Today I feel...

Merry... we had a fantastic Christmas. Gushy... my eyes will not stop tearing. It's gross. I am constantly wiping and dabbing my eyes. The doctor said it's because I have chemo tears that irritate my eyes. Oh good. Chemo tears. Homesick... for family, friends, the beach, and for a good ol' backyard barbecue. It wouldn't hurt to have a junior super deluxe with black beans from El Som, either. Giddy... as I look lovingly on my life size poster board cut-out of 'Edward' that my neighbor Cheryl gave me. It is hilarious. Hopeful... for what this new year could hold for us. As much as this year has had it's trials and dark moments, it's also been a year of incredible blessings and great spiritual growth. Aerodynamic... with no hair and no boobs I feel like I could give Micheal Phelps a run for his money. Now if only I were an athlete. Relieved... that the AC (adriamycin and cytoxin) part of the chemo is now behind me. Apprehensive... now that the AC part of the chemo is over and the taxol portion is about to begin. With the AC, I at least knew what to expect. Sore... unfortunately it's from something I'm almost to embarrassed to admit to. I think I hurt my arm playing Alan in Tiger Woods golf on the Wii. Sad. Ecstatic... We are coming home!!! We will have 9 fabulous days with friends and family. January 17-25. Get out your Disneyland passes, dust off the volleyballs, and fire up the grills because we are coming home!

Chemo sucks

Just after thanksgiving Beth's hair started to fall out. Wanting to take control of the situation she decided that she wanted to buzz her head. Our good friend Lee Ann came over to document the event. Here are some pictures and for those interested, more pictures can be seen by clicking here.

Say bye bye to the $75 Aveda Hair cut she got only 1 week earlier. Just put that on our cancer tab please.

All the kids were a little freaked out by the whole event and chose to stay away for most of it - especially Benson.

Beth has a perfectly shaped head

There were a lot of laughs and some tears

All finished

Oh brother...

Friday was my third treatment. I normally meet with the doctor before treatment to go over how the last one went and talk about any problems or questions.
So I say, "Well, I have been getting these headaches behind my left eye (and I had a pretty bad one as I was sitting in his office)."
He looks at me and completely seriously asks, "Do you need a brain scan?"
To which I respond incredulously, "DO I??!!"
What kind of question is that? With all the nasty side affects wouldn't you think that headaches would be somewhat commonplace? A brain scan? Please. Are comments like that really necessary?

Cancer Ramblings

Time to get a few things off my chest about this whole cancer thing.

First and foremost, Beth and I are having a slight disagreement on which route to take when the reconstruction (boob job) takes place. She is thinking more along the lines of a Resse Whiterspoon job. While I am leaning more towards the Scarlett Johansson look. Who's with me?

Feel free to chime in with your opinions. I will make sure I thoroughly research all options...

For the past couple of weeks I have been trying to convince Beth into taking her Indiana State Drivers License picture when she is completely bald. That way when she gets pulled over for speeding, she can hand the driver license to the cop and explain that the picture was taken during her battle with Breast Cancer. What cop would give her a ticket? Or better yet, she could say she just got done with a Chemo treatment and was rushing home before she yakked in the car. This has to work 9 times out of 10 doesn't it....

Our first experience with the Chemo doctor didn't start off all that well. Beth and I are sitting in a consultation room before treatment #1. Dr Logie is explaining all the effects that Chemo will have on Beth. All the while he is trying to sound as reassuring and positive as possible. Suddenly a nurse comes barging in and says, "EXCUSE ME! DR LOGIE, WE HAVE AN EMERGENCY. BERTHA IS UNCONSCIOUS AND IS NOT RESPONDING. COME QUICK!!!". Beth and I look at each other with a look of "really? did that just happen?". All right, Chemo sounds like the way to go. Sign us up....

Chemo makes you weak and feel like you have the flu. So is there not a better excuse to use the electric wheel chairs at Target? Beth refuses to use them. I just don't get her thought process sometimes...

I think someone should start a "Chemo Awareness" month. There has to be a better way to treat Cancer...

The girls are loving the influx of hats that have entered our home...

We are very thankful to have health insurance in times like these, but seriously, could they make the process any harder? We are 3 months into her being diagnosed and not one bill has been processed by insurance. They are waiting for proof of prior insurance, a list of doctors Beth has seen in the past 2 years, certificate of credible coverage, detailed bills from the surgeon, visual evidence of cancer (okay I made the last one up). The best part is NOBODY calls you from insurance if something is missing. They wait until you find out that they don't have all the documents they need. All the while the boob doctor is waiting to get paid...

Beth is well into week 3 of 20. Only 17 more weeks of Chemo. She is amazing and she is my hero.

I am off to do more research for reconstruction.

Alan

To Bic or not To Bic

Holy Smokes. It is totally falling out. I knew it would happen and I knew I wasn't prepared. I guess I just didn't know how unprepared I am. I'm not ready. It's getting all patchy and it feels like it is poking me back. Like the follicles are all hyper sensitive. Alan spent the night trying to comfort me in two ways. One, by telling me that I have the most beautifully shaped head he's ever seen. (Extremely sweet, and to which every time he said it I would get all misty and give him a heartfelt 'thank you'.) And two, by offering to bic my head for me so I wouldn't worry so much about the stubble falling out. Hmm. Didn't quite get the same reaction. Even though I'm not convinced that it wouldn't be best. The question is, could I actually do that?

Pregnancy, Menopause and Periods...

I have so much to catch up on that the idea of one comprehensive post is out the window. So I think I will take a page from Heidi's book and spew a little blog vomit. Here it goes...

My oncologist said that during my chemo treatments I would feel like I was going through menopause with all of its glorious side effects. I wasn't too concerned and I was actually a little excited to not have to deal with periods either for the next 6 months. However, aside from the hot flashes that have me reaching for my thermometer every hour, I feel more pregnant than anything else. Queasy, body aches, sore boobs (o.k. That's not from the chemo, but still.), waking up during the night to pee, ultra sensitive skin, gas pains, and cramps, just to name a few prego symptoms that I've been experiencing. So why the heck am I still having periods if I feel pregnant and I'm in some temporarily induced state of menopause?!!! Can't a girl catch a break?

I shaved my head yesterday. Well, Alan did. I decided I was much more afraid of my hair actually falling out than being bald so I thought I would just beat chemo to the punch. I was hoping I would feel empowered by it, but really I just feel butch. I look in the mirror and I see a red headed boy with a buzz looking back. I look like a bully. So I am compensating by wearing way too much make up (even though I hardly left my bed at all today) and dropping hints to Alan that for Christmas I want necklaces, earrings, perfume, and anything else that screams feminine. It reminds me of the time my dad shaved my head and my brother couldn't walk by me without rubbing my head with both hands and saying "I wish I had a watermelon, I wish I had a watermelon."

I've decided that this round of treatment will be much better than the last time. They told me it would be worse, but nothing can be worse than the unknown and the debilitating fear it caused me last time. I think sicker is fine as long as I know what I'm up against. So it's mind over matter this time and I think its working out for me. I still feel pretty nasty, but not being terrified certainly makes everything more doable. For that I am extremely grateful.

My right shoulder twitches about once every 45 seconds. Kind of like a mini shrug. Freaky side effect or precursor to turrets?

Oh. A little p.s. to the shaving my head thing. I am relieved that there were no unexpected bumps, ridges, or divots to report. And my hair isn't actually falling out yet, but if I pull on it it comes out in a clump, roots and all. (If hair that is only a 1/4 of an inch long can come out in clumps.) Note to self... stop pulling on hair.

I am also completely HGTV'd and Food Networked out. And I just re-read the Twilight series.

Apparently the steroids are still doing their thing because it's 1:37 am and I know I won't be able to sleep yet. That is a funny thing though. Now that I have such a hard time sleeping, I have developed a fondness for the sound of Alan's snoring. (Save your comment about how you don't snore for people that will believe you, Homes.) It makes me happy that I'm not keeping him up at night with all my restlessness. I really do like the sound of it now. It's peaceful.

It's a beautiful day and it's great to be alive...

I slept last night. I woke up this morning. I wasn't nauseous. I helped my kids get ready. I even ate a little bit of breakfast. That is a good morning.

This first round of treatment went much better than I had expected. Not that it was a cake walk, just that I had imagined myself taking up a semi-permanent residence next to my toilet, looking and feeling like death warmed over. Really my main complaints were general yuckiness and nausea (never barfed) and my body was pretty sore. The last couple days I've spent more of the night in my bathtub than in the my bed, but I slept pretty soundly last night. (There are steroids in the chemo combo that can make you feel pretty restless. Which is pretty sad when you feel sick and all you want to do is rest!) Luckily, I am surrounded by amazing people who make being sick seem like a vacation instead of a punishment.

In all my long hours in the bath the last couple of nights, I have put together some thoughts on things that might not be too bad in my current situation. Here they are.

• We're going to save a lot of money on shampoo and hair products.
• I've already lost 20 lbs. Not directly from the cancer, but there is nothing like disease staring you in the face to keep you motivated to be healthier.
• I don't even own a bra anymore.
• Pretty soon I won't need to shave my legs.
• Alan has started doing the laundry.
• There is a DVD player in our bedroom now. (However our entertainment center is the ironing board.)
• I can start a super cool hat collection.

OK, so I thought I had more. Anyway, as you can see there are good times ahead.

I did it!

I can't believe I actually did it. I can't believe that I did it with out the secret oncology police needing to bind me and throw me in the back of the paddy wagon to take me in. I did it. (Albeit not without quite a few tears.) My first chemo treatment went pretty well. I should mention that I was armed with every bit of friendship 'armour' that I could think of. I wore Rachel's bracelet, Tori's shirt, books and magazines from lots of different friends and brought all of the loving cards and notes that people have given me so I would feel loved and encouraged all over again. I even debated whether or not I would look like an idiot if I brought the teddy bear Caroline sent. I decided I would and left it at home. (It's huge.) Now that I'm thinking about it, I probably looked like an idiot even without the bear! I brought enough stuff with me! Polly took the kids for us (We love you, Polly! They had so much fun at the nature preserve and they love Opie/Ruby!) and Alan took the day off to be with me. After I got hooked up and under way he skipped out for a second and brought back lunch. We snuggled up on the single bed, ate McCalisters giant baked potatoes and played scrabble on our ipod touch. So really, aside from the loads of toxic chemicals dumped into my veins, it was kind of a nice afternoon.

I know it takes a while for the symptoms to kick in so for now the only side effects are a nasty metallic taste in my mouth and fruit punch colored pee. So, (since I took you all with me to our first treatment...) thanks for going with me. I couldn't have done it without you!

Extreme Makeover: Cancer Edition

My hair has been way too long for way too long. But since I knew it would all be falling out anyway, I wasn't really anxious to spend the money to have it cut. I thought I would just shave it the night before it was going to expel itself. Anyway it was getting almost impossible to tame, let alone look half way decent. I can hardly lift my arms to wash my hair and it was pretty tough to even pull it back into my 3-day ponytail. I finally decided about 45 min before I went to have the port placed that I couldn't take it for even one more minute. There is a Great Clips down the street and I thought, what the heck. I just need them to whack it off to my shoulders. I don't need a fantastic style, it's all coming out in a little bit anyway, right? Holy smokes. Big Mistake. So, lesson learned. After a $50 fix-it cut at a lovely Aveda salon I now feel like it will once again be sad to lose my hair. I have a cute, super short do. Ella said that she really liked it and that it looked a little like Kate's hair (holla). Which is really wonderful because before we even left the salon at great clips, she said that my hair kinda looked like Professor Snape's hair from the Harry Potter movies. Yep. It was bad.

I wish I could think of something funny for the rest of the post. Chemo starts on Friday. This coming Friday. I can't even type that without freaking out. I think even though we had talked about chemo before, I was never really committed to the idea. Like something would change before it ever became a reality. Friday seems like a huge reality. I keep waiting for some miracle to save me. When I was young and (often) unprepared for a test or something the next day, I can remember just praying the school would catch on fire or something so I wouldn't have to take it. (That sounds really bad. Wow.) Well now I'm kind of at that spot. Hoping that all chemo shipments get lost in transit. It seems so surreal. Ella's birthday party is on Thursday. The next day I have my first treatment. Fourteen days from that, I will be bald. Gross. This does not seem possible. Seriously. My life is pretty busy and even still I just can't see this as something I will be doing next week...and the 20 weeks after that. Unbelievable. Crazy.

Well, here we go. Bring it on. Do your worst, cancer. (Not really.) I can take it. (I hope.) As I'm trying to talk tough can I just say that everyone... friends, family, neighbors, well wishers...I will forever be changed because of your kindness. I am not capable of what I have been through or what still lies ahead without you.

Here we go again

Tomorrow I have the port put in. I have to say that although it is a very minor surgery, I am absolutely dreading it. Anything sticking out of me totally gives me the heebs. Anyway, it's minor. I think the procedure is 30 minutes and I go home like an hour later.

The truth is that this whole thing totally sucks. I'm sick of surgeries. I'm sick of IV's and general anesthesia. It's not the mastectomy or even the chemo (although I am seriously doubting that something that makes you so terribly ill can be beneficial to an already sick person, but that's a different post). It's all the incidentals along the way. The scars from the drains, the scars from the sentinel node biopsy, this stinkin' port. What the crap. I don't want people to poke me anymore. I don't want anymore antibiotics (did I mention that I have strep throat?). And I just finished a round from after my last surg. I don't want to have more general anesthesia. I don't even like taking Tylenol. Seriously, it's getting old.

I have to say that it is one of those 'black heart' days anyway so I probably shouldn't be blogging. Well, I check in at 11:00a, surgery at 12:00. Home by 2:00. Puke from 4:00 on.

I'm thinking that one good thing about the port is that on days like today when I am a total grouch, I could self medicate and just mainline some chocolate. That might be a fun experiment.

First things, first...

I love my no boobs! Not quite new boobs because that has to wait until after treatment, but seriously no boobs are fantastic. There is some kind of a bump because of the expanders but that's about it. Nothing else that would make it an actual boob. I think even Alan will be an easy sell. With that being said... ouch! Holy crap, I feel like some took a sledge hammer to my chest. My chest muscles are super sore all the way down to my elbows. (Are chest muscles even connected to elbow muscles? Is that a song?) It's definitely not as bad as it could be, because it's like a dull deep ache. Not like a searing, stitch-ripping pain - like the kind I had when my brilliant nurse woke me up at midnight to sit me up and have me swing my legs over the side of the bed. Her words, "It's time to take your pain killers but I want to get you up and walking so you can go home in a few hours." My words, "How 'bout I take the pain killers and then I sit up in about 20 minutes when they're working?" Her. "Yeah, well I don't want you to take them and then get nauseous when you sit up." Me. "Umm, ok, but I'm not promising much." I already felt like I had been seriously run over by a truck. And over and over. She and another nurse start bringing my bed up. They got about a quarter of the way up and I start saying 'stop. stop. stop.' Any guesses on what happens? After about a seconds pause, they keep going. I muster all my strength to yell (which ends up being close to a regular speaking voice) "Lay me down. Now. Lay me down. Lay me down". I start bawling. Ouch. At this point breathing is extremely painful, so sitting up, yelling and crying is really just to much to handle. My eyes can't focus on anything but I just keep thinking, there has to be a way I can inflict pain on this woman. I thought if she would just bend down a little closer to me I just might be able to bite her on the chin. Now guess what her response is to crazy, sobbing me? Speaking to the other nurse she says, "Should we just swing her legs over real quick so we don't have to come back and do this again?" At this point I say, " I will kill her. I will. I swear I will kill her." I'm not sure why I started using the third person but it seemed to be the only thing that worked. They laid me back, with still more crying from me and she finally bring me the pain meds. In an hour, when we try again and I sit up walk myself to the bathroom and get back in bed with no problem she says, "Wow. Those pain meds really work. I had no idea it was going to hurt that bad." You do still have to go to school to become a nurse, right?

I loved coming home to my sister, friend and husband pampering me at the ring of a bell (thanks Kathryn). And this morning, four of my neighbors rang the doorbell armed with vacuums, mops and a whole lot of Pine Sol to clean my house from top to bottom as I laid in bed. No boobs, clean house and dinners delivered to my door... yeah, I got Cancer...you jealous?

Upcoming events:

Sunday - Sleep and focus on shallow breathing
Monday - Doctor appt to check my drains - oops. Did I neglect to mention I have four drains hanging off of my sides? Gross. You can google it. But in all honesty, I wouldn't recommend it for those with weak constitutions. They will be in between one and three weeks.
After that- After icky drain removal, the surgery to put the port in happens. Once port is in Chemo begins.

Post Surgery Update

So this will be quick...

I just swung by home to put the kids the bed and then I'm heading back to the hospital. Beth is doing great. The surgery lasted over 9 hours and for the most part she says she feels ok, but says that her ribs really hurt. They have her doped up on some pretty heavy stuff, so conversations with her are interesting.

Doctors said that everything went extremely well. They expect her to be released tomorrow morning at 7 AM (don't bet on that). My bet is she'll be home tomorrow evening sometime.

Beth's sister and friend Melissa are here helping out. They stayed with the kids today during the surgery and are here through the end of the week - what a huge help they have been.

Beth wanted me to get a post up and to say thank you for everyone that has reached out to us, helped us in someway or another or prayed for us. We are so blessed to have such supportive friends and family.

Beth will post as soon as she can jump on a laptop. Trust me, she will have some funny stuff to share about this day.

Alan

Double D Day

Tomorrow is the day...

So in the last few weeks, Beth has recieved a ton of cards, emails, packages, people coming over to give her support and wishing her well, etc... Well, what about me? I about to lose two of my best friends tomorrow and no one is talking about that?

Alan

Wiggity Wiggity Wack

Here's the wig dilemma. In the beginning I was totally opposed to wearing a wig. I thought I would be uncomfortable trying to pass it off as my own hair, like cancer was a big secret and I was lying to everybody by wearing the wig. However the thought of being a big bald freckle ball didn't really excite me either. I was considering just starting a really funky fresh hat collection. The problem with that is you would still be able to tell that I was totally bald which generally equates to illness and I'm just not sure I need everyone from the mailman to guy at the gas station knowing I have cancer. So here's what I've decided. I think I'll get a couple wigs. Maybe a long blond and a short brunette, maybe a reddish somethin' or other. I might even get a cool pink wig just for fun. That way I won't feel like I'm a fraud trying to pass it off as my own hair, and I won't have to worry about the guy at the gas station staring at me. (Unless I'm wearing the pink one of course, then he'll be staring but for different reasons and I can deal with that!) My hair can just be a way to accessorize. You know whatever suits my mood that day. Who knows, it could be fun. Any suggestions? I'm game.

How To Be a Better Person 101

I can't begin to describe my gratitude. I have been overwhelmed with the kindness and generosity of friends and sweet loved ones. I can't help that I am a total sap, and I hope you will all just bare with me, but even now I can't stop the tears as I write. A few days ago, Ella answered the door and said "Mom! We have packages!" The first thing I see are two huge styrofoam ice chests on my porch from Omaha Steaks. My first thought is, 'Oh shoot, the UPS guy just drove off and these aren't mine'. Then I see my name on them and my next thought is, 'ALAN IS GOING TO KILL ME'. I thought I must have unknowingly signed up for something. Then, finally, I see the message at the bottom of the label. It reads,

"Who says we still can't bring you dinner just because you live in Indiana? We love you, Beth! Love, The Manhattan Beach Ward Relief Society".

I wish I could find the words to tell you how much it means to me. The hardest part of the whole dumb cancer and so much of the hardship of losing Becci is being so far from the people we love and care about, and to be remembered in such a generous and unexpected way...well, it's just more than my fragile emotional state is capable of processing right now. I am so blessed.

This is why I can say this whole experience is a gift to our family. Cancer sucks. Cancer is not the gift. However, the lessons and experiences and the love and relationships that are strengthened through the process, those are the gifts. Like the refiners fire. But fortunately for me I feel like I am not alone in it, but instead have the strength of friends and loved ones all around me. (I told you I was a sap. I just can't help it.) It is kindness like this that teach me there is always something I can do to help. I will just do, and not say 'let me know if I can help'. I will let the wonderful examples of the incredible people in my life be my example and I will be a better person.

Big Whoop

The next big thing. The mastectomy is scheduled for Tuesday, October 14 at 8:00 am. Alan keeps telling me that I need to catch up on the blog, but aside from that little piece of info there is nothing else going on. In fact, I don't even know how I feel about that. Am I supposed to be scared that I am having surgery? Or happy that I finally get a breast reduction (however radical it may be)? Or sad to see them go? Worried that it's too soon? Not soon enough? I don't know what to think. Most of the time I don't think about cancer, I think about my sister. Everything reminds me of her. This morning Alan ran in a 5k for some 'corporate challenge' thing for work. I had the kids and while we walked around passing the time music was playing over the loud speakers. Some rad Milli Vanilli song came on (Girl You Know It's True) and when the part that says..."I'm in love with you, girl 'cause you're on my mind, you're the one I think about most every time..." I swear I could hear her fake rapping as if she were right there next to me. I laughed out loud as we walked along but now it makes me cry. Milli Vanilli was one of her first cd's and sadly, we all knew the album well. How am I supposed to think about anything else? I miss her so much. Cancer is a stinking nuisance.

The Results are in...

During Monday's sentinel node biopsy, lymph nodes were removed from each side, leaving a two inch incision in each armpit. Nice. Guess I won't be shaving there anytime soon. Anyway, one lymph node was removed from the right side (it was cancer free) and three from the left. They found cancer in one of the three lymph nodes and in the surrounding lymphatic tissue. Super. So after talking to Dr. Nate (breast surgeon) and Dr. Logie (oncologist) this is most likely our new plan of action. Hold on to your lymph nodes, folks- this totally threw me for a loop.

1.Bi-lat mastectomy, sometime in the next couple weeks
(no real reconstruction at this time, but they will put in some type of 'expander' under the skin just so you won't just see ribs, there will be "some sort of small mound, if you will"-Dr. Nate's words)

2.Then, chemotherapy. Four treatments of something called AC (Alan says that stands for 'Awesome Chemo'), one treatment given once every two weeks. Then 12 treatments of 'T' that is given once a week.

3. Next, Radiation. I love this one. This has the super convenient schedule of being 2 minutes a day, every day, for at least four weeks. Let's just stop to think about this for a second. We're talking a 40min round trip to the doctor's office for 120 seconds of treatment, every day for four weeks!

4. Now this really is my favorite part. Reconstruction! And if all goes well and the radiation doesn't turn the skin on my chest to beef jerky, I can also get a tummy tuck compliments of our insurance company. (It's called a tram flap. They use your belly fat and tissue to make new breasts. How awesome is that?)

Let's recap. Surgery. Recovery. 20 weeks of chemo. 4 weeks of radiation. Surgery. Recovery.

I should have a date for the surgery sometime next week.

Beth

Out of commission

Beth can not post her experiences with losing a few lymph nodes today because she is too busy asking, "Did I say that out loud?" - when in fact she didn't say a thing. She is also preoccupied with asking people to scratch her nose, complaining that ceiling is moving and dealing with all the pampering I am giving her.

She will post all of the fun experiences of having NUCLEAR MEDICINE injected into her body at a later time.

Bye-

Alan

Pre-Surgery Surgery

So, on Monday I have a little pre-surg surg. When we met with the plastic surgeon he said that they couldn't schedule the bi-lateral mastectomy/reconstruction surgery until we were sure about the health of the lymph nodes. So Monday morning I get to be injected with a little radioactive waste of some kind which is then to travel through the lymph nodes to see how they're functioning. It's about a two hour surgery (under general anesthesia, blech). It should take about two days to get the results back. This is what it means ...

A. No cancer in the lymph nodes-
We go ahead with the bi-lat mastectomy/reconstruction surgery asap. Chemotherapy yes, but no radiation.

B. Cancer in the lymph nodes-
Bi-lat mastectomy. Then radiation. Then reconstruction and chemo. Apparently, the skin and tissue that they use for the reconstruction doesn't hold up well to radiation. Go figure. Anyway it shrinks and becomes all asymmetrical distorted and funky. Not pretty.

I seriously don't understand. If we know that that it screws with the body that much, why is this even a recommended procedure? It's like when I had my PET scan and I really wanted Alan to come with me and they said he couldn't because once they inject the contrast I would be radioactive and it wouldn't be safe for him to sit in the same room as me. Really?! Huh. So it's fine for them to inject it directly into my bloodstream but too dangerous for someone to sit with me. Huh. You'd think they were trying to give me cancer or something.

The Boob Doctor

So I know this is Beth's Blog, but the Mowrey 500 blog is a 100% cancer free blog. No cancer talk on that blog allowed. But, I had to share my experience with our appointment with the Plastic Surgeon this morning.

I was told we were going to discuss options for her new boobs. I thought it was going to be alot of pictures and maybe some videos - so I was in for sure.

What I wasn't in for was all the gory details of how this whole thing is going to take place. Pretty graphic. I actually got lightheaded listening to the doctor. In fact, I was getting so lightheaded I almost asked if I could use one of the silicone implants the Doctor had on display as a pillow.


The worst part? No pictures. No videos. Nothing. Unless you're counting the doctor's poor artistic drawing of a pair of boobies.


A few other notes about this visit:


In general, if something has a "less than 1% chance of happening" no need to throw it out there as a something that could go wrong.


This doctor was freaking me out with all the things he was telling us COULD go wrong with this type of procedure. Hey, there is a less than 1% chance that the ceiling could collapse on Beth's head during surgery - wonder why he didn't cover that?


One last thing - I didn't find it weird that the doctor had to take a picture of Beth's boobs for his records. What was weird though, is that he used his cell phone camera to take the picture.

Summary: It's going to be a 10 hour surgery and our doctor now has a 10.2 mega pixel picture of my wife's breasts. Good times.

Good news

Beth got the results back from the PET scan today. I have no idea what that test is. All I know is that it came back with good results. I think the test was to see if her cancer had spread to any other part of her body. There is some suspicion about other breast - the test showed something there, but they couldn't determine what it is. Doesn't matter -both those babies are coming off.

Next appointment: Plastic Surgeon on Thursday to discuss reconstruction. Good times.

Good night.

Alan

The Freak Out

This is going to sound really strange, but when the doctor first told me that I had cancer, I really didn't have much of a reaction. I even hung up the phone and then finished the days reading of Beauty and the Beast with Ella before I called Alan. It's not like I didn't cry. I did. I cried when I told Alan, and I cried again when he got home. I cried another time that day thinking about how I am totally burdening my children. At first I thought that it just hadn't sunk in yet and that was why the lack of emotion. So I thought 'well, I'm pretty calm today, but that's just because we don't really have any information yet. Tomorrow (friday), when we meet with the doctor and he tells us exactly what this is and what we will have to do, then I'll probably lose it'. Nope. Nothing. Just peace, and a very matter-of-fact, let's-get-it-done, checklist sort of thinking. All in all I think we've been handling everything pretty well. So when they phoned today to give me the results of Monday's breast MRI (funny story... I should dedicate a post just for that procedure. Hillarious.) and said that they would consequently like to schedule an ultrasound I was a little confused. I asked why, when they had already done two and we're already doing the surgery, what could they have possibly found that would matter? Of course the poor receptionist had no idea. I asked if the ultrasound was for the left or right breast. She said it was for the right. This really shouldn't have been a big deal. I had already decided on the double mastectomy (anybody that knows me well, knows that I hate my boobs). Logically this result doesn't change anything (and really who knows if there is anything there anyway? They just want to look at the right side.). But after mulling it over all day long, I crawled into bed tonight and completely freaked out. Poor Alan. I bawled and bawled. I tried to explain but it just doesn't make all that much sense. Even to me and they are my feelings. I feel like I don't have control over the situation anymore. I found the lump the first time. It was by my doing that it was being checked out. As a result of my actions this diagnosis was made. See how I have everything under control? Maybe this is lesson #1 in a huge long line of lessons...

I have no control. Only God is in control. I was blessed with peace in the beginning, so why should I not feel the same peace now? It's not like this is a suprise to Him, right? As I am writing this, I keep thinking of 2nd Nephi chapter 4.

O Lord, I have trusted in thee, and I will trust in thee forever.
I will not put my trust in the arm of flesh; for I know that cursed is he that
putteth his trust in the arm of flesh. Yea, cursed is he that putteth his
trust in man or maketh flesh his arm.

I started this post because I couldn't sleep after my big freak. I didn't quite know where it was going to take me. Luckily, I type terribly slow and have calmed down quite a bit. In any case I am glad that it has taken me here. Now I can sleep. Goodnight.

The Unexpected

As Alan puts it, "I gots the cancer".

I found a lump in my left breast a few weeks ago and went to the doctor to have it checked out. She said she really didn't think it was a big deal (and neither did I) but they don't like to take any chances. She sent me to a clinic to get a mammogram, ultrasound, and a biopsy. When my eyeballs bugged out of my head at the word 'biopsy' she said "Oh no no no no. Don't you worry. This needle is so small. It's like what diabetics use for their insulin. It's so tiny, it's like a hair." Well, that was a huge relief. I could handle that. So off I go to the clinic. First, the mammogram. For those of you who may not have had the pleasure, let me enlighten you. Naked from the waist up. A machine that opens it's mouth wide enough for your nurse to position your boobs on it's shelf in a very specific sort of way. When she is pleased enough with her work she offers you up as a sacrifice. The jaw begins to lower on you. Lower. Lower. Lower. And just before the pressure is so great that you're sure it's going squeeze them off altogether, the beast stops and the sugary sweet voice of the nurse says, "Don't breath, don't move." like she's singing a song. She snaps the picture and then it starts all over again. She only took two the first time and then left to show them to the doctor. He was obviously not pleased because she came back to do more. I'm not sure if they thought I had a background in circus work but she put me into positions that only acrobats and contortionists are qualified to perform. Next came the ultrasound. Now at least it didn't hurt. However, there is something rather humiliating about having a male doctor, well in his 60's, hose your boobs down with gel and rub a camera on them. I didn't focus on that for long as I quickly became aware that he was no longer looking at the one lump, but four, all in different places on the left breast. After de-gooping myself, he told me that he really didn't think it was anything serious. He thought because of my age (32) and the fact that there were four masses, it was probably fibroadenoma (doctor speak for benign tumors in the breasts), although with the new findings he thought it would be better for a breast surgeon to do the biopsy. Great. Another appointment. A week later I'm in the surgeons office. He also starts off with a boob ultrasound, only this time it is just slightly more embarrassing because he is 30 something. Anyway, he said he is going to biopsy two of the lumps. This is where I spare the squeamish. Let me just say that unless Monstro the Whale is the diabetic, I can't see the insulin needle being a spring loaded gun with and 8 inch hollow metal pipe attached. Seriously. The biopsy was a week ago tomorrow and I am still black and blue. I think it's my fault though. I think I just should have asked more questions. Like when she said "like what diabetics use", I should have asked "like human diabetics or diabetics from the planet Gigantor?" Oh well, lesson learned. This all happened on Tuesday and on Thursday the surgeon called me with the results.

Although this has come as an incredible shock to Alan and I, we can't help but feeling that this is all in God's plan for us and this is going to be a wonderful blessing for our family. Truly. We have been blessed with such unwavering peace from the very beginning that it would be impossible to feel otherwise. As a sweet friend recently reminded me, we need to view our trials as gifts and an opportunity to grow. We are looking forward to strengthening our family, ourselves, and our testimonies of Jesus Christ throughout this experience. We are so blessed.