In One Moment

From one moment to the next, your entire world can change.

In early October of 2012, I spent my lunch one day laughing and talking with friends and co-workers, with nothing more than the every day cares of a wife and mother on my mind.  As I came back from that lunch, I became short of breath - and my whole life changed.

That was the beginning of my diagnosis - that moment when I realized how short of breath I was, and knowing that I shouldn't be.  It led to me googling ovarian cancer symptoms, then making an appointment with an ob/gyn that was able to start the diagnosis process.  Just like that - I stopped being just a normal, slightly overweight forty-something, and became an ovarian cancer patient. 

A Survivor. 

It's been a crazy couple of years.  I mentioned last time I wrote that my new oncologist was switching chemo drugs since the taxol had quit working.  I had two rounds of topotecan, and my CA-125 kept rising.  So last week, she switched me to gemzar with avastin and we once again started knocking on wood and desperately pleading with God to just let this one work.  Please.  (Ok - that was just me desperately pleading)

This morning, I was told that my white blood count was way too low to do chemo.  The plan was 3 weeks on with gemzar, then one week off.  Being told this morning that I couldn't even do a second dose devastated me.  I felt like my body had decided to take cancer's side - like it wouldn't even help me to save my own life.  It's silly, I know, but it's weird how after a certain amount of time you start to think of your cancer as a cognizant entity, separate from yourself.  You give it its own identity - evil of course.  Because only something evil could put you through so much pain and fear.

The truth is, cancer is just mutating cells, with no mind of their own.  They divide and multiply because that is what they do.  They aren't actively trying to kill you specifically - they just multiply over and over again because...well...they don't know how to do anything else.  Our job is to find some way to stop the cells from replicating, and to kill them out. 

Simple, right?

It's scary to realize that you may not be able to tolerate the drugs that can save you - the drugs that might get your cancer under control, or eliminate it completely.  I had a major melt down this morning, completely unable to control my tears, sobbing to my husband asking why?  Why is this happening?  I try so hard to be a good person - to say my prayers, to be kind, to not cause anyone pain, to be fair, to be an example of how a woman of faith handles this type of diagnosis - with grace, and dignity and without bitterness.  I'm not perfect.  But I try - I really do try.  I have a good heart.  So why is drug after drug put beyond my reach?  Why is my body betraying me?  Doesn't it want to LIVE?

I do.  I want to live.  I *want* to be a warrior.  A warrior queen, fighting off the evil cancer from my body.  I may no longer be able to pull off a Xena outfit.  And I can't do that if my own body won't tolerate the treatment.  In a moment this morning, my whole world view changed, and I felt like I was facing my own mortality for real.

Scary shit, my friends.  Scary shit.

Once I was settled down, and we were able to get my fluid drained off (had a minor blockage when trying to do it last night, so we had to do it at the cancer center), the hubs and I left the cancer center, and after running a couple of errands (ok - he ran them.  Due to my low numbers, I was forbidden from leaving the car), we  headed home.  While he was running errands, I posted a plea on Facebook - asking for prayers from the prayer warriors, and positive energy from everyone else that my white cells would rebound so I could have treatment.  My awesome friends responded.  And I started trying to think of how we would keep fighting - would it be a new chemo?  Should we start looking ahead to going back to MD Anderson?  I got myself back into fighter mode. 

I have never been much of a victim.

Thirty minutes later, on our way home, the cancer center called and told us to come back.  My oncologist had decided that I was to have shots to boost my blood marrow into making more white cells today, and for the following four days.  So I can have treatment next Friday.

Another answered prayer.  Another moment where my world changed in an instant.  From the depths of despair (or at least on the second flight of steps down) to the return of hope.  Hope that I will be able to have this chemo drug - maybe not 3 weeks in a row.  Maybe every other week.  Maybe with the shots I can have it two weeks on, two weeks off.  Hope that I can still fight this horrible disease. 

A return of faith.

(The last two times I've drained, the amount has gone down.  That would point to the gemzar working.  I won't have my CA-125 run again until September, but I'm hopeful that it might go down at last.  It's nice to have hope.  It's nice to have good news again.)

Pow! Right in the kisser!

(Praise God from whom all blessings flow.  Praise Him all creatures here below.  Praise Him above, ye heavenly host.  Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost)

When I first started going to the little Methodist church in Hicksville, I first heard the doxology.  I had heard the phrases before, but not sung. Something about those words seemed to speak to my soul.  I've learned them and sang them and this morning they are echoing in my heart.

Last night I found out my scans were clear - other than the fluid around my lungs, there is no other visible evidence of disease.  This morning, I was told my CA-125 is down to 37. That's just 2 over normal.  I also found out that my insurance has overturned its decision on my receiving weekly Taxol with Avastin.

I am flabbergasted.  And excited. And nervous. And grateful. And terrified.

I won't get Avastin until next week.  This week - right now in fact - I'm going to get a lower dose of Taxol.  Next week I'll get both. Week 3 - Taxol, then both week 4. I've been approved for this regimen for the next 3 months.

I'm getting less anti-nausea meds because the expectation is I'll have less nausea. I may get some of my hair back. The Avastin, however, can cause me to be more fatigued, have high blood pressure, or headaches or nose bleeds.   But we are hoping it will won't do all that.

Three weeks ago after I reacted to the carbo for the second time, I was scared and angry and despondent. I felt doomed.  I started a process that in its beginning was a way for me to find peace with everything, to find a way to be able to go gently if that was to be my future. But also to find out that if I truly believe, if I truly could "let go and let God"  if I would be blessed.

Boy howdy am I feeling blessed.

Some might say that all my good news today is modern medicine at work. That may be, but I can't help but see God's hand in all this as well.  When I was my most discouraged, feeling abandoned, afraid - I called out as better men than I have called out "my God!  My God!  Why have you forsaken me?!"  And even as I started to accept that this is the struggle I've been given, and that it is nothing when compared with the others suffering, no worse than what Christ suffered on a cross all those years ago?

I have blessings rain down on me. As if God is saying to me the words that are the backbone of the Beth Moore study I'm doing:

God is who he says he is.
God can do what he says he can do.
I am who God says I am.
I can do all things through Christ.
God's word is alive and active in me.

Maybe it's just modern medicine.  I choose to believe that I'm being sent a message.  And I think finally it's one I'm ready to hear.

Miracles indeed.

Miracles

(I completely understand that not all of my friends believe as I do - and as I've mentioned before, I'm down with that.  If you aren't comfortable reading about a Christian's struggle with her faith, feel free to just click away now.  It won't offend me at all.  I just ask that you respect my choice as I respect yours.  This is a part of what I'm going through now.)


Sara.
Becky.
Allison.
Dr. S.
Diana.
Nancy.
Mike from NM.
Lynn's mom.
Megan's mom.
L.
M.
The sweet lady who likes my scarves.
The man who likes to gamble.
The man that Monty knew from  his old job.
The professor from BA who's name I've forgotten.
The sweet lady who had the trees last year that she had to keep in her garage to protect them from the freeze.
The nice lady I met in WalMart who had the cool head wrap.
And myself.

These are the people who I pray for healing every night.  Then I pray for continued health for a slew of others - people in remission, or who are recovering from other ailments.  Not everyone listed up there have cancer - some have other chronic illnesses.  But I pray for them all.

Sometimes in the morning.  Sometimes it's at night.  Whenever I have some quiet time to go through my list.

I also pray for my boys - that they continue to meet good people, and make good friends as they move into adulthood.  I pray they meet women who can love them as they are, and yet inspire them to continue to try to be better people.  Women that will respect them as I hope they respect those women.  That they find a job or career that they love, that makes going to work a joy rather than a chore.

I would love you to believe that I do this every day without fail.  But that would be a lie - I try.  It's my intent to do this every day.  But some days I run out of time in the morning.  And some days I forget to say my prayers before I go to bed.  And some days I fall asleep as I'm working through my list.

I always try to start my prayers with thanks for the day before, or the day that just finished up - to remember to be thankful for the good things that have happened - whether it was checking items off my to do list, or seeing a beautiful sunset.  Whatever I can think of to be grateful for, so that I don't always focus on the negative, the scary.

As  work through this Beth Moore book, I'm learning new things to consider as I pray.  One of those is not being afraid to ask for the big things.  I think a lot of the time I figure it would be presumptuous of me to ask for things for myself - I tend to instead ask for health, healing, etc for my family and friends.  I'm learning that may be the ultimate conceit - a falseness that doesn't so much show how humble I am, but rather my lack of faith.

See where I list myself on that list of people that I ask for healing for?  Why is that?  Why do I put myself last?  Don't I deserve to be a little higher on the list?  Aren't we told as mothers that we should take care of ourselves first so that we are able to care for our families?  Not that we do that.  Nope - it's always worry about the rest of the family first - we'll rest when we're dead.

That's just a wee bit close to home for me.

So I'm working on that - on trying to find a way to work myself up that list.   To accept that my health, my cure, is just as important as anyone else on that list.  To accept that there is nothing wrong with taking care of yourself first.

To accept that it's ok to ask for help.  For a miracle.  For long remission.  For a cure.

To really believe in miracles in this age of science and disbelief.  To have the faith of a child.

Easier said than done.