfSWS8D4DnTjAVyftUSfJUJfhu4UbzjwKOMP6gq5edcSxXD2xCztlowU2obV9w/s320/david%20mask.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p>Off I went to the OR. And in seemingly the next 30 seconds, I was being wheeled to my room for the night. I took about 10 catnaps that afternoon, being unable to stay awake for more than 5 minutes at a time. David got a kick out of the "goals" written on my board. "Dangle pain control?" he questioned my nurse. "That seems kinda mean. You don't just give it to them when they need it?!"</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyd0KJiFtza1By8-CKvuS3WnAOqRilmMZyq1vcA5lE0pHcUSeZCJF0NxC6pTJelzFmVyUqPtAoh48RxGo3I1LW3poa190h3vasuA2_hlCxqOY9h5Urvt6VMGpS3dQov-UbxcuEwXe_qSKr1847UDhsnRO4eiUktMZjkWwtVDG9lPORGFTu6Q/s1580/dangle.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1242" data-original-width="1580" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyd0KJiFtza1By8-CKvuS3WnAOqRilmMZyq1vcA5lE0pHcUSeZCJF0NxC6pTJelzFmVyUqPtAoh48RxGo3I1LW3poa190h3vasuA2_hlCxqOY9h5Urvt6VMGpS3dQov-UbxcuEwXe_qSKr1847UDhsnRO4eiUktMZjkWwtVDG9lPORGFTu6Q/s320/dangle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>I surpassed my "dangle" goal for the day. And instead of just sitting up on the side of my bed, I managed to slowly walk around the unit with my IV pole and nurse aide. Such an overachiever I am. Although, at the pace I went, a snail would have given me a run for my money. </p><p>The anesthesia made me sick as a dog who just ate stale mac n cheetos (<i>yes</i>, that is a mac & cheese stuffed cheeto puff). An oddly specific comparison, I know. But Gizzie found a half eaten one in one of the kids' rooms years ago and we thought she was done for. She was so sick for an entire day. Didn't even move once. So of course I rushed her to the vet first thing in the morning and thankfully she's lived happily ever after ever since. But it's now our standard family measurement for how sick someone is. </p><p>I made it through that first night. One minute feeling on the verge of making that journey toward the eternal light, the next a nurse coming in saying she had my discharge orders to go home. I called David to come fetch me (he lost rock, paper, scissors apparently), "She said you can just pull up to the main entrance and she'll wheel me out," I explained. </p><p>"Got it. So, like, do I just honk or what?". </p><p>"Don't you dare." </p><p>My nurse took out my IV and went to grab my discharge papers. As I repositioned myself in bed, it was like old faithful erupting from my hand. Blood spattering all over the floor, on me, on my bedding. Think prom scene from <i>Carrie</i>. The poor housekeeper who got assigned to my room probably couldn't decide whether to clean and sanitize or report a crime. </p><p>David got me home where I promptly crawled into bed and drifted in and out of consciousness for the next day and a half. Small stretches of walking, increasing each day, were recommended for a smoother recovery. Since opening the front door these days feels like opening the gates to hades, I opted to shuffle around in circles on our air conditioned main floor. </p><p>I picked <i>the</i> worst time to pass down my car to Tate and upgrade myself to a larger SUV. I haven't yet learned how to casually get in and out of it. I just kind of awkwardly slither out and breathe a sigh of relief when my foot finally touches solid ground. So if everyone could just avert their eyes for the next 4-6 weeks if I happen to pull up beside you and attempt to exit my vehicle semi successfully, that would be helpful. </p><p>In the meantime, it <i>has </i>been handy having my pick of chauffeurs this time around. I learned rather quickly not to say, "Who wants to drive their dear old Mom to Target??". And just began assigning each offspring the task randomly. A neat thing about our city is they somehow managed to deliberately map out each and every route I take to <i>anywhere</i> and begin road construction. As Tate ineffectively dodged some bumps in the road, I remarked, "Umm...ow. I feel like some more of my organs are going to fall out." </p><p>"Wait, those were <i>organs</i> you had removed? You should have sold them on the black market!". His chauffeur duties have been suspended for the time being. </p><p>My surgical team sent me home with some parting gifts. They left 3 or 4 of my ECG electrode patches stuck to me. Each time I shower, I discover another one. Like a little scavenger hunt. </p><p>All in all, I'm doing <i>well</i>. And feeling <i>good</i>. I'm up to one to two outings per day. And <i>down</i> to one nap a day where I wake up in a fuzzy stupor not knowing what year it is. </p><p>As always, I'm so grateful for your prayers and well wishes. I feel like I have more than exceeded my allotment of them these past 4 years. But I know God has placed each and every one of you in my life for a reason. And it's not just so my list of potential chauffeurs can get longer...</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-11352052529996448542022-06-13T10:40:00.001-05:002022-06-13T10:40:07.318-05:00Fallopian Farewell <p>Some people have Summer homes. Or tranquil getaways to a favorite vacation spot each year. </p><p>I have the OR. Not Oregon, although that would be lovely. <i>Operating Rooms</i>. I find myself visiting different ones around the metro each Summer. And instead of collecting little souvenir shot glasses, I collect those plastic hospital cups with lids and straws that measure my water intake. I'm accumulating quite the menagerie. </p><p>Cancer is that rather unique gift that keeps on giving. <i>If</i> that gift is a subscription to something you never asked for, absolutely detest, and isn't eligible for returns or exchanges. </p><p>I'm off to get my 8th surgery in the a.m. </p><p>No, my cancer isn't back. But the medicine I take to help prevent breast cancer reoccurrence, Tamoxifen, can cause uterine cancer. So every year I get a sonogram to check things out. And EVERY YEAR it shows suspiciousness lurking amongst my lining. Which means I either have to get a biopsy done, or in last Summer's case, a hysteroscopy and d&c. </p><p><i>People.</i> I am slated to be on Tamoxifen for SEVEN MORE YEARS. So after my last suspicious sonogram this Spring, my doctor said, "That's it! Everything's coming out!". Kind of like when your kids are all causing a ruckus in the very room you're trying to find some peace and quiet in for 5 minutes so you finally yell, "EVERYBODY OUT!".</p><p>I'll be adding a few more "ectomies" to my health history. A hysterectomy and bilateral salpingo oophorectomy. Boy, spellcheck didn't like that latter one. At. All. </p><p>Tate is disappointed he won't be getting that little brother he's always longed for. I didn't have the heart to tell him that ship had sailed years ago. Not only <i>sailed</i>, mind you, but had gotten lost forever in the Bermuda triangle. He's now trying to convince us to trade one, or both, of his sisters for a brother. Or a bull terrier. Either will suffice. </p><p>At least he's actually able to <i>talk</i> about the surgery now. When I was first explaining what it was, he said, "Mom! That's a bad word!". To which Drue and I both said in unison, "<i>Uterus</i>??". To mess with him more, I said I was planning on keeping all my newly evicted reproductive organs in a jar on the mantel. </p><p>This immediately cleared both kids from the vicinity with Drue saying, "Mom...ewww. Good-bye." Teens are too easy sometimes. </p><p>I assigned David the most important job of all. Of course he's my ride, but after surgery, I told him to make sure I put my earrings back in right away. I got my second hole pierced recently, and although it's past time that I can change them out, they still need an earring in so they don't close up. He's already set a reminder in his phone. While he was setting that, he asked what time we needed to be at the hospital. </p><p>"5:15am," I replied. </p><p>"Of <i>course</i> we do," he said good naturedly. Poor guy can't catch a break with my first surgery of the day luck of the draws. </p><p>When he found out I'd be staying the night he asked if he needed to take the following day off work as well. "Heavens no," I said. "Just come pick me up between conference calls or something. Or heck, send one of the other THREE drivers in our household. But not Tate. He only knows how to get to Taco Bell and back home." </p><p>I find it kind of poetic, fitting, ironic...I'm not sure which word works best...that I'm having this surgery done at the same hospital where I had all my babies. I've come full circle. </p><p>Oh, and I'll be able to come off of Tamoxifen afterwards and switch to an aromatase inhibitor instead. "But I thought you came off Tamoxifen <i>last </i>year?" you say. Or you <i>would</i> say if you remember reading that in my March 2021 update. And you would be correct. </p><p>Chemo threw me into early menopause. The one and only side effect I really didn't mind. Last year, my lab work showed that, yes indeed, I was post menopausal. So my oncologist took me off Tamoxifen and started me on Letrozole. Lo and behold, I went back to being <i>pre</i> menopausal within a month or so. Which caused my oncologist to scratch his head, order more lab work, and put me <i>back</i> on Tamoxifen. So if you're keeping track, I went <i>in</i> to menopause, came back <i>out</i>, then went. back. <i>in.</i> How David has not walked right out the front door, never to return, I have no idea. I have been a hot mess. Literally. </p><p>And I wasn't the most emotionally/hormonally stable person <i>pre</i> cancer treatments as it was. But I can't take any hormone replacement <i>anythings </i>because that's what fueled my breast cancer to begin with. Oy. </p><p>Never in a billion trillion years did I dream I'd be matter of factly blogging about menopause, ovaries, my uterus, or my bosom. But <i>ridiculously modest</i> me couldn't have gotten ear lobe cancer. Or pinky toe cancer. Neither of which causes me any kind of embarrassment to talk about whatsoever. Nope. This Mom of three who was too shy to even say "breastfeeding" and only felt comfortable referring to it as "nursing" got breast cancer. And her coping mechanism is writing. So there you have it. I am now the epitome of TMI. </p><p>I'm off to pack my little bag. And do a few weird nesting things around the house that I always do before surgeries. Like scrub the kitchen trash can lids and refold my winter sweaters on the shelf in the way back of my bedroom closet. You know, important stuff like that. </p><p><br /></p>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-22128543752418456432022-02-06T18:18:00.002-06:002022-02-06T18:18:42.066-06:00Update<p>I wanted to get this update done while I'm still able to decipher what happened in real life vs what I dreamed. If I launch into a story about my surgeon riding in to my pre-op room on a tiger, you'll know I switched to the dream version. <i>Also</i> I need a distraction from that ever annoying sign of healing...the incessant itch! David helpfully suggested taking a hot shower. When I started to shoot that idea down he continued, "No, really, you should take a shower!"</p><p>Good News: Both my covid test and pregnancy test were negative. Praise the Lord and Hallelujah! I accidentally scheduled my covid test for last Sunday at 2:10, thinking the AFC championship game started later. David said, "I'm sure the heck not driving you!". But it worked to my advantage because there was not another soul in line. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigpMH6Dj-w0pouTaUiy7QFc55UKwOWA2_LCZ5Ny0xuVa3m29uz0ToYHB9s9GBuXwbvrAlSuADvSba8A9S9BbxulpjGT1hiCk0yymVfY82UbPZ71iEMWGndu6I-QO2XQQOlNwDJBa-Wr-0VCFgbagqHS1cjl4FWC_Wvuu-uy0R0OBTSqQuzcg=s3999" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3999" data-original-width="2999" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigpMH6Dj-w0pouTaUiy7QFc55UKwOWA2_LCZ5Ny0xuVa3m29uz0ToYHB9s9GBuXwbvrAlSuADvSba8A9S9BbxulpjGT1hiCk0yymVfY82UbPZ71iEMWGndu6I-QO2XQQOlNwDJBa-Wr-0VCFgbagqHS1cjl4FWC_Wvuu-uy0R0OBTSqQuzcg=s320" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>I figured out why I always have to bring my i.d. for surgery check ins. Because no makeup is allowed, no contacts, no hair products, etc. So I know they are just trying to make sure I'm the same patient they see in their office when I show up looking a fright the morning of surgery. </p><p>Thankfully, we made it safely through snowpocalypse. I-35 had one good lane open and we cruised right on through. We only started seeing cars having trouble once we made it to the main KU Med campus. And if David hadn't been on a mission to deliver me safely and on time for check in, he would have for sure been out there helping push people to safety.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEislYtJbDFMBOG2FQHIkCPFfaK82vXMR1BEXczrzpep4JkzkZW8Ca24CUcZ4QILSTUmSn7VzKz-Giv-v0d6ohspPQUbiWDAuRbMzPS_NS4WOkOc4QViC4wmm9ogtOXXr5154JAbgRGej5QP9wrhsiPpXxxssW32FwfrUJBzRgv_ZV6FE_nRxA=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEislYtJbDFMBOG2FQHIkCPFfaK82vXMR1BEXczrzpep4JkzkZW8Ca24CUcZ4QILSTUmSn7VzKz-Giv-v0d6ohspPQUbiWDAuRbMzPS_NS4WOkOc4QViC4wmm9ogtOXXr5154JAbgRGej5QP9wrhsiPpXxxssW32FwfrUJBzRgv_ZV6FE_nRxA=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p>We pulled into the parking garage and the ticket gate was already up to let people through. So we were't sure if we still needed to stop or what. We went ahead and got a ticket just in case and I reminded David to bring it in to get validated. "Oh, ok, we can just tape it to your arm and they can validate it during your procedure," he suggested.</p><p>David is the cutest right before my surgeries. He's still his jokey self but with an adorable sense of nervousness and uncertainty. He lamented the fact he hadn't brought a straw to use in his coffee thermos so he could just stick it up under his mask and guzzle it down. No one is allowed back in pre-op at this time which didn't sit well with him, "You mean this is it? I have to say goodbye to you here in the waiting room?". When they called my name he grabbed me into what I thought would be a quick hug, except he held on like he wasn't going to let them take me. Ever. Precious. Except I'd waited so long for this day to come I slithered out his grasp and headed on back.</p><p>I sure missed my pre-op buddy once back there though. Entertaining me and all the staff that pop in. Grey's Anatomy was on my TV. Which I found humorous as I looked out in to my real life OR area where no drama was ensuing whatsoever. Pretty boring, actually. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzONDN7VnxrUwPXG6sZdqdFtnV4F-EZD-RFTr4r6xysDqw_FMpk_EXjnD5WSnidimudQNI2LZTXt04yCM8jLkx4IqY1p4Jgk45rrI5lYL2a4w42-e78B9BoAJjfYGl1Tetri2KgRUAjGCBP4_B2Aebwi7UovJNnCk9mSkpWcHe-62426n2rA=s2208" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1242" data-original-width="2208" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzONDN7VnxrUwPXG6sZdqdFtnV4F-EZD-RFTr4r6xysDqw_FMpk_EXjnD5WSnidimudQNI2LZTXt04yCM8jLkx4IqY1p4Jgk45rrI5lYL2a4w42-e78B9BoAJjfYGl1Tetri2KgRUAjGCBP4_B2Aebwi7UovJNnCk9mSkpWcHe-62426n2rA=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">The inflatable warming blanket they put on me kept slipping out of the top of my blanket and slapping me in the face. David would have found this hilarious, no doubt comparing me to Violet Beauregarde plumping up into a huge blueberry. </span></div><p></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEig_OLpQny29B10ZmNdhimQYYeUbqV2DlMdH8bO5TXtoP0ioIpFwG-MDB7fHWpgwNn5IKTawR08Ddt3vnjRyO3LJWDMFhaI0wp_qvuwSO1qT__c19HEBM9NqhLtl1_EqMyD0EKgwlMxgGQ0Hhh5nt2PiOV3PruKmvIbMBr-AqPOH_dLhloHGQ=s3088" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEig_OLpQny29B10ZmNdhimQYYeUbqV2DlMdH8bO5TXtoP0ioIpFwG-MDB7fHWpgwNn5IKTawR08Ddt3vnjRyO3LJWDMFhaI0wp_qvuwSO1qT__c19HEBM9NqhLtl1_EqMyD0EKgwlMxgGQ0Hhh5nt2PiOV3PruKmvIbMBr-AqPOH_dLhloHGQ=s320" width="320" /></a></p><p>Everybody on my OR team popped their heads in. Nurses, doctors, assisting doctors, anesthesia team. I started feeling like a pretty big deal. And also a little guilty that all of them were assigned to little ol' me. I got marked up, drugged up, and literally signed my life away in case my procedure went south. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjHSFkftBWNoIn9yAvrY8854wLtugHEqnVyA5QRtpl5xK1alC-AQ8A9IC7BIKrdQqPgzLRpn_v3FQcNL2DqBGPPaIMfVthfqRhgNys4iLv5D0dxhYtyhieqbKOUNz8kINvC7eWRoPaw36K87A387CJxjQ-5Q8R3atGCXzJHpnibinGu8j3puA=s3088" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjHSFkftBWNoIn9yAvrY8854wLtugHEqnVyA5QRtpl5xK1alC-AQ8A9IC7BIKrdQqPgzLRpn_v3FQcNL2DqBGPPaIMfVthfqRhgNys4iLv5D0dxhYtyhieqbKOUNz8kINvC7eWRoPaw36K87A387CJxjQ-5Q8R3atGCXzJHpnibinGu8j3puA=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>David kept texting to see if I'd gone back yet. After about 2 hours, they brought in my little surgical cap and I texted him that it was getting close and I was putting my phone away. He chose the worst, most ominous reply whatsoever, texting, "See you on the other side". </p><p>And I was out. Sometimes I make it to the OR room before I conk out. But this time I didn't even make it out into the hallway. Then I groggily heard my name being called by my post op nurse. She popped out to update David, then as she helped me get dressed, asked, "So, do you have a <i>barn</i>?'. I thought I'd heard wrong and assumed she meant, "How's your arm?". But it all came together when she said, "I told your husband you couldn't operate any heavy machinery and he said you had rented a forklift and planned to clear out your barn this weekend." My eyes were droopy but I was still able to roll them. </p><p>We headed home about 12 hours after we'd started out that morning. David is not good at sitting. Or waiting. Or being patient. So I asked him how in the world he had fared all day. He has decided they really need to institute a volunteer program for people like him waiting all day on their loved ones, "There was a piece of carpet that had pulled away from the wall in the waiting area...I could have been tacking that back down. A win win. They get projects done for free and I get to work out my restlessness." </p><p>So how did my procedure go? Sorry, I'm sure that's why you started reading in the first place. It went well. He put in 2 bypasses on my forearm so those are all stitched up. Then he moved some lymph nodes up my side and took out a bunch of scar tissue that was there from my last surgery, So perhaps this means I'll be able to reach both arms above my head at the same height again. I hopefully get my dreaded jp drain out tomorrow. My core muscles said, "Oh crud! She's completely depending on us to get her out of bed and out of the chair again!" which they weren't too happy about. But we came to an understanding and I'm getting up and at 'em quite a bit more easily. My soreness is easing up everyday. But I feel a bit narcoleptic, falling asleep sometimes mid sentence. </p><p>I had to sleep in this huge foam swiss cheesy looking thing the first night. Which will now become something David wants to throw out, but I'll want to keep for a future pinterest project I'll never do.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhkzv461IFmg3BXNkxj8tOpWuFZUzWOZBRPANU4gKPKyGElTgm6Lr0Vk7TNMZxc9fxuxpKkljFJrDIDHnFwTjr1PBZTjJ3j7RWUA16XdHPLwJ-Vfhmf911p6C_8hDEpSXvAFLxACtrmwRSR-y0MYcRNdWTz97LJ_yuV8b0646AFmzbSMoYPqQ=s3088" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhkzv461IFmg3BXNkxj8tOpWuFZUzWOZBRPANU4gKPKyGElTgm6Lr0Vk7TNMZxc9fxuxpKkljFJrDIDHnFwTjr1PBZTjJ3j7RWUA16XdHPLwJ-Vfhmf911p6C_8hDEpSXvAFLxACtrmwRSR-y0MYcRNdWTz97LJ_yuV8b0646AFmzbSMoYPqQ=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>I'm currently still orange from the iodine solution they slather all over you to prevent infection during surgery. And my upper lip got busted from the breathing tube. So basically I look like a one armed oompa loompa who's been in a bar fight.</p><p>David had me do a test drive with him earlier to the store to see how I did since he's <strike>abandoning me </strike>going to Denver tomorrow. I passed. And didn't fall asleep at the wheel. </p><p>Time will tell on how well the procedure worked. And how much of the swelling will actually be able to be managed. </p><p>I'm off to take my post dinner nap. And contemplate showering. But not before I color in my left side on my little blank surgery person. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-40621550547644172742022-02-01T18:01:00.002-06:002022-02-01T18:12:23.236-06:00How I'm Spending Groundhog Day<p>Every 6 months or so I like to go ahead and have another cancer related surgery on a different body part. So far I've done skull, chest (<i>duh</i>), and uterus. This week's lucky winner is my left hand/arm. Perhaps I'll print out a blank person and color in all my various parts that have been sliced and diced. Kind of like when people print out a map of the US and color in all the States they've been to. Ok, not <i>quite</i> as fun as that, but I do like pretty color visuals. </p><p>"What is this surgery <i>for?</i>" you ask. </p><p>Lymphedema. </p><p>"Ah. And what exactly <i>is</i> lymphedema?" you ask. </p><p>Dang, ya'll are nosy. </p><p>Basically, it's swelling from a damaged lymph system. Mine was damaged on the left side during my double mastectomy because in order to remove all the lymph nodes they needed to for testing, they had to dissect through multiple layers on that side to get to mine. Which made those lymph nodes pretty angry. So they decided to go on strike. If they had little picket signs they'd read, "We're a pain, we won't drain" or something along those lines. So my surgeon is just going to replace those naughty little nellies with working lymph nodes willing to do the job. And no, I'm not trying to make this political in any way with regards to workers going on strike, etc. But since pretty much every.single.thing is made political these days, go ahead and come at me. But on my <i>right </i>side, so I have a chance. </p><p>I had a bout with lymphedema in the Spring of 2020. Yes, other health things actually occurred that year other than covid for some of us. It cleared up, only to rear its ugly head again in October of that year. I wore my compression sleeve nonstop, had multiple appointments with my lymphedema nurses, weeks of therapy and a lovely compression pump contraption, and lymphatic massage. All to no avail. My arm/hand remain swollen, stiff, and sore at times. David refers to it as my "Popeye" arm. And if tattoos weren't banned on a limb affected with lymphedema, you better bet your bottom dollar I'd get a little anchor on my forearm in a heartbeat. </p><p>So last April, after all my lymphedema management options had been exhausted...my plastic surgeon declared me a perfect candidate for two procedures he happens to specialize in. A lymph node transfer and lymphovenous bypass. I, of course, was ready to get on his schedule that following week. However, when I didn't hear back from his office for a few weeks I reached out and said, "Sorry to be a pain...just checking to see if I have a surgery date yet so we can plan our Summer around it." </p><p>His nurse replied back that unfortunately, due to covid, and OR's not being back up to full capacity, the soonest they could get me on their books was Feb 2, 2022. I remember staring at that date in disbelief. Bursting into tears. Cursing covid...who hasn't? Then bucking up and accepting what was completely out of my control. For those of you who've followed along from the get go of my diagnosis in 2018, I shared that my diagnosis was 3/22. My craniotomy/skull biopsy was 5/22, my double mastectomy was 6/22, and I started Tamoxifen on 1/22 the following year. So I had to laugh when I finally realized the coincidental significance of my 2/02/22 surgery date. One of my lifelong besties, Kelly (and her family) are runners. For their various races, 5Ks, 10Ks, half marathons, and whatnot she always finds a Bible verse that corresponds to their bib numbers. I discovered an <i>entire</i> chapter for mine. 2 Samuel 22. David's song of Praise. Praising God for his deliverance. And specifically verse 2: "The Lord is my rock, my fortress, my deliverer." Which He most certainly has been for me throughout these past 4 years. </p><p>David is being his sweet, albeit ornery, self. He scared the dickens out of me yesterday, causing me to jump, scream, and flail my arms. Today he attacked me while I was sitting in bed on my phone, grabbing my knee, one of my most ticklish spots, again causing me to scream and slap his arm. "You can't do that kind of stuff starting tomorrow!" I reminded him. "I know," he replied grabbing my knee once again, "That's why I'm getting it all out of my system now." </p><p>He has been out of town every week (except holiday weeks) in November, December, & January. This is where the <i>sweet</i> part comes in. He made sure to be in town this week and took off all day tomorrow, even though my surgery will literally take all day and I told him to feel free to check emails, get on calls, etc. <i>And</i> he took off the rest of the week as well. Which I suspect has more to do with his upcoming birthday this weekend, but it was still sweet. He is giddy about being home all week so he can cook. He texted his meal plan to the fam on Sunday and said, "This is just going to be the best week ever!" Umm...except for those of us who'll be doped up on oxycodone. </p><p>For the lymphovenous bypass, my surgeon will shoot dye up my arm through the spaces in between my fingers, map the lymphatics, and wherever the blockages are, make a slit in my arm and connect the blocked lymphatic vessels to working veins via itty bitty mini shunts. He's already warned me it takes awhile to notice a difference and it will never look like my right hand/arm. But hey, I'll be happy if I'm just able to fit my wedding ring back on my finger. And so will David. So the old single fellas will stop winking creepily at me. </p><p>I do have a bone to pick with my plastic surgeon tomorrow, however, when I see him. During my reconstruction process he kept asking if I was sure I didn't want to go bigger. I assured him that, no, I've never been well endowed and was certainly not going to take the opportunity to do so at that time. What he <i>didn't</i> warn me about was that I would gain 40 pounds once starting my hormonal therapy (ok, and perhaps, my love of sweets and disdain of the gym) but MOSTLY due to my medication. And implants don't grow! Every other area of my body has spread out far and wide, <i>except</i> them. So now it looks like I never even got reconstruction and chose to stay flat. And I'm sure most people are left questioning my gender, especially when I run errands in sweats. I feel like there should have been a warning label of some sort. <i>"Objects implanted in your chest don't grow proportionately with the rest of your body." </i></p><p>And, of course, in true Midwest fashion, with my surgery date upon us...we're under a winter storm warning for tomorrow. Thankfully, David has a truck. Which I will most definitely be sending him out in to pick up my surgeon should he be unable to make it to the main KU campus tomorrow. </p><p>Since most people don't know what lymphedema is, I've decided I'm going to have as much fun with recovery as I can. So when people see me all bandaged up and say, "Oh no! What happened?" I'm just going to make up various scenarios as I see fit. I'm thinking of starting off with shark attack, run over by my teen drivers, or Wordle playing paralysis. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-87742434278568887032021-12-11T20:49:00.002-06:002021-12-11T20:49:49.671-06:00Home For Christmas <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiR5A2pcr6gsCYpW7VxqnSa20RBHu_GPSXNLsss_HvGgKnx1j6xvyJUoZTzbzmt8M1m8gT6uFyLt91pmP55qdg6mW7ibWPx5qJ8QQVH0M_cvBUgYVJ-JvDn8mwYDjWB1n9lYwOu5WHd8y5tJgVB5SuYRzGhsNKfrWy9Q62-36lfPiDlroNVjQ=s1065" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiR5A2pcr6gsCYpW7VxqnSa20RBHu_GPSXNLsss_HvGgKnx1j6xvyJUoZTzbzmt8M1m8gT6uFyLt91pmP55qdg6mW7ibWPx5qJ8QQVH0M_cvBUgYVJ-JvDn8mwYDjWB1n9lYwOu5WHd8y5tJgVB5SuYRzGhsNKfrWy9Q62-36lfPiDlroNVjQ=s320" width="308" /></a></div><p>When I was little, I thought everyone had a Southern family refuge like Pine Lake. Where we spent a week every Summer, tucked away in a log cabin built by my Granddad, fishing, exploring the creek with cousins, being slung around in the back of his old pickup, and being loved on by all of our Alabama family. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjoJ9awn9xhwJCbSGfM6WBfpl28mcbmC76-r3z4a28TorIE2SO3TH0Ly6aXIscrFhesBRKbDMR7PJ1TiQDCdacZbI2wF0iXxB4vkBolWIXYNNkM6xgvSJEqOwqNibW-KDoZhN7s4jHGcjFeRB69CHx0jmuNFdhwhcDXKj2wVGBhUYY8Cgy6XA=s1242" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="921" data-original-width="1242" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjoJ9awn9xhwJCbSGfM6WBfpl28mcbmC76-r3z4a28TorIE2SO3TH0Ly6aXIscrFhesBRKbDMR7PJ1TiQDCdacZbI2wF0iXxB4vkBolWIXYNNkM6xgvSJEqOwqNibW-KDoZhN7s4jHGcjFeRB69CHx0jmuNFdhwhcDXKj2wVGBhUYY8Cgy6XA=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p>The Army took my parents out of Alabama to a handful of other States and overseas, finally plopping them down for good in the Midwest. Leavenworth, to be exact. And I've always felt a little sad for my Mom, that she was never able to return to her home to stay. Had they returned while I was still at home, however, I would have attended Auburn University, not Southwest Baptist University. And would never have met that handsome strawberry blond fellow in my Old Testament history class. And had they returned <i>after</i> I left home, my kids would have missed out on years of Grandma Judy watching them each week and all the memories they hold dear from those days. </p><p>I guess it's only fitting that our last big family get together, Thanksgiving 2020, was at Pine Lake. The day after my parents returned home to Leavenworth from that trip, my Dad had a heart attack, underwent surgery, then suffered 2 kinds of strokes during recovery and hasn't returned to their Leavenworth home since. </p><p>This past Spring, my Mom ended up in the hospital, followed by a rehab facility, and finally an assisted living up the road from me, where my Dad now lives as well. I would love to insert here...<i>and they lived happily ever after. </i>However, their health issues continue to increase as their independence continues to decrease. They've both had a myriad of challenges and my Mom has been in and out of the hospital multiple times. </p><p>"I'm dreaming tonight, of a place I love, even more than I usually do, and although I know it's a long road back, I promise you..." when I hear that old familiar tune this season, tears spring to my eyes, realizing my Mom most likely won't be making another trip down to her home. </p><p>Perusing Target's dollar section the other day, tears again sprung to my eyes (this seems to be a common theme for me this Christmas season) as I looked down and saw a little wooden cabin. While not an exact replica of the one my Granddad built, I knew it could work. I had no sooner put it in my basket, than I saw another little wooden structure shaped like a triangle, complete with red and green paint in the package. And my vision sprang to life. Those two pieces, along with a few decorative pine trees and a little john deere tractor ornament completed the look. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj9CucSAutewPBsMyXcSySq4UzMxz5Xgk6tLudeGdb3WweL3knxuIUxPan2yzjPqStfyFbgZcw1kl9ONy9VicMvLsjr0lHnVSRH-FWMAF7JgsPtihY49U-Wvt4nt1DEuXq8kpWC_D5ycWtvPmLa6BWCj_TwVnRDL8jktPvXAUDH_o5oiRI-GQ=s1548" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1548" data-original-width="1242" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj9CucSAutewPBsMyXcSySq4UzMxz5Xgk6tLudeGdb3WweL3knxuIUxPan2yzjPqStfyFbgZcw1kl9ONy9VicMvLsjr0lHnVSRH-FWMAF7JgsPtihY49U-Wvt4nt1DEuXq8kpWC_D5ycWtvPmLa6BWCj_TwVnRDL8jktPvXAUDH_o5oiRI-GQ=s320" width="257" /></a></div><p>When my Mom returns to her apartment from her current hospital stay, she'll find her own little piece of heaven on Earth. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2IWC3_Pxt8od3tr3wZP8IjniTAgftlqddNf0oYmOenW9-_qxt3Gjdb2xUhoRySfpPl0Cb-vK2U1tcSD_1xRA3GZZ_WUf5Kog43zsbS25BV4XNAfU1f-h8Fuy05rpSVje4snkfdvErSnv4dEa85MdeDo1-AfWLy0CnN6T9L6tm2DIRgFpXTg=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2IWC3_Pxt8od3tr3wZP8IjniTAgftlqddNf0oYmOenW9-_qxt3Gjdb2xUhoRySfpPl0Cb-vK2U1tcSD_1xRA3GZZ_WUf5Kog43zsbS25BV4XNAfU1f-h8Fuy05rpSVje4snkfdvErSnv4dEa85MdeDo1-AfWLy0CnN6T9L6tm2DIRgFpXTg=s320" width="320" /></a></div>So she can be home for Christmas...if only in her dreams. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjs3NHxVCdm8POYsXHvi-0p0SOAVww65OoKYSSjDooteZlo5P6VZ47Y5Vz1Oo9ntxo5HqItWZXWivVgowyf28w24in4A1R53IkBx_oa_jjN2ZtmXzbA8QBbsH08CnqWsK7HeIeb5TeQBWWB8kkLLuIofjJowHXLfQ6BKfs7TJPJ4MB4Jw4wyA=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjs3NHxVCdm8POYsXHvi-0p0SOAVww65OoKYSSjDooteZlo5P6VZ47Y5Vz1Oo9ntxo5HqItWZXWivVgowyf28w24in4A1R53IkBx_oa_jjN2ZtmXzbA8QBbsH08CnqWsK7HeIeb5TeQBWWB8kkLLuIofjJowHXLfQ6BKfs7TJPJ4MB4Jw4wyA=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-6802543264180522202021-03-22T07:38:00.003-05:002022-01-05T16:33:37.034-06:00Three Years To be sung to the tune of the William Tell Overture..."Happy Cancer-versary, Happy Cancer-versary, Happy Cancer-versary, H-A-P-P-Y Cancer-versary!". Why, thank you! So kind of you all to remember. Gifts? You shouldn't have. Oh. You didn't? That's quite alright. I'm sure those stimulus checks were put toward another good use. What is the 3 year Cancer-versary gift anyway? I have no clue. I think it might be white chocolate mochas from Starbucks. Either way, I will be treating myself to one this morning. <div><br /></div><div>Like many of you in the Facebook world, my memories popping up this time of year are of our awesome family adventures on Spring Breaks past. This time next year, unfortunately, our family won't have any memories pop up for 2021 because we went NOWHERE. I guess I could have documented David and my's trip to the ol' Home Depot the other afternoon. He always tricks me into thinking we're running in for one thing. Then suddenly remembers about 15 things he needs. Every. Stinkin'. Time. </div><div><br /></div><div>Please don't take our lack of travels this year as a woe is me complaint, however. Remember, we were that family who cancelled their Paris plans at the last minute then turned around and hopped on a plane to Hawaii instead, just as Covid began shutting down the country around us last March. So we were definitely past due our turn of staying home. </div><div><br /></div><div>Pictures of our past Spring Breaks always bring up fun memories with the fam. Funny, how it's always the <i>good </i>memories that come to mind. Never the ones of me getting frustrated with the kids wanting to stay in the condo rather than go exploring and saying in exasperation, "That's it. This is our <i>last</i> family trip together. Next year you guys are staying home!". That's probably for the best. But for me, the pictures from the past three years are also marked by my cancer timeline.
</div><div><br /></div><div>Take this picture of Tate and me at Universal Studios in March 2018, I remember the laughs, warm temps, my blue nail polish (what in the world possessed me to pick <i>that</i> color?!). And then, upon seeing my loosely braided locks, I automatically remember, "Ohhh yeah. This was <i>pre</i>-diagnosis."</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOcS3-2NGqPfLHIs_WXsQVVDklrP_U_y7i7f1p-WTAnRNa007ShYKWD4OUnExlubuc7zN6tapAuttL7Z1H6Ub_JkbOQNhYhmcosbawCdy4uHaArM-JQMDXTH0ByeXp18JTYreG/s1242/Tate+and+me.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="1115" data-original-width="1242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOcS3-2NGqPfLHIs_WXsQVVDklrP_U_y7i7f1p-WTAnRNa007ShYKWD4OUnExlubuc7zN6tapAuttL7Z1H6Ub_JkbOQNhYhmcosbawCdy4uHaArM-JQMDXTH0ByeXp18JTYreG/s320/Tate+and+me.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Right before going on this vacation, I'd had my annual mammogram, showing a suspicious area, and had a biopsy scheduled for a few days after we would return home. God was already wrapping His arms around me even then. My worry wart self was able to fully enjoy a week away with the crew. (Minus my aformentioned mini outburst of never taking them anywhere again.) Oh sure, I got on a medical site, or <i>twenty</i>, after everyone went to bed. And even woke up in the middle of the night googling something else related to breast cancer multiple times. But I really <i>was</i> able to relax and rest in the fact that God already knew what my results would be and this hadn't thrown Him for a loop in the least. </div><div><br /></div><div>Then, there's <i>this </i>picture of Tate and me at Corpus Christi in 2019 (yes, the girls also accompanied us on on these trips, but their ol' Mom wasn't deemed instagram worthy at that time so there aren't very many pictures of us together. <i>And</i> Tate was still small enough for me to grab and clutch onto until he smiled). This one automatically brings up all the feels from from March '18 to March '19. A whirlwind year of scans, surgeries, chemo, and radiation. Oh, and why in the world did I think I was ready to venture outside my home sans beanie when my hair was still shorter than his?!</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqBzALTlWCM0JAQUJ6jR7HHtMG2OOOxPqQy44sTIMVRHtjQqk-tQR_-oOtGXG8hx85Mc8jupSZyytjUxaUc0Mzd4vj9wxXhiyvNulvPMyTWHUrCiMSCQW7VYjg-Hy0F4Ne4NBi/s1510/Tate+and+me+too.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="1510" data-original-width="1242" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqBzALTlWCM0JAQUJ6jR7HHtMG2OOOxPqQy44sTIMVRHtjQqk-tQR_-oOtGXG8hx85Mc8jupSZyytjUxaUc0Mzd4vj9wxXhiyvNulvPMyTWHUrCiMSCQW7VYjg-Hy0F4Ne4NBi/s320/Tate+and+me+too.jpg" /></a></div>
Speaking of Tate, much to his chagrin, David made him take Honors Biology this year. His first, and according to him, <i>last</i> honors class. The other day he said, "Hey, we're studying cancer cells right now."
"Oh? Did you raise your hand and say, 'My Mom had cancer'? You might have gotten extra credit or something," I suggested.
"Uhh, no. But we learned they mutate and stuff," he continued. I waited for him to go on, because I've learned if I start showing genuine interest and asking probing questions, he clams up and disappears just as quickly as the conversation had started. That ornery grin I know all to well began spreading across his face as he said, "So, like, you're a <i>mutant</i>..." </div><div><br /></div><div>Hmmppff. See if I take any pictures with <i>him </i>on our next getaway! </div><div><br /></div><div>So how are things going with me currently?</div><div><br /></div><div>Depends on the day you ask me. Most days I would say, "Great! So glad all that's behind me! Thankful God has brought me this far!" <i>But</i> if you catch me on a bad, pity party kinda day, I may say, "Ugghh. I developed lymphedema in my left arm and spent months wrapping it daily in gauze, bandages, and foam. I spent weeks in therapy trying to get the swelling to stay down. (Which wasn't too bad because I had the awesome Janis, who coincidentally adopted one of our foster dogs years ago so I got to catch up with her quite bit.) Alas, my arm and hand are super stubborn (like the rest of me) so I have an appointment in a few weeks with my plastic surgeon to discuss a procedure where he shoots dye up my arm, maps the lymphatics, then puts in little mini shunts to help them drain properly. I did get to bid farewell to Tamoxifen this month and switch it out for Letrozole, a med that has a higher rate of preventing reoccurrence <i>but</i> causes bone pain. Always a pros and cons list with these meds. My baseline bone density scan revealed I have osteopenia so I've started on calcium/vit D tablets the size of actual horse pills. I have an appt in a few weeks to hopefully rule out uterine cancer. My biopsy this Summer for that was benign. So I'm gonna go ahead and declare the same this time around. Wouldn't it be nice if it worked that way? Oh, and my meds cause such tremendous hot flashes/sweats at night that I recently purchased a pet cooling get pad to sleep on."</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Whew</i>. Bet you're r-e-a-l-ly hoping you catch me on a <i>good</i> day now. </div><div><br /></div><div>Exercise is good for lymphedema, and just good for your body in general in case you weren't aware, so David and I joined a gym in January. We were able to add the kids to our monthly membership for just $10 but they have yet to darken the door. We even promised to stay on the opposite side of the gym while they were there and not to make eye contact or acknowledge them in any way if our paths should happen to cross. Meaning, I would hold my tongue from yelling out, "Good job, Sweetie" while Tate was on the bench press. </div><div><br /></div><div>So just David and I go together. Which has actually eased one of my worries. I've always wondered what will happen the day Tate flies the coop. Will David and I just look at each other and say, "Now what?". Or will we shake hands amicably and say, "Well, it's been a pleasure working with you," as we head our separate ways? But we've discovered we kinda do enjoy hanging out with just each other. And have even found things to talk about other than our offspring. </div><div><br /></div><div>Letrozole is an itty bitty yellow pill. Which makes me think of the verse in Matthew that if we just had faith the size of a mustard seed, we could move mountains. I'm still working on that one. I think an extra shot in my white mocha might help.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPP_JsQeqJmjg3JnnJkK-O_iNPk4TpJIt375Yvx1EqJxwy7giuuER2bPEev_4ukynM3abpxoIa069vqQrxVYdxQ3WlMs3vKjg6DmAp75kh2CS00saj6Xoc-UhbIDXWfe4sW2Qc/s2048/mustard+seed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPP_JsQeqJmjg3JnnJkK-O_iNPk4TpJIt375Yvx1EqJxwy7giuuER2bPEev_4ukynM3abpxoIa069vqQrxVYdxQ3WlMs3vKjg6DmAp75kh2CS00saj6Xoc-UhbIDXWfe4sW2Qc/s320/mustard+seed.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://gardenofdandelions.blogspot.com/2018/03/">Cancer Journey</a></div><div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-72231927673570115982020-03-22T16:42:00.003-05:002020-07-12T17:13:46.343-05:00Today is my 2 year Cancer-versary. Two <i>YEARS</i>?!<br />
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How am I celebrating? Well, I'm <i>not</i>. Thanks to this other "C" word disease that has taken over the world. You may have heard of it.<br />
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But I have, what I <i>hope</i> will be, an encouraging perspective to pass along. David is no doubt laughing at this statement, because he's more used to my <i>dis</i>couraging perspectives I usually share with him.<br />
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My diagnosis 2 years ago came out of the blue. I was shocked, a little overwhelmed, fearful of what the future held. I went through a bit of social withdrawal during treatment being stuck at home and felt misplaced being out of my normal routine. Sound familiar?<br />
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And that went on for <i>months</i>.<br />
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But I had a lot of support.<br />
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From friends and family and the multitude of prayers lifted up on my behalf.<br />
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And my terrible days made me appreciate my good days so. much. more.<br />
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Am I going though all of those same emotions going into this 30 day stay at home mandate? Absolutely. But I'm not quite as overwhelmed as I would be, because I know what it's like to be on the other side of them too. And I know we'll all get to that other side eventually. <br />
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Some things I've learned:<br />
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You are not alone. But it certainly can feel like it when you're staring at the same surroundings day in and day out and you're seeing FB posts about all the fun crafts your friends are doing with their kids, but <i>your</i> kids are all teenagers and are relishing this quarantine behind closed doors in their rooms. I digress...and perhaps rant a little.<br />
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I'm trying to branch out and do other things <i>besides</i> FB during this time, but it really is a helpful tool to have. It lets me feel connected to all of you somewhat, even if you're just posting a picture of your dinner. Post away! I appreciate all the informational posts about COVID 19 but feel free to post other things happening in your lives too. Not to diminish the importance and seriousness of the pandemic, but to help us all feel a sense of normalcy in this chaotic time. <br />
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It's ok to give in to mini pity parties sometimes. I sure did during treatment. Most days I could joke about looking like Uncle Fester, but sometimes a FB memory picture would pop up of me with hair and I'd go have a good cry in the bathroom. But then I'd be thankful that the meds were doing their job and I would emerge and carry on.<br />
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Tate has said a few times, "I don't even remember what you looked like when you had hair...it's like when we got the new carpet and I couldn't remember the old one." Deep thoughts from a 13 year old.<br />
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This sounds totally cliche but just approach one day at a time. When I heard "30 days" I had a mini freakout. But if I don't focus on the <i>thirty</i> part, and just focus on each day as it comes, it's much more manageable.<br />
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Support each other. Reach out. It meant SO much to me to get a simple text saying, "Hey, just thinking about you today...". I see a lot of this happening around me and it's amazing. I need to be better at it.<br />
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Chemo weeks felt never ending at times. But then, just like that, I was ringing the bell.<br />
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I've forgotten the horrible taste in my mouth from the saline flush accessing my port.<br />
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I've forgotten the aversion to some of the foods I couldn't eat during that time...ugh, marinara was the enemy!<br />
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And I've forgotten what it felt to be awake most of the night after surgery, trying to get comfortable in the basement recliner but not succeeding because I was stiff and sore and the pain meds were starting to wear off.<br />
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But I've tried to hold on to the <i>good</i> things that came from it. The compassion I feel for others when they're going through an illness or tough time. The help I can offer along the way. Even the hair tips I can relay to my bare headed sisters.<br />
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I was grateful when my kids started fighting with each other again, after they'd been walking on eggshells right after my diagnosis.<br />
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Just like I'll be grateful for my bad days at work when I'm able to go back.<br />
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Things like this change people. But I think mainly for the good.<br />
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And, no, David, I'm not turning into an optimist...so don't get your hopes up.<br />
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<br />Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-9934320627904857602019-08-18T22:31:00.002-05:002020-07-12T17:13:34.590-05:00Between trying to convince my brood that, yes, they do need to at least finish Junior year, Freshman year, and 8th grade year to be productive members of society, and helping them find the perfect outfits to start in, I forgot to post a post-op update. (Say that 5 times fast!)<br />
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And here's hoping this will be my last. post op. update. ever.<br />
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Because...my margins were clear! No evidence of malignancy. Music to my ears, my benign tissues, and my new implants. </div>
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Drue was out of town with a friend for my surgery so I reminded Tate the night before that he'd be home alone, lest he channel his inner Macaulay Culkin and think he'd wished us away, "I have my surgery tomorrow and Reese will be at work."</div>
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"Oh. Where will <i>Dad </i>be?" he asked. </div>
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"Uhhh...perhaps with his BRIDE of 21 years while she's under anesthesia." We may have a little more work to do preparing him for a future relationship. </div>
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I could tell he had already moved on from the conversation and was planning in his head how to consume the entire contents of the pantry while we were gone. </div>
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The hospital parking lot and lobby were eerily empty at 5:45am.<br />
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But I was happy to be first on the schedule. I <i>wasn't</i> as happy to see my brand new year older age emblazoned on my hospital bracelet.</div>
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I'm required to take a pregnancy test before surgery and am happy to report there are no little Hollaways on the horizon. Had my test been positive, I most definitely wouldn't have needed anesthesia. I would have passed out all on my own. </div>
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Getting prepped for surgery is such a flurry of activity, questions, pokes, prods, signatures, and the ever popular <i>getting marked up with a sharpie. </i>My plastic surgeon and his assistant marked up my chest. Then my breast surgeon popped in and wrote "yes margins" on my right side. I thought about grabbing the marker when they left and scribbling "Thank you, have a nice day" with a smiley face on my rib cage.<br />
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I can't wear contacts during surgery and they always take my glasses off before whisking me away to the OR. This time they started to whisk me to the wrong room and I heard someone stop them before we screeched to a stop and my bed was pulled backward down the hall and pointed in the right direction. This was only mildly unsettling. Everything was blurry and I couldn't see the faces of anyone in the OR. So I just had to trust they got me to the right one. An oxygen mask was held on my face while someone stood over me watching and waiting for me to drift off. So surreal.<br />
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David ran into his old high school basketball buddy turned surgeon again in the post op area. Never fails. He wasn't even my surgeon that day. Glad they can have little reunion get togethers on my behalf.<br />
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Recovery wasn't bad at all. My only restriction is I can't lift more than 5 lbs for 6 weeks. This is a tad annoying because I feel totally fine so I tend to forget this restriction. But my plastic surgeon scared me into following it so my implants don't bust through my incisions. <i>Everything</i> weighs more than 5 lbs! Laundry basket, laundy detergent, our dutch oven pot David cooks scrumptious meals in but I usually wash.<br />
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Speaking of David, he took great care of me as usual. So thankful. My plan before my first surgery last year was to assign the laundry, dishes, and cleaning tasks to the kids. But he took all of it over on his own, including the cooking which he already does anyway. (No, I don't loan him out.) The other day I laid down the law to the kids that going forward they would be put back on the dishes rotation. Groans ensued. "Dad spoiled you guys all last year by doing everything," I continued. "Mom's breast cancer journey is officially over!" David declared, "Everybody back to work!" More collective groans. So supportive, my crew. </div>
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I did feel a twinge of domestication a few days after my surgery when I was feeling good and getting up and around more. So much so that I decided to bake a cake I'd been craving. Drue discovered it first, "What are you doing?"<br />
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"Baking a cake."<br />
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Looking puzzled, "For <i>us</i>? Or for <i>work</i>?"<br />
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Reese found it next.<br />
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"Why are you making a <i>cake</i>??"<br />
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"Because I want to."<br />
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"Who's it <i>for</i>??"<br />
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When I told her it for us, she laughed and yelled up the stairs, "Drue! Mom's actually making a <i>cake</i>!"<br />
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And David had to put his two cents in when he smelled it, "What did you make?"<br />
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"A cake," I said through gritted teeth.<br />
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"Huh. You just thought, 'Hey, I'll make a <i>cake</i>'?"<br />
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And this is why I tend to stay out of the kitchen.<br />
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The main KU campus welcomed me back with construction in the dreaded parking garage. We're talking traffic lights <i>in</i> the garage, one way lanes, and cones everywhere. I finally made it to the roof level, walked down a creepy stairwell, and completely by accident stumbled into the plastic surgery lobby for my follow up. <i>Oy</i>.<br />
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Everything is healing up well. My right side has an air pocket in it from where the extra tissue was removed. So for a few days I sounded like a 12 year old boy making armpit noises whenever I moved my arm. I was just glad it made the same noise at my appointment. I figured it'd be like taking my car to the repair shop.<br />
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Radiation did a number on my left side. So I'm not even. My plastic surgeon suggested going back in, doing some fat grafting, tucking, lifting. Um, no. I shower, dry off, and throw on my clothes. I don't pull out a level and prop it on my bosom while looking in the mirror. I'm good. They're good. And my cake was <i>really</i> good.<br />
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I think I'll throw my family for a loop again and go bake some brownies. Just because. </div>
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Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-88842795136921246382019-08-01T21:32:00.000-05:002020-07-12T17:13:18.469-05:00After spending Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve mornings getting radiation, I figured I had to find a really cool way to celebrate my birthday. So I'll be having surgery bright and early tomorrow morning. Just to be clear, I'm not observing <i>any</i> holidays in 2020. Maybe that will unjinx me.<br />
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We'll actually be leaving the house <i>dark</i> and early at 0520 hours. David briefly entertained the idea of Ubering me there, until he remembered Top Golf is right across the street from the hospital. If he tries to toss his clubs in the car tomorrow I <i>will </i>call an uber. <i>And</i> remove his name from my emergency contact list.<br />
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Never in a bazillion years did I ever dream I'd be getting implants for my birthday. <i>Whose life is this?? </i>Hopefully this will be the end of my reconstruction. Until about a decade from now when I have to swap them out for new ones. My breast surgeon will also be taking out more tissue on one side because my margins weren't completely clear last Summer.<br />
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<i>Please be clear. Please be clear. Please be clear. </i><br />
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I am such a hopeless sap. I've had tissue expanders in since last June after my double mastectomy, which a <i>man</i> had<i> </i>to have invented. So. Uncomfortable. But even though I'm thrilled to bid them farewell tomorrow and commence sleeping on my sides again after over a year of not being able to, I'll kind of miss them. I mean, we've been through a lot together this past year. They did their job and held up well during radiation.<br />
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My plastic surgeon will be able to go in my same incision on one side (just making it a little longer) but will have to make a new incision on my radiated side. Makes no difference to me. I already feel like Frankenboobs. What's what more scar?<br />
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My super creative sister sent me a tiny little bra made of money for my birthday and wrote in my sweet card to treat myself to a nice new one. Reese peered into the box and said, "What? That's not even going to fit. How small does she think you're going?"<br />
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And, no, I won't be taking this opportunity to to go up a letter size or 2. For those of you wondering but were too embarrassed to ask. I used to blush completely discussing these types of things. My, how times have changed.<br />
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I got a notice in the mail a few weeks ago that it was time to schedule my annual mammogram. I wanted to send it back and say, "No can do. No mammos left to gram."<br />
<br />
I also received a pre-survey questionnaire to fill out prior to coming in tomorrow. The very first question was, "Have any of the following symptoms related to your liver disease gotten worse in the last 6 months?"<br />
<br />
Ummm...I think my first question to <i>them</i> in the morning will be, "Exactly what type of surgery are you planning on performing?! And since when do I have liver disease??"<br />
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<br />Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-46933050504426822742019-03-06T23:43:00.001-06:002020-07-12T17:13:04.023-05:00This morning I wandered down the grocery store aisles with list in hand, had a friendly conversation with the Starbucks baristas, tossed my bags in my car, and headed home. <br />
<br />
Typical, ordinary morning.<br />
<br />
Much like the one I had a year ago today. I ran errands that day too before work, began planning in my head what I needed to pack for Spring break, and oh, yeah, made a quick stop at the imaging center for my mammogram.<br />
<br />
A stop that would stop <i>me</i> in my tracks.<br />
<br />
One. Year. Ago.<br />
<br />
We meet again, <i>March</i>. And you are weirding me out because of all the dates and memories associated with you.<br />
<br />
A quick stop for my mammogram before work-March 6, 2018.<br />
<br />
Having no clue a year from that date, I'd be typing this blog entry, still without the full range of motion of my left arm, running my hand over my fuzzy crew cut.<br />
<br />
What. On. Actual. Earth.<br />
<br />
And it's one of those bizarre things where it feels like yesterday but also like a lifetime ago.<br />
<br />
Like time's stood still but also like I aged 5 years in one.<br />
<br />
The entire month of October is dedicated to breast cancer awareness. When social media and ads are adorned with pink ribbons, inspirational quotes, and pictures of beautiful bald ladies uniting together.<br />
<br />
But I hope you are just as aware in March. On your <i>ordinary</i> days. Dropping off kids at school. Getting your oil changed. And scheduling that mammogram you've been putting off.<br />
<br />
Last night I went to a concert at the Kauffman Center for work. The same Kauffman Center I toured the day I got the call with my biopsy results-March 22, 2018.<br />
<br />
Another surreal reminder date coming up. <br />
<br />
You've certainly come in like a lion, my friend. Stirring up all the feels.<br />
<br />
On one hand I'm glad to see you because it means I've made it through a year. Ask any cancer survivor and they'll proudly tell you how many years out they're celebrating.<br />
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On the other hand, it's hard for me to face you. Because my life before you, before <i>cancer</i>, is slipping farther and farther away and I've already forgotten bits and pieces of what it felt like.<br />
<br />
But I'm learning to embrace this new life. This "beanie baby", as Drue affectionately referred to me these past 6 months, packed up my beanies and donated them back to the wonderful boutique I got them from. Except my favorite one. That one I'm keeping. Unless David donates it to Goodwill like he did the tote of baby clothes I was saving as keepsakes.<br />
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I'm blending back in now instead of standing out as a cancer patient. People just assume I got too clipper happy with my short locks. And I have zero doctor's appointments this month. After having a slew of them the previous 12.<br />
<br />
One of our sweet bridge players who calls me "Kersten" saw me today and said, "I'm still praying for you every day. I don't know your last name so I just pray for 'Kersten who works at the Community Center' ". Thankfully, He knows just who she means and has been faithful to carry me through this past year.<br />
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I better wrap up this update...I've got a beanie to go hide!<br />
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<br />Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-72046331281163820172019-01-15T13:52:00.002-06:002020-07-12T17:12:52.194-05:00A week from today marks 10 months.<br />
<br />
10 months since I found out I had cancer.<br />
<br />
But I'm not writing to talk about next week.<br />
<br />
I'm writing to talk about <i>today.</i><br />
<br />
Because <i>today</i> was my last day of scheduled treatment.<br />
<br />
My final radiation.<br />
<br />
I unexpectedly finished a week early because I didn't need the added boost they had factored in initially. So it hasn't really had time to sink in yet.<br />
<br />
I <i>made</i> it. <i>We</i> made it. Because so many of you have been right there with me. Cheering me on, praying for me, sending messages of encouragement. And I'm so grateful for each and every one.<br />
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I had radiation to my <i>left</i> side which meant I needed to move my heart and lungs down and out of position of the beam. To do so, I had to hold my breath each time the beam was turned on. I'd hear a voice come over the intercom and say, "Take a breath and hold it..."<br />
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Which, incidentally, has contributed to me developing the lung capacity to rival Michael Phelps. If I let my breath out while the beam was still on, it would shut the whole machine off. So I counted, daydreamed, and tried not to think about turning blue until they came back over the intercom saying, "You can breathe". They radiated 4 spots each time. My midline, left side, and 2 spots targeting the lymph nodes by my clavicle. Those last two went all the way through me and toasted the back of my shoulder like a marshmallow.<br />
<br />
I'm sporting 6 pretty cool tattoos. If tiny little black dots are considered "cool" these days. Reese wants me to connect them all together now into some huge fancy illustration covering my torso. Too many dot to dot books as a child.<br />
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To prove I was me, I had to stop at the door each time, show them my hospital bracelet, and recite, "Kristen Hollaway. 8-1-76. Left (the side they were treating)". Once I was in the room, they displayed a picture of me from my first day and asked, "Is that you?". Seriously. If someone wanted to take my place that badly, get burnt to a crisp and have all the energy sucked out of them causing them to crawl into bed right after work some days, they're off their rocker.<br />
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My modesty flew out the window long about my second or third doctor's appointment last Spring. Since KU is a teaching hospital, there was always a student or new doctor getting trained by one of mine. And I was asked time and time again if it was ok if they sat in on my examination. "Sure, no problem," I'd say, wanting to add, "Anyone else out in the hallway wanna come take a peek? Housekeeping? Maintenance? Bring them all in!" This from the middle school girl who used to change into and out of her gym clothes faster than Clark Kent could slap on a cape.<br />
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For radiation, I had to change into my gown then traipse back out into the little waiting area, pretending like it wasn't awkward at all as I tried to hold the back closed and slither into a seat next to fully clothed family members waiting for their loved ones. At least I made it out there with it <i>on</i> each time. Once I was in such a hurry to get to work afterward, I stripped off all my top clothing, adjusted my beanie, and headed for the door, thankfully realizing a half second before I opened it that something was missing!<br />
<br />
So I relinquish my standing 10am time slot. And hate that there will certainly be another person ready to fill it. I wish them well. I hope they're nice to sweet "B", my little old man friend I won't be seeing anymore and who's only halfway done with his treatment.<br />
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This last month has probably been the hardest for me. I haven't felt inspiring. Or amazing. Or anything of the sort. I've just felt <i>off</i>. Not a fun place to be. Stuck inside your own mind, going through the motions. But I'm plugging along and coming around. And growing the softest little baby hair you ever did feel. "You almost have enough for bedhead," David pointed out.</div>
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I snapped this one day while the person before me finished up. Probably sweet "B".<br />
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<i>Beam on</i>.<br />
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<i>Beam</i>- shine brightly.<br />
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I can do this. A rough chapter has finished. But my story isn't over yet. I feel more like a snuffed out candle at the moment. But I'll shine again. Perhaps for someone else going through this.<br />
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<i>Beam on.</i><br />
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Next up: I'll be on an oral med for 5 years. And will part ways with all of these.<br />
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Oh, and I'll have my exchange surgery this Summer where they'll switch out these blasted tissue expanders for what will most likely be the smallest implants my plastic surgeon has ever created. He confirms with me at each appointment, "And you're <i>sure</i> this is the size you want to be?" I may mess with him next time and say, "Actually, no. Now that I think about it, can you take some of this out and make me a little bit <i>smaller</i>?"<br />
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My breast surgeon doesn't want to miss out on our little reunion so she'll be there also to take out more tissue on my right side. Some of my cancer cells decided to party too close to the edge of what she took out in June. So we need to make sure none of those little suckers slipped through.<br />
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So what did I do to celebrate my last treatment?<br />
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I picked Drue up from school for an orthodontist appointment. Because life goes on. And that's a-ok by me. I'm certainly ready to get back to being an ordinary Mom doing ordinary Mom things.<br />
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This was the garden outside the cancer center on my first day of chemo.<br />
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And here it is on my last day of radiation.<br />
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A different season for sure. Each season has its own challenges. But also its own beauty.<br />
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I feel like I've been holding my breath since that March 22nd phone call.<br />
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It felt so good to hear them say at the end of my treatment today, "You can <i>breathe</i>..."<br />
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<br />Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-81188450481176584382018-12-31T13:37:00.000-06:002020-07-12T17:12:39.973-05:00I'm not bidding 2018 a fond farewell. I'm looking it in the eye with a triumphant grin, giving a little wave, and saying a BIG "Buh-Bye"!<br />
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Whew! What a whirlwind. It tricked me at first, giving me a few low key months before everything began to unravel in March. I never imagined at the beginning of this year my NYE festivities would include hanging out at the Cancer Center getting radiation and visiting with my oncologist. This girl knows how to party. <br />
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We all have those memorable milestone years with which we mark time by.<br />
<br />
If someone mentions 1994, I immediately picture myself, blue cap & gown, getting my high school diploma.<br />
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1998- black cap & gown crossing the stage at SBU and in a wedding dress a few weeks later.<br />
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'02, '04, '06- bringing home newborns.<br />
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Of course, 2018 will be forever remembered and marked with the "C" word.<br />
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I finished chemo, got my port out, started the next phase of treatment, and I felt amazing. Or that's how I <i>thought</i> I'd feel. My emotions have actually been all over the place.<br />
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If you look at me wrong, I'll cry.<br />
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If you smile at me comfortingly, I'll cry.<br />
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In fact, if everyone could just stop making eye contact with me altogether for awhile until I feel semi back to normal that'd be best.<br />
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Some have complimented my outlook. But I can't take credit for that. That's God.<br />
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He's got this.<br />
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He writes my story.<br />
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He's carrying me through.<br />
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I would have a much more defeatist attitude if my hope wasn't in Him.<br />
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A few months ago we sang a new (to me) song at church. I am team "traditional hymns" all the way and am slow to embrace new songs and choruses. But this one grabbed a hold of me and made me wonder, "Wait, has Matt Redman <i>met</i> me?". His song <i>Never Once </i>certainly hit home.<br />
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<b>"Kneeling on this battle ground</b><br />
<b>Seeing just how much You've done</b><br />
<b>Knowing every victory</b><br />
<b>Was your power in us</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Scars and stuggles on the way</b><br />
<b>But with joy our hearts can say</b><br />
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<b>Never once did we ever walk alone</b><br />
<b>Never once did you leave us on our own</b><br />
<b>You are faithful, God, you are faithful"</b><br />
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And all the mental snapshots of this past year come flooding back.<br />
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The room where I waited in my gown while they reviewed my additional mammogram images.<br />
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The Hen House parking lot I called David from to tell him I needed a biopsy.<br />
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The parking lot at work where I was standing when I got the call it was cancer.<br />
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The MRI tubes.<br />
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I wasn't really alone any of those times. He was right there with me.<br />
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I know others of you are still reeling from the events 2018 tossed your way. But we made it! Tomorrow we turn the page. It certainly doesn't erase the effects of this past year but it's a fresh start and a new number. With all sorts of adventures and possibilities in store.<br />
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2018 was a hard year.<br />
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But it was also an <i>amazing</i> year.<br />
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And I would go through it all again just for the friendships I've made, laughs I've had, hugs I've received, encouragement, support, the list goes on.<br />
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The sweetest little old man has radiation right before me. We smile and exchange pleasantries as he exits and I enter. Today he said, "Good Morning. Have a good New Year!"<br />
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I held back the tears that threatened to break through (he's going to be excluded from my "no eye contact" decree because he's precious) and wished him the same.<br />
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To 2019 I say, "Bring. It. On."<br />
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<br />Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-68188927384176101212018-09-16T21:27:00.003-05:002020-07-12T17:12:23.530-05:00How is it that I'm halfway through chemo and haven't written an update?<br />
<br />
Probably because it knocks me on my hindquarters.<br />
<br />
And makes me say weird things like, "Are these your footballs...I mean <i>shoes</i>?!" and "There are plates in the dryer...I mean <i>dishwasher</i>!"<br />
<br />
I feel like a walking, talking Mad Lib most days.<br />
<br />
So how's it <i>going</i>?<br />
<br />
Well, it's <i>going</i>...to drive me bat crazy if these next 7 weeks don't zoom right on by. And if my last 4 treatments are anything like the first 4. Which they aren't supposed to be. BUT, again, nothing during this whole ordeal has been how it's "supposed to be" with me. How's that for a lovely upbeat attitude?<br />
<br />
I guess let me paint the picture of the infusion room to set the stage. It has multiple pods of chairs. Which is basically 4 sections of recliners lined up on both sides facing each other. Maybe 10 per pod? I don't remember. I don't take <i>that </i>detailed of notes, people.<br />
<br />
I walked in that first day and they said, "Pick a chair".<br />
<br />
Slight panic set in. I do better when someone says, "Sit<i> there</i>". Takes the decision making off me. I'd wished I'd read up on <i>Infusion Room Etiquette</i>, if there's even such a thing.<br />
<br />
There were plenty of chairs that morning. <i>So should I find the farthest one from others? Do I sit down right next to someone and make a new friend? Do I greet people as I go by? Or curtsy as I make my way down the row? </i>I decided just to give a slight smile to folks as I passed. Heck, we're all stuck in this room together for hours that none of us want to be in.<br />
<br />
Then I saw it. My chair. In the corner. Back against the wall so I could see the whole room. Right next to the window overlooking the garden. With a spot for David next to it. Off I headed. As I sat down I realized there was a guy right across from me getting infused.<br />
<br />
Shoot. This wasn't going to be awkward at all. I'm sure he wasn't thrilled to now be sitting across from this newbie stranger for the morning. But I'd already committed to the chair so it would have been more awkward to get up and move. <br />
<br />
As I settled in, I gazed around at the others in my pod. The fellow across from me I'd be avoiding eye contact with. An older man hooked up to meds with his wife next to him. Another white haired gentleman already asleep.<br />
<br />
What the <i>heck</i>?! Had I inadvertently wandered into the <i>man</i> pod? I later learned that wasn't a thing. Just a coincidence that day.<br />
<br />
I won't go into a play by play of chemo because that will just start to read like a medical journal and even <i>my</i> eyes will begin to glass over. I did get a wee bit curious though when the nurse wheeled over a huge cart of supplies, gowned up, and started creating a sterile field to access my port that first time. Even<i> I </i>have to wear a mask for that part. I started thinking, "Wait. <i>What</i>? Do they have me scheduled for a surgery right here and now I didn't know about? And am I scrubbing in for my own mini surgery?!"<br />
<br />
I got two meds these first 4 rounds. Adriamycin and Cytoxan. Or "AC" for us <i>BC</i> experts. Yeah, I'm down with the breast cancer lingo now. We're a super hip club in case you didn't know. One I hope none of you ever have to join.<br />
<br />
The Adriamycin, as I mentioned on FB, is known as the "red devil". And boy howdy, is it ever! I am SUPER thankful I didn't have terrible nausea with it. My home meds basically knocked me out for 4 days afterward to help avoid that. Hey, bring it on. I'll take that. I had to suck on a popsicle while it was getting infused to help prevent mouth sores. I felt like a 5 year old getting bribed to take their shot.<br />
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The "red devil" part for me was <i>just</i> when I started to come around and have a day or so of standing upright and safely being able to drive myself places, it would say, "Oh? Feeling better are we? Have plans to head on in to work today? Alrighty. I'm just gonna drop your white blood cell counts to almost nothing. And, what the heck, let's drop those red cell counts too. Nope, more. A little more. Eh, let's just go ahead and make you anemic and put you right on the edge of needing a blood transfusion. There. And just for grins, since I dropped those levels so low, let's raise your temp up. More. A little more. Yep, 103 sounds about right. I don't want to make you go unconscious or anything."<br />
<br />
I was on 3 different antibiotics and needed IV fluids once. All during my weeks/weekends where I was supposed to be feeling good. Little devil for sure.<br />
<br />
I've gotten pretty good at knowing when my counts are dropping. Walking out to the mailbox and feeling like I just ran a 5K usually tips me off.<br />
<br />
When I had to page my oncologist this weekend for yet another fever, he said, "Ok, tell me where you are with your treatments because I'm just coming back from vacation."<br />
<br />
"Well, I just finished my AC..."<br />
<br />
"Oh thank God!" he interjected.<br />
<br />
"I know! I am!"<br />
<br />
The smell of the saline they use to flush my port has become my most hated smells of all smells. Oh. My. Word. I have to hold my breath and go to my happy place when they do that part. Why can't it come in different scents/flavors? Like tooth polish at the dentist? Bubblegum would for sure be my first pick.<br />
<br />
The kids have been pretty understanding when I feel like crud in a bucket and they have to forego having sleepovers here. Drue texted me this weekend asking how I felt. When I said, "Not so great" she said, "Oh, ok. I was gonna ask if so-and-so could sleep over but we can do it another time."<br />
<br />
She texted me a few hours later asking again how I was feeling.<br />
<br />
"<i>What do you mean</i>??" I texted back wearily. We'd already been through this. There would be no sleepover. Turns out, she was just genuinely concerned that time and wanted to make sure my fever was gone. No ulterior motive whatsoever. Oopsie. <br />
<br />
So that about sums it up. Probably more detail than you cared to know. If people see me out and ask about chemo, I usually say, "Oh, it's going pretty good. Not as terrible as I'd feared." Because I feel like I have to defend it since it's, quite frankly, saving my life at the moment.<br />
<br />
For some reason, it has rained on each and every treatment day thus far. I'm sure there's a witty correlation to be made there but I'm sleepy so that will have to wait for another day.<br />
<br />
My coveted window corner chair was occupied this last time. I texted David who hadn't made it in from the truck yet. He offered to get his tire tool and "rough somebody up" for me.<br />
<br />
I will not be asking him to co-author the <i>Infusion Room Etiquette</i> Book I'll be writing.<br />
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<br />Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-32129056767121092972018-09-01T17:34:00.001-05:002020-07-12T17:12:12.479-05:00I'm happy to report people have stopped looking at my <i>chest</i> to see if it's still mine. And have started looking at my <i>hair </i>to see if it's still mine.<br />
<br />
Which, of course, it isn't. After having it come out in fistfuls and literally watching my highlights go down the drain, it was <i>time</i>.<br />
<br />
A question I get asked frequently (understandably so) is, "How are the <i>kids</i> handling all this?"<br />
<br />
The answer: Remarkably...Surprisingly...<i>Oddly</i> well. I'm not sure which adverb to pick exactly.<br />
<br />
They still take their cues from us. Just like toddlers taking a tumble. Every parent knows not to gasp or suck in their breath. You say, in your best singsong voice, "Oopsie Daisie! Hop up!" They may look uncertain for a second, but when they see <i>you're</i> ok, <i>they're</i> ok. Same rule seems to have applied with my diagnosis and treatment.<br />
<br />
Sure, there have been a few <i>"Are you going to die?"</i> discussions.<br />
<br />
I put on a reassuring front and calm their fears. But also usually throw in, "Besides...there's no <i>way</i> I'm gonna miss out on tormenting you throughout your teen years. This is what I've trained for!"<br />
<br />
I didn't want my head shaving to be a somber moment. But I didn't really expect the kids to get downright giddy about it. They were full of all sorts of crazy ideas so I just decided to humor them.<br />
<br />
Reese called first dibs with the clippers.<br />
<br />
Drue suggested I dye it a fun color right before we shaved it. <i>And</i> she wanted us to shave everything except my bangs to see what that would look like. Not a look I'll be repeating, that's for sure.<br />
<br />
I was leery about the hair dye idea. But, really, what did I have to lose? <i>All my hair</i>! Naturally, we picked pink. So I bleached it and dyed it. All while more and more kept falling out around me.<br />
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We all gathered in the gazebo out back for my shearing. It seems like an eternity ago, but it's only been 3 weeks. And I <i>still</i> forget I'm bald most days until I pass a mirror. I envisioned myself looking like Demi Moore from G.I. Jane. And I guess I resemble her look a little, if part of her crew cut fell out in patches and she had random pink dye splotches on her scalp.<br />
<br />
For insurance purposes my wig is a "cranial prosthesis". And my oncologist had to write a prescription for it. Which made me snicker.<br />
<br />
We've actually had quite a <i>few</i> snickers over my lack of hair.<br />
<br />
Each month I order two Target Beauty boxes for the girls and I to share. 6 out of 7 items in our last one were hair products. So the girls were pretty excited they each got a box all to themselves.<br />
<br />
Drue straightened her hair one day last week when the humidity level was 112%. So she tried to finagle a ride to school so her curls wouldn't break through as soon as she stepped out the front door. When her request was denied she said, "Ugh! I'll just..." then trailed off and laughed guiltily. "You'll just <i>what</i>?" I pried curiously. "I was gonna say...cut it all off, " she confessed. Then promptly left for school without complaint.<br />
<br />
I'm told my wig looks fairly similar to the haircut I got a few weeks before it all came out. Even the kids would ask before I lost my hair, "Wait, is that your wig?"<br />
<br />
"Yep. I just left your room 5 minutes ago. But in that time, I shaved my entire head by myself in the bathroom and am now sporting my wig."<br />
<br />
Cancer has taken many things from me. But not my snark.<br />
<br />
I pull my wig off as soon as I get to my car after work, slap on my ball cap, and don't put it back on until I go back to work or church. I asked the kids if they wanted me to wear it to their school functions and they all said they didn't care. Tate was confused why I was asking. "Well, I thought you might want a Mom with <i>hair</i> to come to stuff, not your <i>bald</i> Mom in a baseball cap."<br />
<br />
He still look confused and said, "I don't care. I mean, cancer is a good excuse to be bald."<br />
<br />
Bless it.<br />
<br />
The other day when I picked him up from practice after work I quickly said, "Oh! Don't sit on my hair," as he scrambled into the car. Felt super normal yet odd to say at the same time.<br />
<br />
It was weird running errands for the first time with just my hat on. And running into people I know who aren't aware of this turn of events in my life is strange. "I look like a <i>cancer</i> patient," I lamented to David. "Well, Sweetheart, I hate to break it to you..." he replied.<br />
<br />
My beauty routine has always left a lot to be desired. My makeup application takes about 4 minutes, I slap polish on my picked to nubs nails, and I usually check with the girls for their approval before buying any new articles of clothing. But it took me about 12 years to grow my hair out to the length it was, and I do kind of miss it.<br />
<br />
But, hey, I am sporting that super cool scar on the back of my head I never thought I'd get to see.<br />
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<br />Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-26172080323389867042018-08-21T09:01:00.000-05:002018-08-21T09:14:18.686-05:00Say "Snooze"Reese plopped down on my bed last night with a stack of papers to go over. Field trip permissions, substance abuse form, choir uniform order sheet, and teacher/student contracts. Where next to <i>student signature</i> is <i>parent signature</i>. I felt like we were taking out a loan together with all the signing.<br />
<br />
"Oh, and are you gonna buy school pictures?"<br />
<br />
<i>Hmmm, let's see, I've only bought them for the past ELEVEN years you've been in school. So, nah, I'm good. </i>These are the types of snarky comments I hold back from time to time. Not often.<br />
<br />
"Yes." I simply stated.<br />
<br />
I get why schools don't have Picture Day on the first day back. I imagine adding that in the mix would push teachers and staff over that fine line between sanity/insanity.<br />
<br />
But that first day is when my kids put forth their best effort. The girls have planned out their outfits, their hairstyles, and everything comes together nicely. They progressively let themselves go after that. Oh, sure, the rest of that week they piece together a few more coordinating outfits. But only because I threaten to bag up all their brand new clothes for the thrift store if I still find tags on them come October.<br />
<br />
By the end of the first quarter they begin to resemble, well, <i>me</i> on the days I stayed home with them as newborns. "Oh, is it pj day today?" I'll ask. And as they push back an escaped strand of hair from their messy bun, glancing down at their crumpled t-shirt they'll say, "No. Why?"<br />
<br />
It's a good thing they carry student I.D.s. so their teachers can know for certain that the <i>Hollaway </i>walking into their class in November is indeed the same <i>Hollaway</i> they met on the that first day.<br />
<br />
I was actually ahead of the game this year with pictures. Not only did I order all of them online at once, I found a package that included enough 5x7s for all of David's offices across the Midwest. Now if I can actually hand<i> </i>these over to him the day they come in instead of forgetting where I put them, I will really impress myself. I think the current ones he has on display include one or two elementary pictures.<br />
<br />
Picture Day used to be sometime in September. Which worked out great because my kids all just wore their first day of school outfits again. Now, it's a few days after school starts. There's not enough money in all our savings to bribe the girls to repeat an outfit that first week. So we have to have an additional nice looking outfit. I'm still working on my proposal to the school board about this. And getting Tate to wear a plaid shirt again?! It took the girls and I joining forces together to convince him to do this. He's worn a plaid shirt in every school picture since preschool. There's no way we're going to let him break his streak now. The girls suggested he wear an athletic shirt under it, then whip it off and stuff it in his locker. Where I'm afraid it will remain until May. Thank the heavens, stars, and planets, his pictures are early in the day.<br />
<br />
And instead of having my kids say "cheese", they should have them say "snooze". I'm sure they'd get a much more genuine smile.<br />
<br />
Reese enlisted my help curling her hair this morning. I think the last time she did that was for her school dance last Winter. So I was a bit rusty but was happy with how it turned out. Even Drue, who is always completely honest, sometimes brutally so, when you ask her how something looks, agreed.<br />
<br />
"Oooohhhh!" I exclaimed. "The back looks really good! Could they maybe take a picture of that?"<br />
<br />
"Sure, I'll just turn my head around at the last second," she offered.<br />
<br />
I sensed her snarkiness. So refrained from responding, "Great, thanks!"<br />
<br />
I did drag her out front this morning to our standard spot for special occasion pictures.<br />
<br />
I may just keep it handy and slip it into her planner mid-semester.<br />
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<br />Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-20425103501579912462018-07-13T17:56:00.005-05:002020-07-12T17:12:00.304-05:00Raise your hand if you can't believe it's been 3 weeks since my surgery.<br />
<br />
Let me tell you, that's on my looooong list of things I will hopefully never take for granted again. <i>Being able to raise my hand</i>. Along with: <i>getting out of bed, changing position in bed, getting up from a chair, getting in and out of a car, buckling my seatbelt, and more. </i>Whew<i>.</i><br />
<br />
Why so long for an update you ask?<br />
<br />
I <i>literally</i> just typed that I've had limited use of my arms. Why would you even <i>ask</i> that question? (Insert winking emoji face here) Also, it's kind of hard to write a blog when you can't remember what's transpired. David and the kids are helping me piece some of those days back together. "I did <i>what</i>...?" " I said <i>what</i>..." Not funny viral video type things, darn it (I love those). Just day to day happenings and conversations I have no recollection of. Gotta watch this crew though. They're likely to ad lib things just for the fun of it. "Yeah Mom, you said you didn't care if we wore belly shirts now and that we could wear them to Sunday School".<br />
<br />
Truth be told, I actually didn't even have all the info I needed for a complete update until YESTERDAY. Heavens to Betsy. Talk about being weary of the wait!<br />
<br />
I completely understand now why a cancer diagnosis is referred to as a <i>journey</i>.<br />
<br />
<b>Journey</b>: noun-<i>A traveling from one place to another, usually taking a rather long time; trip.</i><br />
<br />
Mine wasn't supposed to be a cancer "journey". It was supposed to be a cancer "jaunt" back in March. I can<i>not</i> believe all the stops and detours I've made in between then and now. My 2nd diagnosis, my skull scare, craniotomy, lumpectomy changed to bilat mastectomy. I've had more pictures taken of the inside of my body than there are pictures of me growing up. (Third child problems. Tate's just lucky he was a boy. Ensuring I took a plethora of pics. Had he been another girl, I may have just said, <i>Been there. Done that</i>.)<br />
<br />
On with the update. I'll share the good, the bad, but probably skip the <i>ugly</i> here. Although I'm fine <i>talking</i> about the ugly with you if you'd really care to hear. It just doesn't quite fit with the theme of my blog. It's more <i>Edgar Allen Poe-</i>ish. And I don't want to scare anyone who may stumble upon this entry down the road about to undergo their own surgery. To them I would say, "I made it!! You will too! It sure doesn't feel like it some days. Keep on keepin' on. Ok, that one's <i>cliche</i>. But seriously. You will not want to get out of bed. But you <i>have</i> to. And you will feel 87% better when you get up and around. That's a solid B+, my friends."<br />
<br />
The week leading up to my surgery, I started to panic.<br />
<br />
Over dumb things.<br />
<br />
It was all of a sudden imperative I wash our couch throw pillow covers and hose down the front porch chairs no one sits in.<br />
<br />
And my <i>linen closet? </i>No way was I heading to the hospital with that in such disarray. I pulled everything out, threw out old, haggard linens I was too embarrassed to donate, and arranged the leftovers neatly. I spent a few minutes holding on to Tate's little hooded dinosaur towel, before it found itself in the toss pile. Nostalgia got the best of me so I pulled it back out and cut just the hooded dinosaur head off for a keepsake. But that just looked creepy, so it all went back in the trash.<br />
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We sent Reese off to Florida the day before my surgery on a school trip. Which was well timed. Her first trip without us and I couldn't even worry because I was sedated half the time. Handy. I still didn't care for the fact she kept going over <i>who</i> got to keep <i>what</i> if her plane crashed. "Can you <i>not</i>?!" I finally said.<br />
<br />
That same day, my sister showed up at my doorstep with her roomba, wanting to know where she could help. Her house is spotless. Mine was a hot mess. I delegated living room duties to her and she set to work. Scrubbing the fireplace doors, glass candle holders, and making a pile of little hidden treasures from under the couches, exclaiming more than once, "I just love to clean!". I'm still trying to decide which one of us was adopted.<br />
<br />
Enough build up to surgery. Let's get on with it. Spoiler alert: I made it through. David took, what is now hands down, my most unflattering picture of all time before I was awake from anesthesia. Scrub cap and all. If I ever find that framed in one of his offices somewhere, all of his belongings will be tossed onto the front lawn.<br />
<br />
When the nurse came in later that evening to help me up for the first time, she said, "Now, you'll have to rely on your leg and stomach muscles these next few weeks."<br />
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How convenient. I have neither.<br />
<br />
My pessimistic tendencies became amplified. My 2nd day home I thought, "This is it. I've peaked. I'm going to feel this way for the duration of my Earthly days." But I discovered I have this spunky little inner voice that is both motivating/sassy, "Heavens, Girl. What in the world?! Millions of women have gone through this surgery before you and are walking around as we speak with full use of their upper appendages, not dragging themselves around like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Now get out of that bed and change your shirt for crying out loud."<br />
<br />
I can only sleep on my back currently. And can't change position without difficulty. My skull incision still feels weird to sleep on so I can't put too much pressure on the left side of my head. Just call me Goldilocks. I've tried all the pillows in the house. Some too firm. Some too soft. I sleep slightly raised, with more pillows to prop my arms. I'm like a little Tetris piece trying to fit in my bed nest/recliner just so.<br />
<br />
And I would like to take this opportunity to thank Facebook for all the helpful pop up ads and articles. Experimental treatments for cancer. Personal stories of those who've lost their battle. Various cancer memorabilia. So sweet of you to remind me every single time I get on your site for the past few months that this is part of my life now. Really. (Insert eye roll emoji here)<br />
<br />
Fast forward a week from my surgery. (Since everything is fuzzy that happened before that anyway.) I had an appointment scheduled with my oncologist to get my pathology report and find out the treatment plan. Of course that would have been too easy. And they called saying my path report wasn't in yet so there was really no reason to come in. Could I reschedule? <i>For two weeks later?</i> My report actually came in a few hours after that phone call, at which point my oncologist had already left for vacation. My breast surgeon was very considerate and called me with the results but wasn't able to go over anything further as far as treatment.<br />
<br />
The entire report is 9 pages long. But the gist was I actually ended up with <i>three</i> types of breast cancer and a huge area of cells that are markers for developing future breast cancer. Too little too late there, buddies. Would have appreciated the heads up a bit earlier. My sentinel lymph nodes on each side were positive. And my surgeon then said, "I was <i>very</i> happy when the report showed you also had invasive cancer on the right side that we didn't know was there."<br />
<br />
As I began questioning her medical certification in my mind, she went on to explain that if there hadn't been invasive cancer on that side, the positive node would have meant the left side had already spread and I would have been Stage IV.<br />
<br />
Here we go again! I feel like a cat. That's twice now I've dodged a Stage IV diagnosis. I should have 7 lives left at this point.<br />
<br />
My left nodes had to be dissected out. So that's now my "bad" arm. And it's not to be traumatized by anything further like blood draws, blood pressures, etc. It even gets to wear a fancy sleeve when I fly or exercise so I don't develop lymphedema. I want to get one with tattoo designs. So I'll look super tough on the airplane and no one will mess with me. The nurse helpfully explained I'll still be able to engage in my regular activities like yoga, gardening, crocheting. That was great news. If I actually did any of those things to begin with.<br />
<br />
I could not get through this without my support system. I. LOVE. YOU. GUYS. (Which, yes, includes all of you reading this). David got his own Facebook post already regarding his support, and I could actually write about 12 more for him. I have a select few friends/family who are impatient and can't wait for my blog posts. So they demand immediate updates after all my appointments. Bossy little things.<br />
<br />
And it's amazing to watch their replies roll in. All of their different perspectives and responses are JUST what I need to hear at that time.<br />
<br />
"Crap! Hate that!"<br />
<br />
"Are you kidding me??"<br />
<br />
"You've made it through the worst, you'll make it through this too."<br />
<br />
"So, how are you after hearing that news?"<br />
<br />
I have friends who've been through it, nurse friends, friends who say "What can I do?", and friends who just "do". I have friends checking in I haven't talked to since high school. I'm on church prayer lists in at least 3 states that I know of. People I have never met and probably never <i>will</i> meet. With many more individually praying for me around the world. This is both overwhelming and humbling for a wallflower like myself to be smack dab in the middle of such a huge circle of supporters.<br />
<br />
Sorry to say, your stint isn't up quite yet. Since I was node positive, my treatment plan will be chemo followed by radiation. Beginning week after next. Yes, I've already ordered a new ball cap: <i>Chemo Hair. Don't Care. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Reese asked, "Do you want us to shave our heads too?"<br />
<br />
Drue looked appropriately horrified.<br />
<br />
"Well no!" I put their minds at ease.<br />
<br />
"Ok. We'll just make Tate shave his then..."<br />
<br />
Sure, because him shaving off the half centimeter of hair he currently has as his Summer cut would be a huge sign of support.<br />
<br />
"No one's shaving anything!"<br />
<br />
Just when I thought things couldn't get crazier around here...<br />
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<br />Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-31613020761804000042018-05-30T21:51:00.000-05:002020-07-12T17:11:47.934-05:00Confession: My attitude isn't <i>always</i> "how can I find the humor in this to make it bearable?". I suspect most of you knew that. But just wanted a guilt-free conscience going forward.<br />
<br />
Case in Point: Bursting into tears on the way to the dollar store this evening.<br />
<br />
I was going over in my head all that we had going on tomorrow.<br />
<br />
Let's see...Thursday...May 31...May <i>31</i>? Why does that sound super familiar?<br />
<br />
Oh.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow was the day all my follow-ups were scheduled for after my original surgery date of May 18th.<br />
<br />
All three of them.<br />
<br />
Breast Surgeon. Plastic Surgeon. Oncologist.<br />
<br />
Three different campuses. But I didn't care. I'd be getting my drains removed, hopefully hearing how nicely I was starting to heal, and finding out whether or not I'd need chemo.<br />
<br />
I would be closer to returning to work, returning to regular t-shirts pulled over my head, returning to...<i>normal</i>.<br />
<br />
And the tears came.<br />
<br />
Not a lot. Just a few. Because all of these appointments and milestones are now over a month away.<br />
<br />
A <i>month</i>. I wiped my cheek. Honest to <i>Pete</i>, in the grand scheme of things, a month is not. that. long. <br />
<br />
Heck, with the way time flies at this stage of my life, I'll be buying stocking stuffers next week. And Easter candy the week <i>after</i>.<br />
<br />
I've heard the story of the parting of the Red Sea from the time I was toddling around the church nursery. But I never truly grasped what an awe inspiring miracle that would have been to behold until I saw the <i>Ten Commandments</i> on TV. However accurate, or inaccurate, that Hollywood portrayal was, it stuck in my head. And I could never understand how the Israelites who had just experienced <i>that</i> could grumble about such trivial things immediately afterwards? What on actual Earth? They had just walked through the sea on <i>dry</i> land. Thanks to an amazing God.<br />
<br />
I still have the scratch piece of paper I scribbled notes on when my oncologist called to discuss the MRI of my head.<br />
<br />
-need skull biopsy<br />
-neurosurgeon<br />
-might not be cancer<br />
-if it <i>is...</i>Stage IV isolated metastatic disease<br />
<br />
My subsequent BENIGN skull mass result was my Red Sea moment. And here I was just 5 days after receiving that wonderful, amazing, colossal answer to prayer, feeling sorry for myself for having to wait another month for my follow-up appointments.<br />
<br />
Nope. I pulled myself up by my bootstraps. Turned into the dollar store parking lot. And went on with my evening.<br />
<br />
My new lucky/unlucky number, depending on how you look at it, is 22.<br />
<br />
3/22- Cancer diagnosis.<br />
<br />
5/22- First surgery ever.<br />
<br />
6/22- Rescheduled date for my <i>second</i> surgery ever.<br />
<br />
On 7/22 I'll either win the lottery or get hit by a bus. It's anyone's guess.<br />
<br />
Next year, of course, 22 will become my <i>celebratory</i> number.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>That</i> will be here before we know it.<br />
<br />
Oh, and at some point, I'll probably change the lyrics to Taylor Swift's "<i>22</i>" to something related to my cancer journey. Come on, you all had to know that was coming...<br />
<br />
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<br />Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-4355983262653604732018-05-24T15:31:00.002-05:002020-07-12T17:11:35.228-05:00When I don't feel like writing, or drinking white chocolate mochas, you know things are <i>bad</i>.<br />
<br />
Thankfully this morning, I sipped away on my cup of white chocolatey goodness in our backyard gazebo, and, well, you're reading <i>this</i> aren't you?<br />
<br />
Telling people I needed a skull biopsy elicited quite a few cringes and replies of, "Yikes! How the heck do they do <i>that</i>?!"<br />
<br />
And I would repeat what my neurosurgeon had told me (minus his super cool accent), "So, they'll just make a tiny incision back here and take out a little sample of bone to send off. Not a biggie."<br />
<br />
Uhhh...that <i>tiny incision</i> required 13 staples in the back of my head. I feel like that's a <i>semi</i>-biggie. I was sent home with after care instructions for a <i>craniotomy</i>!<br />
<br />
And I call "Bologna!"...or "Baloney!"...however you want to spell it, I <i>call</i> it. We know those hospital shows don't give a completely accurate picture of medical life. And I <i>now</i> know their depiction of the doctor/patient dialogue the day after surgery is f-a-k-e. The patients in the shows are well rested, sitting up comfortably in bed, able to carry on a perfectly normal conversation about how their surgery went, blah, blah, blah.<br />
<br />
I was in a complete fog when the doctor and discharge nurses came in yesterday morning. I could barely hold my head up to look at them standing next to my bed. My glasses hurt and I had to wear them crooked so the stem wouldn't rub my incision, cocking my head to the side to keep them on while the nurses spouted off "do's" and "don't's", med directions, follow up appointments, etc. Finishing with, "Any questions?".<br />
<br />
"Yeah. <i>Huh</i>?" I thought. I just wanted to curl up in a ball and have David roll me out to his truck. Which is pretty much what I did, thanks to the wheelchair they brought us.<br />
<br />
Let's back up a bit, however, to before my surgery. Reese took a driving class last August and finally finished all her required driving hours last week for her restricted license. All we had to do was pop into the Driver's License place and trade her paperwork in for her license. "So, can you take me Tuesday?" she asked over the weekend.<br />
<br />
"I am getting a HOLE drilled into my SKULL on Tuesday. So, no," I said.<br />
<br />
"Oh. Then can you take me <i>Wednesday</i>?"<br />
<br />
I still haven't answered her.<br />
<br />
David. Bless him. He really is the best caretaker. He spoils me on a <i>good</i> day, and even more so on some of my worst ones. He's had to rearrange his travel schedule, calls, and meetings, on top of taking care of everything around the house and with the kids. And he does a better job than I do. Which doesn't make me jealous. At. All.<br />
<br />
Now that I've sung his praises, I feel like it's ok to poke fun of him. Just a bit. He's always been super patient with the kids. But not so much so when it comes to waiting on <i>things</i>. Food at a restaurant, appointments starting on time, or surgery starting when it's scheduled. We sat in my little pre-op room for over 4 hours yesterday. Waiting. He still had some work to tend to, but when that was taken care of, he 'bout drove me bonkers.<br />
<br />
He chatted it up with any doctor, nurse, tech, anesthetist who popped their head in. Being his usual, jokey self. <br />
<br />
After one such encounter he turned to me and said, "Wow, he's not very jokey."<br />
<br />
"He's a <i>brain surgeon</i>," I replied. "Not really a hallmark of their personality."<br />
<br />
Next, he wondered aloud if he should have my surgeon take a look at his poison ivy while we were there. I contemplated calling security.<br />
<br />
But I just shook my head and responded, "You're a mess."<br />
<br />
"Am I? Because <i>you're</i> the one lying in that bed."<br />
<br />
Touché.<br />
<br />
We played pool and basketball against each other on our phones to pass the time a little. But he quit after I beat him at both.<br />
<br />
"Last time I saw you in a hospital, you were having Tate," he reminisced.<br />
<br />
"I know. It feels weird to be in a hospital without a baby."<br />
<br />
"I'm sure there's one around here you could have," he suggested. Great. I wouldn't need to call security after all, they'd come on their own if someone overheard that comment.<br />
<br />
The nurses finally descended upon us and said, "Ok, here we go. Time for good-bye hugs and kisses."<br />
<br />
Why did they have to use the word "good-bye"? Cue the tears streaming down my face. Even if I <i>had</i> been ready to kick him out one minute prior. And even though it would only feel to me like I'd been away for 5 seconds when all was said and done. For my next surgery, I'm just going to have David say, "I'm going to the vending machine to get a Diet Coke" instead of "good-bye". I'll handle that much better. <br />
<br />
When I settled into my room for the night, and David headed back home to run kids around, I reached up to push my hair out of my face and gasped, <i>What were all those plastic wires doing hanging out of my head?! </i><br />
<br />
You guys! It was my <i>hair</i>!<br />
<br />
Whatever they had to coat it with to ward off infection makes it disgustingly crunchy, <i>cement</i> like. Now, I don't consider myself to be a terribly vain person but when they said I couldn't wash it until Sunday, I wanted to assume the fetal position and cover my ears. I look like Medusa. Sorry, no photographic evidence. Because I'm pretty sure David would get his hands on it, and send it out as our Christmas card this year.<br />
<br />
Or the kids would make <i>bad hair day</i> memes out of it for all eternity.<br />
<br />
They're supportive like that. <br />
<br />
Speaking of supportive, I don't take medication regularly. An Excedrin now and then is pretty much it. So these pain meds are doing a number on me. I went down to the kitchen last night with my water bottle and literally forgot how to use our ice machine/water spout on the fridge. David and the girls yelled "Stop!" before I spilled water all over the floor after pushing the wrong button <i>twice. </i>They then proceeded to double over with laughter.<br />
<br />
David went to throw something away and said, "Who got into the kitchen trash?"<br />
<br />
Drue chimed in, "That was Mom...she was trying to find the bathroom!" And they all doubled over once again. <br />
<br />
I'm keeping notes on all the ways I've been wronged.<br />
<br />
At least they balance it out by being sweet. Tate sent me to the hospital with some of his favorite squishies and a small stuffed animal to remember him by. Reese gathered all the little "pink" items she could from her room and left them for me with a note. Cue more tears.<br />
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They normally cover holes in the skull with titanium mesh, but my surgeon left mine open in case I did need radiation. David is already making quips about this new hole in my head, "Now I can say, 'It went in one ear...and out your hole'!". Good thing he can cook.<br />
<br />
I gathered my crunchy, Medusa type locks into braids before leaving the hospital so I wouldn't turn all the staff into stone on my way out. Peace Out KU Med. Until we meet again.<br />
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Which could be sooner, rather than later, if my skull mass is a benign fibrous dysplasia, like my neurosurgeon is thinking. Now that he's seen it in all its glory. I should find out tomorrow or the first part of next week.<br />
<br />
Again, THANK YOU for all your prayers. This was my first surgery ever. And it hasn't exactly been a walk in the park. When my meds start wearing off and I think, "I can<i>not</i> do this" God gives me strength and I know is saying, "But <i>I</i> can". So I'm able to put one foot in front of the other.<br />
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And perhaps even relearn how to use our ice maker.<br />
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<br />Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-40827439370928535212018-05-12T16:24:00.002-05:002020-07-12T17:11:22.921-05:00Sooo...an impending double mastectomy doesn't seem so scary after I spent a week not knowing whether or not the cancer had spread to my brain (<i>it hasn't!!</i>).<br />
<br />
But between a suspicious spot on my temporal bone lighting up on my scan, to when I got the results of my head/brain MRI (<i>ohmygosh</i> YES, I had to go in that tube of terror for a THIRD time!), I was in <i>waiting limbo Hades.</i> A special place reserved for those of us wondering which direction we'll head in a "Choose Your Own Adventure: Medical Edition". Except <i>we're</i> not the ones getting to choose.<br />
<br />
When I first heard, "biopsy recommended" in March, God flipped my switch to <i>preparation mode</i>. Yes, the internet can freak you the heck out, but it has its helpful moments. I narrowed down the possible diagnoses I could be given if my results weren't benign. So when I actually got the call, I was 90% ready to hear it, 10% freaked out.<br />
<br />
For my <i>second</i> biopsy, I knew it would either be "benign and continue on with our plan" or "malignant and double mastectomy". When it was the latter, I calmly said, "Ok, thanks for calling."<br />
<br />
Next up, if my CT/bone scan showed the cancer had spread to an organ or nearby bone, we'd postpone surgery and start chemo. So I was mentally getting myself ready for <i>that</i> just in case. What I <i>wasn't</i> prepared for, was my oncologist's call 20 minutes after I left my bone scan, saying a suspicious spot lit up in my head that didn't make sense and they needed more detailed images, including brain images.<br />
<br />
<i>Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. </i><br />
<br />
At my last appointment with my breast surgeon, she'd said, "You haven't really freaked out this entire time. And I've kind of been waiting for you to."<br />
<br />
Well, that phone call from my oncologist did it. That's what tipped me over into semi-panic mode.<br />
Because for the first time since this whole process began, I thought, "This could end badly." And I had to stop to catch my breath that evening on my walk, when the thought of not being here to see the kids as their adult selves hit me like a ton of bricks. Or not being here to make fun of David when his goatee goes completely silver. It's about 1/4 of the way there now, I like to point out to him frequently.<br />
<br />
I toodled on over to the main KU Med campus this week for my MRI. The thought process amongst those in charge of the layout of that hospital had to have gone a little something like this:<br />
<br />
"First, let's challenge all of our patients and see if they can find a parking space. Get them really frazzled. Next, let's take a super scary test...say, on their <i>brain</i>, and put that MRI machine all the way in the farthest corner of the basement. We'll make the basement extra creepy looking too. So it doesn't even really look like they're in a hospital anymore. More like they just stepped onto the set of <i>Paranormal Investigations. </i>Make sure there are absolutely no windows down there, lest they get a glimpse of the outside world to try and draw hope from the sun. Oh, and don't forget to charge them when they actually find their car again and exit the garage. They'll be so relieved to be getting out of there...they'll pay anything."<br />
<br />
For my brain MRI, I only had to go halfway in the tube. This brought me joy. But then they put a little cage over my face, so I felt like Hannibal Lector ready to silence some lambs up in there.<br />
<br />
My results show it has <i>not</i> spread to my brain. However, the spot on my skull does require a biopsy. I can think of 1,000,001 things I'd rather have done than that.<br />
<br />
My apologies to those of you I may had conversations with this past week. I have a limited recollection of them. My mind was elsewhere. I hope I said something witty. Or at least something coherent.<br />
<br />
Looks like I'll be adding a few more links to my surgery countdown chain. It was scheduled for next Friday, but has been put on hold while they figure out what is wrong with my head. David has been trying to figure this out for years, so it will be nice to have some answers.<br />
<br />
I thought about having him post an update when I finally <i>do</i> have my surgery but here's how his updates usually go:<br />
<br />
David: "Oh, hey, the So-and-Sos had their baby."<br />
<br />
Me: "Awww...what'd they have?"<br />
<br />
David: "A <i>baby</i>."<br />
<br />
Me: "Boy or girl?"<br />
<br />
David: "Yep."<br />
<br />
Me: "Name? Weight?"<br />
<br />
David: "I've told you all I know."<br />
<br />
So I'm pretty sure his super helpful and informative post would be something along the lines of, "Kristen had her surgery."<br />
<br />
For now, I'll stick to the updates.<br />
<br />
And he can stick to counting his silver goatee hairs.<br />
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<br />Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-48947377858923187422018-04-17T19:59:00.001-05:002020-07-12T17:11:08.614-05:00Well, <i>crumb</i>.<br />
<br />
I had hoped my update would read: <i>All is well, lumpectomy went swimmingly, cleared the bump in the road called cancer.</i><br />
<br />
Of course, that would have made for the shortest blog post ever.<br />
<br />
AND I don't regularly use the word <i>swimmingly</i>.<br />
<br />
After feeling as though I'd been kicked by a Shetland pony for a few days, I bounced back from the biopsy, no problem. Not terrible, just uncomfortable. But I was still relieved to put the whole process behind me. The procedure, the recovery, and the w...a...i...t, grateful I wouldn't be going through that again in the near future.<br />
<br />
Next came my MRI. Not a fan. I'm the person who gets to the movies/church service/program early to secure a seat near the aisle and feel confident in my escape plan, heaving a heavy sigh when asked to "move in toward the center aisle to make room for late comers". Well, they can just shove their way past me and feel stuck for all eternity in the middle of the row because I ain't budgin'.<br />
<br />
So getting slid into a tube, in my skivvies, staying stock-still, was not my ideal way to spend a half hour. I almost pushed the panic button twice. But I refrained and tried to think of humorous things to distract me. Which may have included envisioning some of you falling. Don't judge. <br />
<br />
And can I just say: You know you're from Kansas when...your medical facility is under construction and the MRI machine is in a trailer out back! I kid you not. The techs wrapped a warm blanket around my shoulders and out the door I trudged in my hospital gown and scrub pants in 30 degrees. No sir. If I never had to have another MRI in this millennium, it would have been too soon.<br />
<br />
Lo and behold, my surgeon called the next week saying the malignant area on my right side measured twice as big on the MRI as it had on my original mammogram. AND the images picked up an area of abnormality on my <i>left</i> side. So I'd need an MRI guided biopsy.<br />
<br />
An <i>MRI BIOPSY</i>?! Was that even a <i>thing</i>? Would a clown with a knife be performing the procedure? Because that would pretty much cover all the bases of what my current nightmares are made of.<br />
<br />
We decided to wait to tell the kids until after the results came back. But Reese foiled that plan. She is always watching. Always listening. And <i>has</i> been since toddlerhood. How she didn't figure out Santa and the Easter Bunny by age 3 is beyond me. The girl picks up on every<i>little</i>thing. The evening before my second biopsy, she casually asked me when my next appt was.<br />
<br />
"Uhhh...errr..." I stammered.<br />
<br />
"Oh, and why did you have your cancer notebook this morning when you took Tate and I to the dentist? You brought it out of the house and put it in the car," she observed.<br />
<br />
My bedroom was an interrogation room. Luckily, I had a good answer for that one, "I had my blood drawn today for all the genetic tests. My orders were in that notebook," I explained.<br />
<br />
"Hmm. And what about your MRI?" she quizzed.<br />
<br />
"That's tomorrow," I said, not thinking.<br />
<br />
"<i>Tomorrow</i>?! It was last week! What are you talking about? You have <i>another</i> one? What's going on?"<br />
<br />
<i>Oh boy</i>.<br />
<br />
Drue appeared from across the hall. The girl can't hear us yell her name 4 times to do the dishes, but by golly, she can sure pick up on conversations I hadn't planned on having yet.<br />
<br />
Cancer is getting on my nerves. <i>Literally</i>. Some days, out of the blue, my stomach just knots up like I'm about to perform the National Anthem at the Super Bowl. But the next minute, I'm fine. And I know it's because someone has prayed for me. I can<i>not </i>thank those of you enough who've done so.<br />
<br />
So, the results are in. My left side decided to say to my right, "I see your non-invasive ductal carcinoma, and raise you an invasive lobular carcinoma."<br />
<br />
Double the cancer. Double the...ugh.<br />
<br />
Over this past month, they've been poked, prodded, smashed, smooshed, pushed, pulled, tugged, clipped, bruised, marked, steri-stripped, and glued. And quite frankly, they've had enough. Their series of unfortunate events will conclude with a mastectomy.<br />
<br />
Which Reese has been on board with from the beginning, "Just get everything off. I mean, it's not like you have all that much up there anyway."<br />
<br />
Straight from the mouth of one of my biggest supporters, folks. <br />
<br />
She also feels she's earned a spot on my surgical team because she watches <i>Grey's Anatomy</i>. Yeah, no. I've seen her bedroom. And I most certainly wouldn't let her anywhere <i>near</i> my operating room. The nurses would be tripping over her backpack, shoes, and dishes from last week.<br />
<br />
When she found out about my second diagnosis she said, "On <i>Grey's</i>, there was this fake doctor diagnosing people with cancer who didn't really have it. And he would start them on medicine and everything!"<br />
<br />
As I made a mental note to research boarding schools, she continued, "I mean, I don't think that's what's happening here. I'm just saying..."<br />
<br />
They can't tell right now the extent of the invasive component/stage so they won't know if I need chemo until after surgery.<br />
<br />
Reese's take on that? "Awww...I hope you don't need chemo. You just figured out how to curl your hair good."<br />
<br />
Seriously, someone take this child. Give her a loving home.<br />
<br />
I'm so thankful for my first cancer diagnosis, which led to a discussion with my surgeon about getting an MRI, which led to David and I shrugging our shoulders and saying, "Sure, why not?", which led to a diagnosis of my invasive cancer that wouldn't have been found otherwise. Does God work in mysterious ways? I've never been more certain.<br />
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<br />Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-6680763177044250322018-03-29T20:40:00.001-05:002020-07-12T17:10:25.385-05:00That first week back after vacation can be a doozie. Am I right? Lazy days of sunshine and carefree agendas replaced with a slew of activities and commitments.<br />
<br />
I do believe my week back after this Spring Break was my <i>dooziest</i> yet.<br />
<br />
A biopsy, breast cancer diagnosis, and some dental work thrown in just for grins.<br />
<br />
"Hi, Florida? Yeah, I think I'm gonna go ahead and come on back. Kansas isn't working out. At. All."<br />
<br />
I had zero symptoms.<br />
<br />
Zilch.<br />
<br />
My mammogram at the beginning of this month was just another pesky thing to check off my "to do" list. Which I think must have hurt its feelings, because it decided to go ahead and just change the course of my health, my priorities, and my general outlook on life.<br />
<br />
My images were suspicious so they recommended a biopsy. I can't help but wonder if my radiologist suspected malignancy more than he was letting on, because when he handed me my disc of images, he said, "You'll need to take this with you to all of your appointments." <i>All</i> of them? A biopsy is <i>one</i> appointment. And my results were supposed to be benign. So there wouldn't be "appointments" plural. <br />
<br />
We headed off to sunny Florida. And I channeled my inner Scarlett O'hara, pushing aside all worries for a week away with the fam, "I'll think about that tomorrow..." We came home, David left for Indy, and the next day I headed to my biopsy. He called that morning and asked if I was nervous. "Nope," I said, semi-confidently. Apparently, my subconscious decided otherwise, because I started sweating on the way. And I was instructed not to wear deodorant until <i>after</i> the procedure. Not wanting to arrive a hot, stinky mess, I stuffed wads of kleenex under my arms and cranked up the A/C, all while the temp outside registered a balmy 40 degrees. At least I was headed to a hospital, where they'd be well equipped to treat me for my subsequent frostbite and hypothermia upon my arrival.<br />
<br />
As I neared the exit, a billboard advertising their healthcare system caught my eye. Something about "advances in cancer treatment...". I'd have to speak to them about that. Because that's pretty much the <i>last</i> word one wants to see emblazoned in the sky as they reach their destination in a situation such as this. Perhaps a palm tree, or a cute puppy photo could better advertise their facility and evoke positive emotions.<br />
<br />
Tate had forgotten his gym clothes at home that morning. Naturally, I was exasperated. Looking back, I think it was divinely timed. Instead of worrying about my predicament in the waiting room, I was focused on devising a plan for how I would make it back home, find his clothes and deliver them to the school office before heading to work. I was also scrambling to find the email I deleted from his school with the location of their temporary office while the main one is under construction.<br />
<br />
My name was called. And off I went, trying not to leave a trail of kleenex behind me.<br />
<br />
They said I should get my results in 2-3 business days. <i>This isn't an Amazon order, people</i>, I thought, <i>this is my future</i>.<br />
<br />
I got the call at work 2 days later. And just like that, "oncologist", "treatment plan", and "hormone receptors" were added to my vocabulary list.<br />
<br />
Next came telling the kids. The day I was told I'd need a biopsy, I was driving Reese to practice that evening and she was going on about great her life was at that very moment. "I just have like these bursts of happiness!" she said, all smiles.<br />
<br />
"Awww...that's called bi-polar," I suggested.<br />
<br />
"No, like I'm always <i>happy</i>. But sometimes I'm just like extra happy, like right now. But I kinda feel like something bad could happen at any moment though."<br />
<br />
So I kept my mouth shut. I wasn't ready to be the reason that their biggest worry in life was no longer how many likes they'd get on their Instagram post.<br />
<br />
Should we sit them all down together to break the news? No. Too ominous. Although, that <i>is</i> how we surprised them with a trip to Disney World a few years ago. So I guess it could have gone either way.<br />
<br />
I told the girls together. "Soooo....I had my mammogram a few weeks ago..." I started. Reese immediately interjected, "You have breast cancer!" So much for easing into it. I went through the timeline of events, reassured them it was early stage and very treatable, then answered their one trillion and one questions. "So when they called me yesterday..." I continued, Reese interrupted again, "Yesterday?! You've known since yesterday? Why didn't you tell us last night?"<br />
<br />
"Uhh...because I was carting all of you to and from practices all night. We weren't even all home at the same time," I reminded her.<br />
<br />
"You, Drue, and I were all in the car together on the way to volleyball," she pointed out.<br />
<br />
"Yeah. And <i>you</i> were <i>driving</i>! What was I supposed to say, 'Ok, go ahead and take a left up here. Oh, and I have cancer'?! What on actual Earth?!."<br />
<br />
Our conversation took a slight detour when Drue asked, "So, do you know if you're heterozygous? Because we're studying punnett squares in Science."<br />
<br />
Reese's biggest concern was that I'd let a man do my biopsy. Bless it.<br />
<br />
Tate adorably let it sink in and asked, "So, like, is this something that we need to be worrying about?"<br />
<br />
"Nope. Not in the least, Buddy."<br />
<br />
The kids suddenly became very agreeable and amicable toward one another over the next few days. At first I thoroughly enjoyed it, but then it turned a little creepy. And when I suspiciously beat the girls at MarioKart, I said, "Aha! You let me beat you! Stop it!"<br />
<br />
From the moment I got my diagnosis, I've had a flurry of phone calls from nurses and schedulers. The very first of which turned out to be a sweet nurse I actually met when she was a little girl and her parents taught my Sunday School class. It was very comforting to have her end our conversation with, "I'm praying for you and your family!"<br />
<br />
My cancerous culprits look like grains of salt on my images. But instead of playing nice and spreading out evenly, they decided to cluster together and plot against me. We're waiting to see if any cells have escaped into other areas or if I have mutant ninja genes indicating a high rate of reoccurrence. If not, my surgeon is just going to crash their little party, remove them all in an outpatient procedure, and any stragglers will get zapped with 3 weeks of radiation. At which point I'll do a mic drop as I exit the hospital. Until I return shortly thereafter for my appointment with my oncologist to begin my 5 year med. Maybe I'll just take my mic to all future appointments from here on out.<br />
<br />
So, ladies...G-O! Go directly to your mammogram. Do not pass "Go". Do not collect $200. Although I'd gladly bribe you if that's what it takes.<br />
<br />
I want to go back and hug the radiologist who read my mammogram, the 75 year old survivor who didn't hesitate to approach me in the waiting room offering encouragement, and the nurse who instinctively reached out and held my hand during my biopsy. I'm not even a hugger. But I suspect I'll be more open to the idea from now on.<br />
<br />
I finished out the week getting a filling in my tooth and was numbed up half the day. There I sat at my desk, contemplating the information I'd received within the last 24 hours, dribbling my water all down the front of my shirt thinking, "I've had better weeks..."<br />
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<br />Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-55002237461046621802018-01-12T23:15:00.001-06:002018-01-12T23:20:45.802-06:00To Infirmary...And Beyond! Deep thoughts from our week under quarantine. Just indulge me here, folks. I've had limited adult contact with the outside world this week. I have words, <i>lots</i> of words, to get out.<br />
<br />
We had bugs from all over. Tate was puking. I was coughing so hard I was awarded my first inhaler in 41 years. Fevers galore. Entire bottle of ibuprofen dispensed.<br />
<br />
Basically my deep thought is this: There's nothing like a week of sickness to reset one's attitude. I was downright giddy when my fever finally broke for good and I felt well enough to clean the bathrooms. Mundane chore <i>last</i> week. This week, I'm <i>glad</i> to be able do it. Which, yes, should be my attitude every week. But it's not. Far from it.<br />
<br />
Weeklong sicknesses can also reset attitudes when it comes to teens. Not <i>theirs</i> of course, (wouldn't that be nice?), but <i>mine</i> towards them. Just like when they were little. Their abundant energy could certainly wear me out some days. But as soon as one of them would go down with a fever, I'd take one look at their pitiful sleeping self on the couch and think, "I'm not sitting there 'til I disinfect that whole cushion"...oh, but <i>then</i> I'd think, "What I wouldn't give for them to be running up and down the stairs strewing their toys from room to room."<br />
<br />
It's the same way with teens. On Reese's worse day this week, when she didn't change position for hours on end and I kept tiptoeing up to her bedside to see if the covers were rising and falling, I thought, "What I wouldn't give to see her roll her eyes or give me that look of 'what planet are you actually from'?".<br />
<br />
This was the same day, incidentally, I read an article about flu related deaths in otherwise healthy individuals. Talk about timing. Of course I wasn't going to tell her because it would freak her out. But I must have been hovering a little too much that evening because she finally looked at me and croaked, "What?"<br />
<br />
"Huh? What?" was my smooth comeback.<br />
<br />
"Mom..." she pushed.<br />
<br />
"Tell me if you feel any different."<br />
<br />
"Why?"<br />
<br />
"No reason."<br />
<br />
"Mom..." she pushed again.<br />
<br />
"Oh alright already! People are dying from the flu. Like healthy people. So just tell me if you feel extra bad, even if it's in the middle of the night."<br />
<br />
There was not one day this week that all 3 kids attended school at the same time. It became part of my nightly routine to call a school or 2 and leave a message. I half hoped a truancy officer would come to my door, just for some face to face contact with society.<br />
<br />
While we're on the subject of school...one sneeze at the dinner table in elementary school, and they were announcing they must stay home the next day. Those days are g-o-n-e. I debated with Reese and Tate at length Sunday night why they would both be missing their first day ever of middle school and high school on Monday.<br />
<br />
Tate argued, "But I haven't thrown up since like 3am. So I can go!"<br />
<br />
Technically the lad was correct. "Buddy, every time you stand up to do something you black out for like 5 seconds. Black out time is not factored in to what little time you have between classes. You're staying home," I rebuffed.<br />
<br />
And Reese was convinced she'd need to repeat the semester (which literally had begun 2 days prior) if she missed a day. At this point I was still sick and not feeling up to arguing so just said wearily, "I don't know what to tell you...you ain't goin'." (Perhaps I'll take an English course with her that additional semester).<br />
<br />
Turns out, Tate just didn't want to do the extra homework he'd have from missing class. Which took all of maybe 20 minutes Tuesday night.<br />
<br />
Tate and Drue headed off to school Tuesday while Reese and I settled in for our morning naps. My phone rang around 10am. The school nurse. "Hi, I have Drue here in my office..."<br />
<br />
"Of course you do. I'll be right there."<br />
<br />
Reese bemoaned missing another day on Wednesday, but by this time she felt so miserable, I didn't have to put forth nearly as much effort arguing with her. <br />
<br />
Apparently, Mother Nature even grew tired of Reese's objections to missing school, so she dropped the temp and sent just enough ice to get school cancelled for Thursday. "There, you're not actually missing another day," I reassured her.<br />
<br />
"Yeah. But I can't enjoy the snow day because I'm sick."<br />
<br />
Oh. My. Stars. In. Heaven.<br />
<br />
She emailed her teachers to get a jump start on makeup work. "What do you have to do to make up P.E.?" I asked. "Run a mile per day I miss," she said, complete with eye roll (Yay! It returned!). "Girrrllll....you're going to be running your own personal 5K to make up this week!" I figured up.<br />
<br />
David checked on us all Thursday night from Denver, "How's everybody doing?" he asked. When I reported we had all turned a corner and were on the mend he said, "Oh good! I was just wondering if I should extend my stay."<br />
<div>
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I was quite the little organizer keeping track on my phone who had medicine when and what their temp was. They were all set to go back today but Drue decided to be an overachiever and keep her fever a little longer and her voice comes and goes in croaky whispers.<br />
<br />
I took pity on Reese walking to the bus stop in 7 degree weather this morning before sunrise and offered to drive her to school. This is big, folks. I haven't driven her to high school once this year.<br />
<br />
We dropped Tate off across the street from <i>his </i>school and as I pulled into morning traffic to take Reese, my friend Carrie "Voxered" me (cool walkie talkie phone app) and said, "Just in case you're dropping any kids off at Walgreens, that light's not working." So I had just dropped my son off in single digit weather with no way to get across 4 lanes of morning commute traffic. Lovely. A quick call to another Mom friend who dropped her son off at the same time eased my mind. She dashed back to check on them and they were nowhere in sight. I didn't even <i>want</i> to know how he made it across. (Turns out, the button was frozen on their side of the street, but not the other, so someone ended up pushing it for them...my curiosity got the better of me.)<br />
<br />
As we neared Reese's school, I said, "Sooo....you know I'm not going in that parking lot, right? I'll drop you off on that side street. And don't be a hater about it."<br />
<br />
As I started down that street I saw the side parking lot with no line of cars. So I pulled in and around near a random door but stopped short on the corner, "Oops, I don't think this is really a drop off and here comes a truck behind me. Hurry! Hop out!"<br />
<br />
"But I don't even know where I'm at!" she said.<br />
<br />
"Love you! Have a good day back," I replied as I drove off.<br />
<br />
I'm doubting she'll have to add on another semester, due to the fact she challenged me in a game of Fight List on my phone 30 minutes into the school day. Working real hard there, Reese, <i>real</i> hard.<br />
<br />
She did such a great job convincing me she was well enough to return today, after school I said, "Oh. Hey. Clean your room."<br />
<br />
"I can't. I'm sick," she replied without batting an eye.<br />
<br />
Yep, glad to have my sassy gal back.<br />
<br />
Now we just need to get Drue well enough to be <i>her</i> snarky self and all will be right with my world.<br />
<br />
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<br />Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32297156.post-17948617130033348532017-08-25T13:14:00.001-05:002017-08-25T13:15:36.525-05:00It's 6am Somewhere At the beginning of the week, Reese said she needed two 2 liter bottles by Thursday for Biology. We don't buy 2 liters so it was like Christmas in August around here when Drue and Tate found out they could drink as much as they wanted. And, in fact, were encouraged to do so <i>quickly</i> since we only had a few days.<br />
<br />
Who knew there were so many styles of 2 liters? Reese's teacher said not to get "weird" ones but I had no idea what that meant. Reese deemed my lemonade bottle "weird", so I put it back and got Sprite Zero. Sprite has been forever ruined for me thanks to the stomach flu. Root beer was our second pick. No bad memories associated with that flavor that I could recall.<br />
<br />
I have been stumbling downstairs at 6:15 every morning this week to pop some waffles into the oven, announcing more than once, "Don't get used to this, people! I'm not doing it the whole school year." Yesterday morning the mostly drunk {"drunk" meaning "gone", not "intoxciated"} 2 liter of root beer was sitting on the counter. MOSTLY drunk?! Reese needed to take it that day. I poured out what was left {probably 12 ounces or so} and started sipping away. Not my first choice of beverage at the crack of dawn but, by golly, I wasn't going to waste one drop. I rinsed out the bottle and set it next to the already rinsed out Sprite Zero. Mission accomplished. Mom had saved the day.<br />
<br />
As Reese flew around the house like a crazy person so she wouldn't be late for her bus that comes at O dark 30, I hollered, "Don't forget your 2 liters!!" Her school is across town and the list of forgotten items I will drop off for her is slim. And may actually only include "oxygen tank" should she become dependent on one for survival.<br />
<br />
"What?" she hollered back.<br />
"Your 2 liters! It's Thursday!" I reminded her proudly.<br />
"Oh. I don't need those 'til the 28th," she said dismissively as she stuffed practice clothes in her backpack.<br />
<br />
I had just guzzled the rest of it for nothing? And the worst part was, it was caffeine free. So it would benefit me in no way whatsoever. Great. Now root beer is ruined for me because I will associate it with early mornings. And I <i>abhor</i> early mornings. David was flying in that evening, so I had to put signs on the empty bottles saying, "REESE NEEDS THESE FOR SCHOOL" because he tosses out anything and everything we are not using at that exact moment.<br />
<br />
All in all, we made it through the first full week of early mornings, extra school supply runs, and picture day thrown in for grins (pun intended). Reese did have a near miss when she decided to start walking home one evening after practice while I was at a parent meeting at the middle school and was late picking her up. My rule-following child who worries about getting arrested for jaywalking in our <i>neighborhood</i> decided to cross all four lanes of Blackbob with no traffic light in sight. What. On. Earth. I half wish the cops had picked her up to scare her straight. Besides, the girl can't <i>not</i> smile. So her mug shot would have been pretty adorable.<br />
<br />
And I'll be bracing myself for her frantic text from school on the 28th..."Mom, I forgot my 2 liters."Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09358957625795939896noreply@blogger.com0