How Quickly Time Passes

I had planned to post yesterday. But it was a total MONDAY. It was my first day back to work after the second surgery. I was up early as usual, but felt sick and tired. I was too worried about getting ready for some lessons I would be teaching to 3rd graders on finding resources. There wasn't time to get all my blog posts completed. (We had already delayed these lessons because of my surgery and I was feeling guilty that I hadn't done more than think about them during my recovery.) So I had decided I would just post when I got home from school.

Nice plan, but  it didn't quite work out. First I was surprised to find myself almost in tears once I got to school. And I have no idea why. Fortunately, I got myself under control before my first class. The nausea had finally passed.  Unfortunately, the tired feeling didn't. In fact it just got worse.

In addition to feeling tired beyond belief, I kept wondering if I looked as lopsided as I felt.  The swelling from the first surgery had not gone away before they did the second surgery.  It's sort of like walking around with a cantaloupe on one side and a grapefruit on the other side. (Sorry guys if it's TMI, but it's a fact of life for me right now.)  I'm really worried about the swelling since my BCN told me that it really needed to go down before they start radiation because radiation will cause swelling as well.  She had suggested ice or a heating pad. Well, bags of ice and the library just don't go together.  Try explaining that to a group of elementary students - Mrs. Archer - you're dripping!  If I could find a battery operated heating pad, I might be able to try heat to get the swelling down. Anyone know where you can get a battery operated heating pad?

Finally, it was the end of the day and I didn't feel like I had done much. I taught two hour- long classes on finding resources and a thirty minute class on Tomie DePaola, but I didn't shelve a book (thankfully my co-workers worked hard to keep the number of books that need shelving down to a minimum) nor did I process one book out of the stack that needs to be added to the collection.  But I made it through the day.

I had actually considered using what Kris Carr calls the "Cancer" card and calling in sick.  In her book she devotes a whole chapter to when you can and can't get away with swiping the card. My problem is that sometimes I still think that my cancer is so innocent I have no right to complain, much less swipe the card. (Though there have been a few things I would have loved to have gotten out of if I'd just been bold enough to try.)  And then of course there's that whole I want to get back to normal as fast as I can mentality, so of course that's why I headed off to school anyway. And though it kicked my butt, I'm actually glad I did.

The day finally ended. I got home and then had to tell my family that it was leftovers or fend for yourself night because I had forgotten to take anything out to thaw. (I had also left the house that morning without taking my tamoxifen so I ended up taking it in the evening instead of the morning.)  I was so tired when I sat down on the couch I couldn't even keep my eyes open wide enough to read. (Those of you who know me, know that's unusual.) I would have just gone to bed, but I had some prep to do for today's classes (that didn't get done either, thank goodness for today's snow day) and Patrick needed help getting his application submitted for the Rocky Mountain Avon Walk for Breast Cancer.  At 10:00 p.m. we were still waiting for the email to go through and of course I finally crashed on the couch watching Murder She Wrote. I didn't wake up until 3:00 a.m. when I finally crawled into bed, only to be awakened sometime after 4 with a text about the school closing.

So what does all this rambling have to do about the passage of time?  Around 5:30 a.m. this morning I realized that snow day or not, exhaustion or not, my body is used to getting up at this time - not to mention that the dogs needed to go out as well. So I got up, poured a cup of coffee and turned on the news.  As I was doing my usual morning surf of the blogs I follow, I was only half listening to the news when I heard a reporter comment that it had been a month since Rep. Giffords was shot. (And that reminded me that my troubles are nothing compared to what she and the others on that horrible day have had to endure.) It also reminded me that Monday was the one month anniversary of my first surgery.  There's been a lot that has happened in one month: two surgeries, a week and a half of being terrified I'd have to go through chemo, a few snow days, an appointment with the medical oncologist, a book signing, super bowl, school, registration for three walks, and brain storming for fundraising ideas and probably things I have forgotten.

It's only been a month. Healing takes time. No wonder I am tired. I was tired before all of this began.  If anyone else told me that they felt like a wimp because they were tired a week after having a second surgery, I would have told them to cut themselves some slack. So maybe I should cut myself some slack. Not sure that will actually happen - I tend to be a little tough on myself - but it's worth considering.

Susan G. Komen for the Cure

As you may know I'm planning on participating in three Breast Cancer Walks this year: two Susan G. Komen Walks (Denver & Colorado Springs) and the Rocky Mountain Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. For the Avon Walk, I'm committed to raising $1800. I just signed up earlier this week and I'm already at 47% of my goal. If you'd like to contribute you can do so online by clicking here.  Or if you'd rather wait and support one of the Komen Walks, I'll be sure to let you know about them when I have more information. I'm planning a Mother's Day photo shoot to raise funds as well as designing a t-shirt.

Speaking of Susan G. Komen, she was one amazing women. Even though she was struggling with her own battle with breast cancer, she was more concerned with finding ways to help other women going through the same battle. Susan G. Komen for the Cure is the global leader in the breast cancer movement. Started by Susan's sister, Nancy G. Brinker in 1982, the foundation has made great strides.  Back then the 5 year survival rate for women diagnosed with breast cancer was 74%, today the rate is 98 percent. Nearly 75 percent of women over the age of 40 now receive regular mammograms compared to just 30% in 1982.

It's not all about fundraising. It's about education and support. This morning I've spent some time  exploring the Susan G. Komen for the Cure web site.  It's an amazing resource, providing information about diagnoses, treatment and sharing stories of those fighting the battle - just to name a few.

I'm a Zeta Tau Alpha. ZTAs  main philanthropic focus has been in support of  Susan G. Komen for the Cure. When I was diagnose with breast cancer one of the many guilty things that popped into my head was that I should have paid more attention in college. Susan G. Komen was a name I was familiar with and over the years it has been one of the charities I support. But recently I've thought as a Zeta, I should have been more involved. (Turns out that Susan G. Komen for the Cure was just in its infancy when I was in college and considering how immature I was back then, it's a wonder I was even aware of it back then.) It's not too late for me to get more involved. Nor is it too late for you.  If you have been diagnosed with breast cancer or know someone who has, I suggest you check out their site.  And if you'd like to get some exercise for a good cause, sign up for one of their walks. They are held all over the country.

Searching for Normal

Over the last couple of months, I've often been told don't worry about . . .
Don't worry about missing work, the library and books will still be there when you come back. Don't worry about the dishes, the housework, the never ending to do list, don't worry about the diet - it will all still be there when you're ready. Just take care of yourself.

Don't get me wrong. I appreciate all of those sentiments. Basically everyone is saying worrying about MYSELF is what matters in the grand scheme of things.  I can't speak for other cancer patients, but for me it's not so much about worrying that things won't get done or that my work ethic  will suffer (hey, I just as soon sit on the couch with a mug of tea and a good book), but it's more about being normal.  I realize that for me the definition of normal is going to have to change a little.  Though I'm confident that they got all the cancer during this last surgery and I expect my next scan, whenever that is, to show me as cancer free, I'm never going to be who I was before the diagnosis. That person has changed (hopefully for the better).  But, that doesn't mean that I can't strive for some sense of normal.

For me, fretting about the library is normal. Walking at least five times a week is normal.  Doing 50 sit-ups for me is normal (ok for you highly fit athletes, that's not much, but for the bookworm who was also a couch potato, just a year ago - 50 sit-ups is pretty good.)  Running out into the snow to take a photo is normal.  These are all things I don't want to give up.  So, bear with me if I move a little too fast trying to get back into "normal." Of course, when I'm so tired I have to a nap after grocery shopping, I know I won't have anyone but myself to blame.

Enough rambling. This morning I took the first step on the road back to normal. For the first time in a little over a month, I went on a morning walk. Brrr! It was chilly.  And I am tired, but my head is clear.  I took my camera and I have some shots to play with.  It took me a little longer - at least it felt like it did.  But, I DID it. For me it was worth being a little tired.

 This is the hill that is toward the end of my usual walking route. It doesn't look like much in the pictures, but even when I am in shape, my legs usually tingle just a little after I make it up this slight incline.

So, what is the one thing for you that makes life seem normal?

To Google or Not To Google

I'm a librarian, so "googling" is often second nature for me. If  I want information, I look for a book and I check for reliable internet resources.  Any time anything happens to my boys I pull on my super librarian cape and go to work. Yet, when I was diagnosed with breast cancer back in November, it wasn't me that did the googling. it was Tony. He was very good about looking up information and sharing it with me. (Honey - I have to confess. I took all that information and filed it away without looking at it.) I think it was a form of denial for me.  If I didn't research it, if  I didn't read up on it - then it wasn't real.  However, after two mammograms, two biopsies, two surgeries and impending radiation, it can't get much more real.  Time to be better informed.

Thing is, my search this morning wasn't to find out more about my cancer (DCIS - Ductal Carcinoma In Situ - I still think DCIS sounds like an acronym for a school district), but because one of my fears is that I've somehow passed this on to my boys.  Yes, breast cancer can strike males, just not females, though male breast cancer is rare.

Yesterday, my oldest, Ryan called Tony and asked that he be picked up from school because he had a bad migraine.  Migraines are something that I have passed onto my boys.  Fortunately, their migraines have not been as chronic as mine were at their age and also, unlike my mother who first said that I couldn't have a headache since I was kid and kids don't get headaches and then she later claimed she didn't know where my headaches came from even though she used to go to bed with a "sick headache" several times a month - I have always taken my boys' headaches seriously. 

Ryan's migraine yesterday (which turned out to be the result of a sinus infection) got me to thinking. If I passed my migraines onto the boys, could have I passed on this cancer as well? So a'googling I went. According to Breastcancer.org the risk of cancer in males is very low. "Breast cancer in men is a rare disease. Less than 1% of all breast cancers occur in men. In 2005, when 211,400 women were diagnosed with breast cancer in the United States, 1,690 men were diagnosed with the disease."  The risk goes up as men get older and of course if there is a significant family history the risk also increases.  If I have the Breast Cancer Gene Abnormality, then I could have passed that on to the boys. I won't know unless I am tested for the gene. I think I mentioned that my BCN wants me to at least meet with the genetic folks at Penrose.  Chances are since there is no known history in my family that my cancer is an anomaly. But for my peace of mind, if the genetic folks recommend I be tested I will even if it means more needles. (Maybe we can get the nurse from Memorial to come help with those tests.) Information is key in any battle. I love my boys and I want them (and their children) to be as well armed as possible.

For now, my super librarian skills failed me. I can't find the final answer to my fears on my own. I'll have to rely on the experts.

As for whether to google or not to google, Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips does recommend doing your research. Information is power. If you're not up to being your own googler - then get one of your cancer co-survivors to help out. It will give them something tangible to do and when you're ready, you'll have the information at hand. I'm fortunate - my Combat Engineer happens to have some hidden super librarian skills of his own.

Looking For Inspiration

I've decided to design a breast cancer awareness t-shirt. It's somewhat of a daunting task as there are some really great ones already out there.

These are just a few of the hundreds of awesome shirts out there. My design will incorporate the ribbon that Patrick painted for me. It's my signature picture for the blog. It will most likely be black with pink lettering so that while it will be "In the Pink", guys will still be comfortable wearing it.  My good friend Cara who is very talented at everything from designing shirts to photography, suggested adding a quote.

Here are few quotes I've found:

Once you choose hope, anything's possible.  ~Christopher Reeve
Cancer is a word, not a sentence.  ~John Diamond
Courage is being afraid but going on anyhow.  ~Dan Rather
 When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.  ~Franklin D. Roosevelt


What do you think? Do you have any quotes that would be good?

Acknolwedging The Angels In Your Life

Crazy Sexy Cancer Tip #45: Take A Moment And Acknowledge The Co-Survivors In Your Life!

Cancer doesn't limit itself to hurting the person who is diagnosed with it. It can be devastating to those around us, especially those who love us. They are fighting the battle right along with us.

Carr puts it this way "Co-survivors are the Crazy Sexy Cancer Angels, the wonderful family, best friends, and even pets who stick by your side and care for you through thick and then." (Carr, K. (2007). Crazy sexy cancer tips. Connecticut: Morris Publishing Group, LLC.)

I would add co-workers as well. I've been truly blessed with a wonderfully large and supportive network of angels looking out for me. Prayers have been said for me all over the country. People have opened up to tell me about their experiences, delicious meals have been brought to the house, willing ears and shoulders have been ready whenever I needed them. I've been allowed to be cranky and pitiful whenever I needed to be. Not one time since I got the phone call in November have I been in this alone. I am truly blessed.

I want to take just a moment to thank my Cancer Battle Buddies.

My wonderful husband, Tony, tops the list. He has been my biggest supporter from the very beginning. He has even embraced my new love of pink. He's put up with  my mood swings when any normal person would have told me to get over myself.

My son Patrick, has been my Battle Buddy for more than just the fight against cancer. He was my Battle Buddy for my husband's last deployment and he was one of my biggest supporters during my weight loss program. He never asked me if I lost weight on my weigh-ins - he always asked how much? He's been a real trooper during the cancer battle as well. He runs errands for me, helps me take care of the hedgehog and doesn't let a morning go by without making sure I get my morning hug. He plans to walk with me in the Avon Walk for the Cure and the Susan G. Komen Walks for the Cure in Denver and Colorado Springs. He even hung out with me while I was recuperating from the first surgery. Not too many 13 year-olds would give up their entire Saturday to hang out with Mom.

Then there are my parents by choice. Clark and Sue have seen me through more dramas/traumas than I can count. I can't think of anyone I'd rather have in my corner. The parents who gave me life were not able to be there for me, but these two have been my parents and best friends all rolled up together.

I have also been truly blessed with with wonderful friends both far and near (Rhonda, Paula, Michelle, Joyce, Jim, Laurel, Marken, Christy - the gang at Peak - to name just a few) and Casi, who is the little sister I always wanted and my wonderful family from Academy Endeavour and Chinook Trail. 

And I have also been blessed and comforted by two true angels who are no longer with us.  I know this is going to sound nuts, but I do believe that God gives us what we need - if we just open ourselves up to receive it.  When I had the first biopsy, I was feeling very sorry for myself. (It was that needle thing again.) Tony was in the waiting room. He couldn't be in the room with me. And I was feeling alone. It was then that I thought of both my Granny and Tony's mom, Patty.  I could hear Patty telling me that I was strong enough to handle this and anything else that comes along. And I could almost feel Granny's cool hand on my forehead, just like all the times she did that when I was little and not feeling well.  These were two of the strongest women I've ever known. If they thought I could handle it then I knew I could. Were their spirits in the room with me? I don't know. I'd like to think so, but I do know they were in my heart just when I needed them. 

So, the point of all this rambling this morning is that I know I'm blessed because I don't have to fight this fight alone.  I know this can be tough for my friends and family and not just me.  I know that with everyone that I have on my team, kicking cancer will be a breeze. I pray that everyone who must fight such a battle will be as blessed as I am.

Sometimes Getting Hysterical Can Be A Good Thing.

First, I apologize for missing yesterday. I had planned to get up early and blog before the surgery.  It didn't happen. It seems I can't think straight without a cup of coffee. And after the surgery, I was so drugged I just slept the afternoon away - first time in months I've actually had some decent sleep. Too bad it was only yesterday afternoon and didn't follow through to the night. But that's another story.  The surgery went well. I'm just a little sore and fighting a sore throat from the breathing tube.

I even survived the IV. In fact there a funny story about the IV. It's no secret that I'm terrified of needles and the more I try to psyche myself up for anything involving needles, I usually end up psyching myself OUT. I usually build it up to the point that I'm just one big ball of nerves before the nurse even mentions the word IV. Yesterday, I said a quick little prayer that for once the IV wouldn't hurt.  God's answer was rather hilarious - literally. First my sweet husband offered to put the IV in for me - after all he's battle field trained to do that sort of thing. I asked him if he wanted to stay married. Seriously, I love him too much to let him come near me with a needle, as I'm sure he wouldn't have wanted to explain the broken nose that was likely to have resulted from such an attempt.

The first nurse that came in took one look at my veins and went to get warm blankets.  After letting my arm sit under the warm blanket for a while she checked my veins again and went for more warm blankets and another nurse.  This nurse (and I'm kicking myself for not getting her name) did the best job of anyone I've ever known when it comes to putting in an IV.  The first nurse and Tony stood by the bed doing their best to distract me while the second nurse searched for a good spot on my arm for the IV.  And here is where God decided we all needed a little levity. When the nurse started running her fingers up my arm to find the vein, I got such a case of the giggles.  I was giggling so hysterically that my feet were kicking. And the more I giggled the funnier I thought it was and so I giggled even more. I barely felt her poke me with the lidocaine or even when she placed the IV.  Tony couldn't believe what he was seeing.  I couldn't believe it either. I'm thankful to God for answering this prayer in a funny way and I think I should send that nurse some chocolate. Maybe I'll paint her a mug, too. 

And though I can't remember her name at the moment, I did remember to thank her for making it the least painful experience I've ever had with a needle. I'm sure this will be a story Tony will tell more than once. :)