I've been back at work over a month now. Since I work at Mid-Sized Big 12 University, we're coming up on the end of the spring semester. It's a busier time, but not the busiest. It's a time of gathering data and doing evaluations, and taking stock. So that's what we're doing.
You know what I've discovered? I'm a control freak.
When I was diagnosed last fall, I went from working full time to being incapacitated in about 2 weeks time. Suddenly, my work place had to handle the things that I normally do. Unfortunately, while I had been working on training my staff on many of the things I do, I hadn't gotten to things like reconciling accounts, how to run financial/personnel/budget reports or how to just handle everything while I was gone for an extended period of time.
Basically - I threw them into chaos without a rope. I'm not happy about this. I spent a lot of time during my recovery worrying about my department. They did the best they could and found ways to divy up my job duties. And they figured it out and managed. Of course.
But now I'm back. And I'd like to have my job back.
I do in a way. Some of my job duties I've already taken back over - thinks like reconciling accounts, and procurement cards. But there are a lot of my duties that other staff members are doing and my natural reaction is to want those duties back.
But is that what is best for my department?
I realized today, when I came across yet another thing I used to do is being handled by one of my staff. My first reaction was to want that thing back. Then I stopped and thought about it. Is it absolutely necessary that I have that particular job duty back? Am I really the only one who can do it right? Or is it something that someone else can handle just as well?
Let's face it - scheduling rooms isn't all that complicated. There's no reason someone else can't do that. I just didn't realize she was still doing it. I just assumed that now that I was back, everyone was sending their requests to me. Apparently not. So I'm trying to let go of that task. I'll have to sit down with her and make sure that she's getting the right information to do it, and sending the correct responses to requests, and that she's sticking to first in first out....but then I'll have to let go.
Boy - that's hard for us control freaks.
Yet it's what I have to do. Some things I need to let go of. Just like letting go of my hair, cleaning the house, my expectations of what my life was going to be like. I just have to learn to let go. To accept that some things can be done just as well by someone else. That I'm not irreplaceable.
Hmph. This is hard! I want to stomp my feet and do everything I did before. I don't like giving up control. And I feel like I have so little control left anymore. I feel like if I give up too much...I'm giving up all together. That I can't do. So I have to find a balance between what I can do, what I want to do, and what is best for me to do.
Task by task, day by day, figuring out what to keep and what to let go of. Not just at work but at home, in life in general. It's what I try to do with blog - work through this new normal. Figure out what is worth hanging on to, and what needs to be let go of.
Thanks for joining me for the ride. It won't be the smoothest ride, and my daddy tells me it can be hard to read. But I'm trying to be transparent - to not gloss everything over. I'm not just writing for me, but also for you, newly diagnosed ovarian cancer patient. I want you to know that what you're feeling is normal, and we all go through it. I also write for you, caretaker of the cancer patient, so that you know what your loved one might be going through, and why they think some of the things they do. And last but not least - for you, beloved friend, family or aquaintance. So that you can understand who this person is that you reached out to over last six months and know that your efforts weren't wasted.
Y'all just let me know if I start sounding pretentious, ok? I don't want to sound pretentious. Because as we all know - an ounce of pretension is worth a pound of manure.....
(Hey I never promised to be classy!)
Ramblings of a mom and wife that just moved from a little city to a teeny town, and is currently in the process of battling ovarian cancer.
Friday, May 03, 2013
Wednesday, May 01, 2013
Braaaiiinnnsss.....I Want Braiiiiiinnnnnssss....
Yesterday was a good brain day.
Since I started treatment, I don't think as well as I used to. I used to be pretty sharp. For the first few months after my surgery, I was on so many medications, my brain was a little foggy. It was hard to concentrate. I didn't really read anything but Facebook posts for over two months. For me, that was beyond weird. I'm a reader. I was always reading a book or magazine. It took awhile before I was able to concentrate well enough to read magazine articles. Then I worked my way up to "fluff" novels - the kind you don't have to think too hard with - no complicated plots to try to remember. I finally worked my way up to the Game of Thrones series - then I knew I was ready to go back to work. Try reading those books back to back and keep up with who is doing what to whom. That's a pretty good sign your brain is working again.
Since I've been back, one of the things I've struggled with is concentration. Most days I do pretty well. But every so often - usually within a week or so of chemo, and certainly the days right after chemo - I have a foggy day. A day where if a faculty member asks me a question, I let them know that I don't know, but I'll look it up. I know I won't be able to look it up that day....most likely if I happened to remember where to look it up, I might not understand it fully anyway. I've actually put off doing a project for my boss because I knew it was one that I needed a sharp day to even understand what she wanted....and not every day is a sharp day.
It's frustrating. I had heard of chemo brain during my treatment, but actually experiencing it is unsettling. Sometimes it's just taking longer to figure something out. Sometimes it's searching for a word. Sometimes it's using the wrong word. And sometimes it's looking at a form you've completed dozens of times and thinking you're doing it correctly, then having it come back with instructions on how to do it right.
Yeah - that's embarrassing. I'm sure folks in other departments around campus are getting annoyed at getting screwed up stuff. It hasn't happened *alot* - but the fact that it's happening at all bothers me. So - I look up directions on how to do stuff that I used to not think twice about. I make my to do list more often. I go through my email even more often to make sure I don't miss deadlines. I try to remind myself that it's all part of the process - the process of getting better, of recovery. And it won't be this way forever.
This morning I had CT scans to see where we are at with my cancer. I've had the 6 carbo/taxol chemo treatments that are the standard front line of care for ovarian cancer. I still have some fluid around my lungs, so I don't expect to be considered NED (aka - no evidence of disease) just yet. But I'm optimistic that I'm close to that. That my cancer has responded well to chemo, and maybe I just need one or two more treatments to finish it off. I'll find out next Wednesday. Y'all keep me in your prayers until then.
Now - for something non-cancer related! My youngest son J competed in the District/Area track meet for his school a few weeks ago - and placed 2nd in District and 4th in Area! We are so proud of him. This qualified him to go to Regionals for the first time. That was the goal he had set for himself, and I'm so glad he reached it. Unfortunately, he had a bad day throwing at Regionals - nerves I guess. But next year he'll be a senior, and he has this experience to learn from.
If I haven't mentioned it before, we have a cow and chickens on our place out in the boonies. Currently Steak (our cow) is off at my cousin's place meeting some boys. We're hoping she's playing the hussy and getting herself knocked up. Ha! Maybe once she's had a calf, I'll change her name to Lactation. (Yes - we're terribly inappropriate in our naming of livestock. We are rednecks. We don't hide that. We wear it like a big ole badge!)
I'm currently considering names for the chickens - right now, Fricasse, Parmesan, and Korma are my favorites. Let me know if you have any suggestions - I've got 13 chickens to name - 3 of 'em roosters.
It looks like we're expecting yet another freeze tomorrow night. I have 8 tomato plants that are trying to find a way out of the house. And I'm about ready to hunt down Mother Nature and provide her with some damn Midol because seriously? It's May. There is no need for this freezing crap in May.
See? Life goes on. Even with cancer. In SPITE of cancer. Because that's the way it should be.
Since I started treatment, I don't think as well as I used to. I used to be pretty sharp. For the first few months after my surgery, I was on so many medications, my brain was a little foggy. It was hard to concentrate. I didn't really read anything but Facebook posts for over two months. For me, that was beyond weird. I'm a reader. I was always reading a book or magazine. It took awhile before I was able to concentrate well enough to read magazine articles. Then I worked my way up to "fluff" novels - the kind you don't have to think too hard with - no complicated plots to try to remember. I finally worked my way up to the Game of Thrones series - then I knew I was ready to go back to work. Try reading those books back to back and keep up with who is doing what to whom. That's a pretty good sign your brain is working again.
Since I've been back, one of the things I've struggled with is concentration. Most days I do pretty well. But every so often - usually within a week or so of chemo, and certainly the days right after chemo - I have a foggy day. A day where if a faculty member asks me a question, I let them know that I don't know, but I'll look it up. I know I won't be able to look it up that day....most likely if I happened to remember where to look it up, I might not understand it fully anyway. I've actually put off doing a project for my boss because I knew it was one that I needed a sharp day to even understand what she wanted....and not every day is a sharp day.
It's frustrating. I had heard of chemo brain during my treatment, but actually experiencing it is unsettling. Sometimes it's just taking longer to figure something out. Sometimes it's searching for a word. Sometimes it's using the wrong word. And sometimes it's looking at a form you've completed dozens of times and thinking you're doing it correctly, then having it come back with instructions on how to do it right.
Yeah - that's embarrassing. I'm sure folks in other departments around campus are getting annoyed at getting screwed up stuff. It hasn't happened *alot* - but the fact that it's happening at all bothers me. So - I look up directions on how to do stuff that I used to not think twice about. I make my to do list more often. I go through my email even more often to make sure I don't miss deadlines. I try to remind myself that it's all part of the process - the process of getting better, of recovery. And it won't be this way forever.
This morning I had CT scans to see where we are at with my cancer. I've had the 6 carbo/taxol chemo treatments that are the standard front line of care for ovarian cancer. I still have some fluid around my lungs, so I don't expect to be considered NED (aka - no evidence of disease) just yet. But I'm optimistic that I'm close to that. That my cancer has responded well to chemo, and maybe I just need one or two more treatments to finish it off. I'll find out next Wednesday. Y'all keep me in your prayers until then.
Now - for something non-cancer related! My youngest son J competed in the District/Area track meet for his school a few weeks ago - and placed 2nd in District and 4th in Area! We are so proud of him. This qualified him to go to Regionals for the first time. That was the goal he had set for himself, and I'm so glad he reached it. Unfortunately, he had a bad day throwing at Regionals - nerves I guess. But next year he'll be a senior, and he has this experience to learn from.
If I haven't mentioned it before, we have a cow and chickens on our place out in the boonies. Currently Steak (our cow) is off at my cousin's place meeting some boys. We're hoping she's playing the hussy and getting herself knocked up. Ha! Maybe once she's had a calf, I'll change her name to Lactation. (Yes - we're terribly inappropriate in our naming of livestock. We are rednecks. We don't hide that. We wear it like a big ole badge!)
I'm currently considering names for the chickens - right now, Fricasse, Parmesan, and Korma are my favorites. Let me know if you have any suggestions - I've got 13 chickens to name - 3 of 'em roosters.
It looks like we're expecting yet another freeze tomorrow night. I have 8 tomato plants that are trying to find a way out of the house. And I'm about ready to hunt down Mother Nature and provide her with some damn Midol because seriously? It's May. There is no need for this freezing crap in May.
See? Life goes on. Even with cancer. In SPITE of cancer. Because that's the way it should be.
Friday, April 26, 2013
I'm So Vain.....I Bet I Think This Blog is About Me...
As I stand in the bathroom smoothing moisturizer onto my throat and face, I stare at myself. Only now instead of looking to see if there are any blemishes that need covering up today, or whether the dark circles under my eyes need it, there is only one thing that draws my gaze.
My head. My nearly bald head.
Look - I know it's part of the deal. In order to beat this stupid disease, I need treatment, and that treatment makes me bald. I accept that. But I don't have to like it. It's weird. ALL the changes that this disease and treating it have made to my body - they're all weird.
You may not realize this about me - but I'm vain. Always have been. Not conceited - I'm no Cindy Crawford by any means - but I was a cute girl, and a pretty young woman, not to mention a bit of a hot mama in my younger days. I took pride in how I looked. I may not have re-done my makeup 4 times a day in high school (and yes - might have made fun of those who did), but I made sure my hair and makeup looked good before I left the house for the day. And I did that every day. I was not the gal who ran to 7-11 without her makeup on. Ever. If you saw me out and about, I was wearing makeup. It might just be foundation and mascara, but it was there.
I can't wear mascara anymore - because I have no eyelashes. I can't fix my hair anymore because I have none. I wonder if perhaps God is teaching me a lesson somehow - that I took too much pride in how I looked before, and now I'm having to re-evaluate my image of myself. Even if that's not the case, it's what I'm doing these days. When I don't look in the mirror and see a little old man anyway.
I had hoped that I would have some kind of ethereal beauty even with my baldness - that somehow something would shine through the havoc cancer has wrecked on my body. Um. No. Didn't happen. It's hard to look ethereal with a sparse gray fringe and no eyebrows. This is why I wear scarves and don't rock the bald look. I try to smile more - smiles always make you look better. But it really does bother me that I have no eyelashes.
Why am I sharing that I'm a vain ex-hottie? Not to get comments that I still look good, or anything like that. Really. Rather I'd like that someone with this stupid disease to find this and realize that cancer really does change more than just your body. It changes your attitude - and how you view yourself. Once upon a time when asked to describe myself, I would say "kinda cute, mousy brown hair, nice brown eyes." Now I'm "the chick with the scarf on her head." That's it.
Man what I wouldn't do to have that "mousy" brown hair again. I wonder if I'll ever be able to just accept that I'll never be that woman again. Will I be able to accept this new look? This disease and its treatment has aged me - it really has. I spent most my life looking somewhat younger than my age. Now I look much older. As I look towards my birthday tomorrow - where I'll turn 48 - I look in the mirror and see a woman who looks older - in her 50's maybe. But that's not really such a bad thing is it? Isn't 50 the new 40? If not, I'm making it so!
Don't get me wrong, I'm so grateful to be having another birthday tomorrow. There were a few days last October when I wasn't so sure that would be the case. And now - oddly enough- I'm looking forward to turning 50. Before I got sick, I was kinda dreading it. Now I know - it's way better than the alternative! Yet I'm trying to be brutally transparent on this blog - because I think it's important for people to know what cancer does to you. How it changes you - not just physically, but emotionally as well. I'm lucky that it's not making me bitter (much). I hope it never does. But I am not the same woman I was 7 months ago.
Not hardly. Maybe that's not such a bad thing.
My head. My nearly bald head.
Look - I know it's part of the deal. In order to beat this stupid disease, I need treatment, and that treatment makes me bald. I accept that. But I don't have to like it. It's weird. ALL the changes that this disease and treating it have made to my body - they're all weird.
You may not realize this about me - but I'm vain. Always have been. Not conceited - I'm no Cindy Crawford by any means - but I was a cute girl, and a pretty young woman, not to mention a bit of a hot mama in my younger days. I took pride in how I looked. I may not have re-done my makeup 4 times a day in high school (and yes - might have made fun of those who did), but I made sure my hair and makeup looked good before I left the house for the day. And I did that every day. I was not the gal who ran to 7-11 without her makeup on. Ever. If you saw me out and about, I was wearing makeup. It might just be foundation and mascara, but it was there.
I can't wear mascara anymore - because I have no eyelashes. I can't fix my hair anymore because I have none. I wonder if perhaps God is teaching me a lesson somehow - that I took too much pride in how I looked before, and now I'm having to re-evaluate my image of myself. Even if that's not the case, it's what I'm doing these days. When I don't look in the mirror and see a little old man anyway.
I had hoped that I would have some kind of ethereal beauty even with my baldness - that somehow something would shine through the havoc cancer has wrecked on my body. Um. No. Didn't happen. It's hard to look ethereal with a sparse gray fringe and no eyebrows. This is why I wear scarves and don't rock the bald look. I try to smile more - smiles always make you look better. But it really does bother me that I have no eyelashes.
Why am I sharing that I'm a vain ex-hottie? Not to get comments that I still look good, or anything like that. Really. Rather I'd like that someone with this stupid disease to find this and realize that cancer really does change more than just your body. It changes your attitude - and how you view yourself. Once upon a time when asked to describe myself, I would say "kinda cute, mousy brown hair, nice brown eyes." Now I'm "the chick with the scarf on her head." That's it.
Man what I wouldn't do to have that "mousy" brown hair again. I wonder if I'll ever be able to just accept that I'll never be that woman again. Will I be able to accept this new look? This disease and its treatment has aged me - it really has. I spent most my life looking somewhat younger than my age. Now I look much older. As I look towards my birthday tomorrow - where I'll turn 48 - I look in the mirror and see a woman who looks older - in her 50's maybe. But that's not really such a bad thing is it? Isn't 50 the new 40? If not, I'm making it so!
Don't get me wrong, I'm so grateful to be having another birthday tomorrow. There were a few days last October when I wasn't so sure that would be the case. And now - oddly enough- I'm looking forward to turning 50. Before I got sick, I was kinda dreading it. Now I know - it's way better than the alternative! Yet I'm trying to be brutally transparent on this blog - because I think it's important for people to know what cancer does to you. How it changes you - not just physically, but emotionally as well. I'm lucky that it's not making me bitter (much). I hope it never does. But I am not the same woman I was 7 months ago.
Not hardly. Maybe that's not such a bad thing.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Stronger
Well - hello!
Sorry for the break in posts - last week was one of our busier weeks at work, and to be honest, I overdid it. I'm still learning my limits in this new normal. I don't have the stamina or endurance that I used to, so going to an event the day after chemo pushed me to the limit.
You try to plan for that - I made a point of taking the morning after chemo off from work, so that I would have enough energy to attend our departmental banquet. But the banquet lasted until 9:30, and in the spirit of complete transparency - I'm usually getting ready for bed at 9 pm. So not getting home until 10:00 pm had me pretty tired. Then attending our advisory board meetings all the next day finished the job. You wouldn't think that sitting and taking notes would wear a girl out..but it did.
After a weekend of taking it easy, I'm slowly bouncing back. But I'm at home today after a rough night. It is so frustrating to someone like me - I'm the type that rarely misses work. It was a blessing in disguise when I was originally diagnosed because I had so much sick leave and vacation leave saved up. Not many people can take off for nearly 4 months without a dock in pay. Yet when I have to take off now to take care of myself - to let myself recover from a night of throwing up, or just to recover my energy, it pisses me off. I should be at work. I keep thinking that my co-workers MUST be tired of me being gone all the time, and having to pick up my slack. I hate letting them down. I hate letting my boss down. She's been amazingly supportive through all this - but I worry that eventually she'll get tired of being so supportive.
I hate feeling weak.
And isn't that the heart of the matter? This stupid disease has weakened me physically - and I HATE that. I know it's normal. That doesn't make me hate it any less. I was so strong before - physically, mentally, emotionally - and it's made a dent in that. Hate it, hate it, hate it. I try to make peace with it, to accept this new normal, but I have a very hard time doing it. I want my old normal back. I want to be able to get up at 5:30 am to work out every day, to not miss work, to be able to work in the garden, to can this asparagus that is filling up my fridge, to cook for my family every night, to keep up with the laundry, and to clean this house.
I can't. I don't like it, and I rail against it, but I can't. Every day I'm able to do a little more, but it's going to take some time before I'm back to the old Mysti. But I'm not giving up on getting back to that place. Someday, I'll be able to do those workouts. I'll be able to work several months in a row without having to call in sick. I'll be able to shampoo my carpets, move furniture around, and weed and mulch my garden.
Someday, I'll be strong again.
Until then, I do what I can. I bitch and moan on my blog. I listen to my husband when he tells me that maybe it would be smarter to stay home a day and recover, than go to work and then get weaker from overdoing it and have to stay home several days (or worse, end up in the hospital again.). And day by day, I refuse to give up - and do whatever I can to get my strength back. To find my new normal - one that I can be content with.
Because this weak ass stuff ain't gonna cut it.
Sorry for the break in posts - last week was one of our busier weeks at work, and to be honest, I overdid it. I'm still learning my limits in this new normal. I don't have the stamina or endurance that I used to, so going to an event the day after chemo pushed me to the limit.
You try to plan for that - I made a point of taking the morning after chemo off from work, so that I would have enough energy to attend our departmental banquet. But the banquet lasted until 9:30, and in the spirit of complete transparency - I'm usually getting ready for bed at 9 pm. So not getting home until 10:00 pm had me pretty tired. Then attending our advisory board meetings all the next day finished the job. You wouldn't think that sitting and taking notes would wear a girl out..but it did.
After a weekend of taking it easy, I'm slowly bouncing back. But I'm at home today after a rough night. It is so frustrating to someone like me - I'm the type that rarely misses work. It was a blessing in disguise when I was originally diagnosed because I had so much sick leave and vacation leave saved up. Not many people can take off for nearly 4 months without a dock in pay. Yet when I have to take off now to take care of myself - to let myself recover from a night of throwing up, or just to recover my energy, it pisses me off. I should be at work. I keep thinking that my co-workers MUST be tired of me being gone all the time, and having to pick up my slack. I hate letting them down. I hate letting my boss down. She's been amazingly supportive through all this - but I worry that eventually she'll get tired of being so supportive.
I hate feeling weak.
And isn't that the heart of the matter? This stupid disease has weakened me physically - and I HATE that. I know it's normal. That doesn't make me hate it any less. I was so strong before - physically, mentally, emotionally - and it's made a dent in that. Hate it, hate it, hate it. I try to make peace with it, to accept this new normal, but I have a very hard time doing it. I want my old normal back. I want to be able to get up at 5:30 am to work out every day, to not miss work, to be able to work in the garden, to can this asparagus that is filling up my fridge, to cook for my family every night, to keep up with the laundry, and to clean this house.
I can't. I don't like it, and I rail against it, but I can't. Every day I'm able to do a little more, but it's going to take some time before I'm back to the old Mysti. But I'm not giving up on getting back to that place. Someday, I'll be able to do those workouts. I'll be able to work several months in a row without having to call in sick. I'll be able to shampoo my carpets, move furniture around, and weed and mulch my garden.
Someday, I'll be strong again.
Until then, I do what I can. I bitch and moan on my blog. I listen to my husband when he tells me that maybe it would be smarter to stay home a day and recover, than go to work and then get weaker from overdoing it and have to stay home several days (or worse, end up in the hospital again.). And day by day, I refuse to give up - and do whatever I can to get my strength back. To find my new normal - one that I can be content with.
Because this weak ass stuff ain't gonna cut it.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
A Visit to Chemo Day
I've been here since 8:20 this morning. It is now 2:30 p.m. I expect to be here another hour. Welcome to chemo.
I'm currently in the "boat" room. They have 3 chemo rooms at our local cancer center. One is decorated in boats, one exotic animals ( Keri would love that one!) and one has landscapes - mostly mountains. In each room, there are several recliners that don't recline much unless you're a big man or very strong. I am neither. At least I can put my feet up. Between the sorta recliners are semi-comfortable chairs for each patient's caretaker or support person. I also have a TV that swings out that gets local channels. We don't want cancer patients to miss The Chew ya know.
The nurses are wonderful. They keep us supplied with heated blankets, drinks, and IVs. They hook us up and unhook us so we can go pee, and do whatever they can to make our stay as pleasant as possible. Normally it's pretty uneventful, but some poor man got sick today. Once again, I'm grateful for the regimen I'm on and the anti-nausea drugs they give me.
In the bathroom, there is a print of a painting of several girls in roaring twenties bathing suits. All the dark-headed girls look like the girl I like to call my daughter from another mother. I don't have daughters. I used to mourn that. Since my diagnosis, not so much. My best friend has two. Sometimes she loans me one. True - it's the challenging one. But I adore her anyway, and seeing several versions of her always comforts me a bit.
The drugs that are saving my life are given to me via IV. The sound of the IV pump is the soundtrack of chemo day. That includes the "bee-doop" of a finished bag. Before we get to the hard stuff, I get appetizers of saline, Zofran, Benedryl, Pepcid, and my favorite - Emend. These prepare me for the chemo. The Benedryl makes me sleepy, so I often sleep through part of my chemo. It seems pretty typical, this sleeping through treatment.
I'm given two chemo drugs. That's what is the standard treatment for my ovarian cancer. It takes three hours for the first one, half an hour for the second one. It might take up my whole day with labs and doctor appointments added in, but it's working. I'm getting better. I'm stronger. I know how to pace myself better so I can do a few things before the fatigue sets in. And it does set in. About 3 hours after I'm done.
I know I'm lucky. Chemo can be hell. But if you go into it with a fighting attitude, and prepared for the side effects, maybe it helps. Maybe if you don't let the fear of chemo take over, you won't have as much to fear.
Works for me.
I'm currently in the "boat" room. They have 3 chemo rooms at our local cancer center. One is decorated in boats, one exotic animals ( Keri would love that one!) and one has landscapes - mostly mountains. In each room, there are several recliners that don't recline much unless you're a big man or very strong. I am neither. At least I can put my feet up. Between the sorta recliners are semi-comfortable chairs for each patient's caretaker or support person. I also have a TV that swings out that gets local channels. We don't want cancer patients to miss The Chew ya know.
The nurses are wonderful. They keep us supplied with heated blankets, drinks, and IVs. They hook us up and unhook us so we can go pee, and do whatever they can to make our stay as pleasant as possible. Normally it's pretty uneventful, but some poor man got sick today. Once again, I'm grateful for the regimen I'm on and the anti-nausea drugs they give me.
In the bathroom, there is a print of a painting of several girls in roaring twenties bathing suits. All the dark-headed girls look like the girl I like to call my daughter from another mother. I don't have daughters. I used to mourn that. Since my diagnosis, not so much. My best friend has two. Sometimes she loans me one. True - it's the challenging one. But I adore her anyway, and seeing several versions of her always comforts me a bit.
The drugs that are saving my life are given to me via IV. The sound of the IV pump is the soundtrack of chemo day. That includes the "bee-doop" of a finished bag. Before we get to the hard stuff, I get appetizers of saline, Zofran, Benedryl, Pepcid, and my favorite - Emend. These prepare me for the chemo. The Benedryl makes me sleepy, so I often sleep through part of my chemo. It seems pretty typical, this sleeping through treatment.
I'm given two chemo drugs. That's what is the standard treatment for my ovarian cancer. It takes three hours for the first one, half an hour for the second one. It might take up my whole day with labs and doctor appointments added in, but it's working. I'm getting better. I'm stronger. I know how to pace myself better so I can do a few things before the fatigue sets in. And it does set in. About 3 hours after I'm done.
I know I'm lucky. Chemo can be hell. But if you go into it with a fighting attitude, and prepared for the side effects, maybe it helps. Maybe if you don't let the fear of chemo take over, you won't have as much to fear.
Works for me.
Monday, April 15, 2013
The New Normal
Before I got sick, I spent most weekends by getting up around 8:00 am, eating breakfast, getting dressed, and working in the garden. I would do that until lunch time, then come in, eat, shower and then do fun stuff (or laundry). I would weed, or mulch, or plant, or harvest, or water, or just do whatever was needed to keep our garden growing. Last year was the year I tried mulching parts of our garden with hay our cow had been sleeping on. I cannot tell you how many mornings I got up to drive my son's pickup down by where the hay way, used a pitchfork to load the bed of the truck up, and drive it over to the garden to mulch with. It was great exercise, and as someone who loves to garden, it was very satisfying. It also made a huge difference in not only how often we had to water during the 2nd year of a drought, but also in how many onions and potatoes we harvested and how few weeds I had to pull.
This year, it's different. I don't have the strength that I did last year, nor the endurance. I have to be sure to wear protective gear because my skin is sensitive to the sun thanks to chemo. But by golly, Sunday afternoon after church, my family and I were out there in the garden, planting onions, and I was raking up hay that I didn't get spread out last year and using it to cover soaker hoses and around baby onions. I felt...almost normal.
A few days ago I canned asparagus. We have a bed that now in it's 5th year, produces more asparagus than even we can eat. So I started canning again. And yes - it made me feel almost normal again. I pray that we'll grow enough tomatoes this year so that I can make more hot sauce becuase I'm down to just a case of pints.
Saturday I cleaned our guest bath. I'm pretty sure that the sink and counter in there hadn't been washed since I came home from the hospital the first time. I only know it was done then because my husband told me he hired someone to come clean the house before I came home (and thanks so much LeeAnn, for helping him to find someone to do that!).
That was in November. It was a very icky sink. The mirror wasn't a whole lot better. I won't discuss the toilet. Luckily my darling hubby took care of that for me. Boys are icky.
I am now officially the laundry person again. For the hubs and I. I'm still a firm believer that teenagers can do their own laundry, unless I need more white socks so I have a full load to wash. But if my husband is wearing clean clothes, it's because I wash, dried, then put them away.
Doing laundry, working in the garden, canning vegetables, cleaning bathrooms. These are things that so many look on as chores, griping about having to do it every week, or how ever often they normally do these things. But for me - or maybe even anyone battling cancer and regaining their strength - every chore they can do feels more like normal. More like life before it was shattered by their diagnosis. Nowadays, even vacuuming isn't seen as such a horrible thing - because I wasn't allowed to do it for months, and now I can.
It ain't glamorous. But I'm grateful for every chore I can do. For every step closer to my new normal.
Did I mention that after having to take care of all the housework and laundry for 4 or 5 months, the hubs *really* appreciates all that I do now? And that's awesome.
So - next time you have an icky sink to clean, think a second before you gripe about having to clean it. Be grateful for the strong, healthy body you have and it's abilty to clean that sink.
Then for heaven's sake, make your teenagers clean it for you. They need to earn gas money anyway!
This year, it's different. I don't have the strength that I did last year, nor the endurance. I have to be sure to wear protective gear because my skin is sensitive to the sun thanks to chemo. But by golly, Sunday afternoon after church, my family and I were out there in the garden, planting onions, and I was raking up hay that I didn't get spread out last year and using it to cover soaker hoses and around baby onions. I felt...almost normal.
A few days ago I canned asparagus. We have a bed that now in it's 5th year, produces more asparagus than even we can eat. So I started canning again. And yes - it made me feel almost normal again. I pray that we'll grow enough tomatoes this year so that I can make more hot sauce becuase I'm down to just a case of pints.
Saturday I cleaned our guest bath. I'm pretty sure that the sink and counter in there hadn't been washed since I came home from the hospital the first time. I only know it was done then because my husband told me he hired someone to come clean the house before I came home (and thanks so much LeeAnn, for helping him to find someone to do that!).
That was in November. It was a very icky sink. The mirror wasn't a whole lot better. I won't discuss the toilet. Luckily my darling hubby took care of that for me. Boys are icky.
I am now officially the laundry person again. For the hubs and I. I'm still a firm believer that teenagers can do their own laundry, unless I need more white socks so I have a full load to wash. But if my husband is wearing clean clothes, it's because I wash, dried, then put them away.
Doing laundry, working in the garden, canning vegetables, cleaning bathrooms. These are things that so many look on as chores, griping about having to do it every week, or how ever often they normally do these things. But for me - or maybe even anyone battling cancer and regaining their strength - every chore they can do feels more like normal. More like life before it was shattered by their diagnosis. Nowadays, even vacuuming isn't seen as such a horrible thing - because I wasn't allowed to do it for months, and now I can.
It ain't glamorous. But I'm grateful for every chore I can do. For every step closer to my new normal.
Did I mention that after having to take care of all the housework and laundry for 4 or 5 months, the hubs *really* appreciates all that I do now? And that's awesome.
So - next time you have an icky sink to clean, think a second before you gripe about having to clean it. Be grateful for the strong, healthy body you have and it's abilty to clean that sink.
Then for heaven's sake, make your teenagers clean it for you. They need to earn gas money anyway!
Friday, April 12, 2013
Definitions
I've sat here for the last 20 minutes trying to think of a topic to blog about. The response since I started blogging about my battle has been tremendous, and I can't help but think that's what everyone wants to read about. But do I really want to be the chick who only blogs about ovarian cancer?
The thing is, once you get cancer, your disease defines you. I'll never again be just Mysti, or just J's mom or E's mom. No, from now on I'll be "you know - Mysti - the one who had ovarian cancer?" I'm not sure I like that. I feel like I'm so much more than that. There's so much more to who I am.
I'm the chick who loves hockey - who had season tickets to our local minor league team when we had one. I was the booster club president for two years. Some of my best friends are the folks I met through hockey, and some of the best times I've had were related to hockey - at games, at parties, out with the team with other fans. It's an amazing sport - and I miss it every day.
I took figure skating lessons for 3 years while we had that team. Learning how to do a waltz jump was one of the coolest things I've ever done. Even though it's considered a half jump - it's like flying. So. Amazing.
I used to write a column for a soap website. Commentary about General Hospital, or One Life To Live. Once even about All My Children. It was so much fun, but once I got sick, I knew I couldn't keep up with it, so I'm on hiatus. Maybe someday I'll be up to writing for that site again.
My kids are so awesome. They might not fit the "popular" mold, but they are both thinkers. They both follow the beat of their own drum. They are as different as night and day, but they both make me proud in so many ways. They are witty and smart and smart asses. I adore them. (and now both of them are so very embarassed. pfft. My blog - I can write what I want!)
My husband is amazing. He has been my rock through all of this mess. Everyone things I'm so strong, and that I'm handling this so well. Only my husband has seen me when I was at my weakest and most afraid. He's the only one, except for my folks on a couple of occasions, that I would let my guard down completely in front of. And every single time, he lifted me up, encouraged me, and kept me strong. He seems to gruff to most people who meet him...gruff and a bit of an asshole. But he's not. I'm so proud to be his wife. (And now he's annoyed with me. HA!)
I'm the chick who figure skates, reads way too much, loves to garden, cans everything she can, and spends way too much time on Facebook. Not just the chick who has cancer. Because I refuse to let my disease define me.
Even if it has wrecked havoc with my body. Oy.
But that's a whole 'other post!
(So tell me - what defines you? Show me some comment love!)
The thing is, once you get cancer, your disease defines you. I'll never again be just Mysti, or just J's mom or E's mom. No, from now on I'll be "you know - Mysti - the one who had ovarian cancer?" I'm not sure I like that. I feel like I'm so much more than that. There's so much more to who I am.
I'm the chick who loves hockey - who had season tickets to our local minor league team when we had one. I was the booster club president for two years. Some of my best friends are the folks I met through hockey, and some of the best times I've had were related to hockey - at games, at parties, out with the team with other fans. It's an amazing sport - and I miss it every day.
I took figure skating lessons for 3 years while we had that team. Learning how to do a waltz jump was one of the coolest things I've ever done. Even though it's considered a half jump - it's like flying. So. Amazing.
I used to write a column for a soap website. Commentary about General Hospital, or One Life To Live. Once even about All My Children. It was so much fun, but once I got sick, I knew I couldn't keep up with it, so I'm on hiatus. Maybe someday I'll be up to writing for that site again.
My kids are so awesome. They might not fit the "popular" mold, but they are both thinkers. They both follow the beat of their own drum. They are as different as night and day, but they both make me proud in so many ways. They are witty and smart and smart asses. I adore them. (and now both of them are so very embarassed. pfft. My blog - I can write what I want!)
My husband is amazing. He has been my rock through all of this mess. Everyone things I'm so strong, and that I'm handling this so well. Only my husband has seen me when I was at my weakest and most afraid. He's the only one, except for my folks on a couple of occasions, that I would let my guard down completely in front of. And every single time, he lifted me up, encouraged me, and kept me strong. He seems to gruff to most people who meet him...gruff and a bit of an asshole. But he's not. I'm so proud to be his wife. (And now he's annoyed with me. HA!)
I'm the chick who figure skates, reads way too much, loves to garden, cans everything she can, and spends way too much time on Facebook. Not just the chick who has cancer. Because I refuse to let my disease define me.
Even if it has wrecked havoc with my body. Oy.
But that's a whole 'other post!
(So tell me - what defines you? Show me some comment love!)
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Great Expectations
Expectations. We all have them. We expect things to go a certain way, for our kids to accomplish certain things....
To have chemo when it's scheduled.
*sigh*
I was supposed to have my 6th round of chemo today. Unfortunately, my platelets were too low, so the doc postponed it for a week. I wasn't too surprised - I have been bruising way too easily this week, so I figured my platelets were low. Ask any cancer survivor or patient - we learn to roll with the punches pretty quickly. I just went and grabbed lunch, then went to work. No big deal.
I made the mistake of looking at survival rates for ovarian cancer again the other day. When I first looked it up, I was pretty sure that I'd be Stage 3 - back then, no one told me what stage my cancer was in. And survival rate for 5 years for Stage 3 patients is 30%. Not a great rate to be sure, but shoot, my mom-in-law had a 35% chance of survival for her Stage 4 non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, and she's been in complete remission for a few years now. 30% was totally doable.
Do you know what the survival rate for Stage 4 ovarian cancer is? 18%. Yeah. That was quite a punch. I quietly freaked out over that number for several days. 18%? Holy cow - that's hardly anyone! Should I start deciding who gets my cool stuff? My darling hubby could probably care less about my beloved vintage candy dishes, blue glass vases and baskets that were my grandmothers, and vintage hats. I'm pretty sure my boys don't care either. But I don't want them thrown away - that stuff is awesome! Should I start a will? Prepare a living directive? Plan my funeral? Put little tags on the bottom of everything that says "This goes to De Lyn. I don't care if she doesn't have room for more crap. Give it to her anyway."
And then a still small voice spoke in my heart. That voice said "somebody has to make up that 18%. Why not you? You have the right things going for you - under 50 when diagnosed, pretty darn healthy except for the cancer thing, good attitude, responding well to chemo, tons of sweet people praying for you, stubborn as a mule..."
(Funny thing about that still small voice - I'm pretty sure it's the voice of my heavenly Father, and he knows me better than anyone. Including that whole stubborn thing)
Suddenly, I wasn't really freaking out anymore. Sure, I think my chances of living to be 93 like my Granpa are pretty slim, but I bet I make it another 5 years. Heck, I think the chances are pretty good to make it another 20 years. Because they are coming up with new treatments all the time, and doing more and more research on ovarian cancer and who knows? They could come up with a cure in the next few years. And I intend on being around for that cure. So there, panic attack. Take a hike.
Another expectation? My youngest had his district/area track meet today for discus. I expected him to do ok. He placed 2nd in District and 4th in Area. Woohoo!!! He gets to go to Regionals. We're so tickled for him. I'm especially tickled that I didn't miss his last meet after all! Heh.
Now my family expects me to cook supper for them tonight, since I don't have the whole "I'm tired from chemo" excuse, so I'm off to take care of that. And damn happy to do it.
To have chemo when it's scheduled.
*sigh*
I was supposed to have my 6th round of chemo today. Unfortunately, my platelets were too low, so the doc postponed it for a week. I wasn't too surprised - I have been bruising way too easily this week, so I figured my platelets were low. Ask any cancer survivor or patient - we learn to roll with the punches pretty quickly. I just went and grabbed lunch, then went to work. No big deal.
I made the mistake of looking at survival rates for ovarian cancer again the other day. When I first looked it up, I was pretty sure that I'd be Stage 3 - back then, no one told me what stage my cancer was in. And survival rate for 5 years for Stage 3 patients is 30%. Not a great rate to be sure, but shoot, my mom-in-law had a 35% chance of survival for her Stage 4 non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, and she's been in complete remission for a few years now. 30% was totally doable.
Do you know what the survival rate for Stage 4 ovarian cancer is? 18%. Yeah. That was quite a punch. I quietly freaked out over that number for several days. 18%? Holy cow - that's hardly anyone! Should I start deciding who gets my cool stuff? My darling hubby could probably care less about my beloved vintage candy dishes, blue glass vases and baskets that were my grandmothers, and vintage hats. I'm pretty sure my boys don't care either. But I don't want them thrown away - that stuff is awesome! Should I start a will? Prepare a living directive? Plan my funeral? Put little tags on the bottom of everything that says "This goes to De Lyn. I don't care if she doesn't have room for more crap. Give it to her anyway."
And then a still small voice spoke in my heart. That voice said "somebody has to make up that 18%. Why not you? You have the right things going for you - under 50 when diagnosed, pretty darn healthy except for the cancer thing, good attitude, responding well to chemo, tons of sweet people praying for you, stubborn as a mule..."
(Funny thing about that still small voice - I'm pretty sure it's the voice of my heavenly Father, and he knows me better than anyone. Including that whole stubborn thing)
Suddenly, I wasn't really freaking out anymore. Sure, I think my chances of living to be 93 like my Granpa are pretty slim, but I bet I make it another 5 years. Heck, I think the chances are pretty good to make it another 20 years. Because they are coming up with new treatments all the time, and doing more and more research on ovarian cancer and who knows? They could come up with a cure in the next few years. And I intend on being around for that cure. So there, panic attack. Take a hike.
Another expectation? My youngest had his district/area track meet today for discus. I expected him to do ok. He placed 2nd in District and 4th in Area. Woohoo!!! He gets to go to Regionals. We're so tickled for him. I'm especially tickled that I didn't miss his last meet after all! Heh.
Now my family expects me to cook supper for them tonight, since I don't have the whole "I'm tired from chemo" excuse, so I'm off to take care of that. And damn happy to do it.
Monday, April 08, 2013
Mmmm Mmmm Good
Today for lunch for lunch, I had glazed ham, peas, corn and green beans. That might seem unremarkable to most people, but for those of us who are battling cancer, or know someone who has (or is) battling cancer, they understand just how awesome that is.
Before my surgery, as I was undergoing tests to figure out what was wrong with me (even though I knew. Believe me...I knew, I was just waiting for confirmation), I had so much fluid build up in my abdomen that it not only made it difficult for me to breathe, but it compressed my stomach so much I couldn't eat or drink much. Add to that the fact that after my surgery I was so nauseated I couldn't eat much, then having an NG tube in to help with the copious vomiting I had....it was no wonder that a month after my surgery, I still couldn't eat but a few bites at a time. Then I had my first chemo....*sigh*.
I lost weight. A lot of weight. They put me on TPN the first time because I was losing so much weight, and was getting malnourished. So I spent the next 3 months focusing on food. The cancer treatment educators encourage you to eat a few bites every hour while going through chemotherapy. And I tried to do that...but it was hard. When everything you eat or drink doesn't taste good, it's hard to eat something every hour. I did my best to choke down a tablespoon of peanut butter, or half a banana, but most everything grossed me out. My beloved Coke - the same icy cold drink that I literally dreamed about while that stupid NG tube was down my nose and throat - tasted weird. Iced tea, my second favorite drink, was too bitter for me to tolerate. I could drink apple juice, but only if it was ice cold, and even that got old after awhile. In desperation I turned to Facebook - hoping someone had an idea of what I could drink. Gatorade - of all things - was one of the most recommended and I learned I could tolerate that. But food - that was a struggle.
You know how I mentioned all those people who brought my family meals and food while I was recovering? Most of that I couldn't eat. They could bring my favorite food, but it was all gross to my tastebuds. I'll never forget how I nearly started crying when I realized that the pot roast and veggies that my sweet friend Tabbi brought me tasted too spicy and I couldn't tolerate it. I love pot roast. I had been looking forward to that pot roast - then I couldn't eat it. My family loved it. But me...I was pretty much living on Ensure those days.
That sucked.
My husband, bless his heart, was so worried about me that he was constantly hounding me to eat. Anything I mentioned that sounded even sorta tasty, he went and bought. I ate nothing but Kraft Mac & Cheese for a week. He bought enough for a month. I mentioned that Nacho Cheese Doritos sounded good - he brought home a huge bag. I ate a little...but a single box of Mac & Cheese lasted me 3 or 4 days.
I remember when I first started being able to tolerate regular food again. Someone had brought us a BBQ'd brisket - and for the first time, a meat didn't gag me. My mom made us chicken spaghetti, and *that* tasted ok. I tried a cherry limeade, and suddenly there was something different for me to drink. Then sweet tea became tolerable...and day by day, I added new foods to my diet. And day by day...my stomach finally stretched back out to where I could eat a full meal. When I started adding regular food, I could eat one taco. Then it built up to a taco and some rice. Then two tacos. You'll be happy to know that last week I had 3 tacos, a double order of rice, AND a tortilla.
It wasn't all at once. I had to try pizza no less than 3 times before the magic 4th time where I could finally eat it. It took months before I could drink Coke again. I couldn't eat Thanksgiving dinner, or Christmas dinner. But by golly - I ate the heck out of Easter dinner! And it was awesome.
I've lost a bit of weight since I came off the TPN the last time. But that's ok - it's not a ton, and I'm still a bit heavy for my height. I'm not worried about it. I'm just grateful for every bite of food I can enjoy. I hope y'all don't take your ability to eat whatever you want for granted. Believe me - it's a blessing. I love all types of food - and I'm so grateful I can get back to enjoying it. The only one of my favorite foods that I haven't tried yet is a steak. But it's coming. One day soon I'm going to drag my hubs out to my favorite steakhouse, and have me a steak and baked potato, french onion soup with blueberry muffins for desert. And I'll say thanks over every bite.
And if you're out there going through chemotherapy, and wondering if you'll ever be able to eat normally again - yes. Yes you will. It will take time. And some foods you'll have to try again and again. But eventually one day, you'll try that pizza - and not gag. Or not think it's too spicy to eat. You'll just think Oh My Hell this tastes good! Then you'll eat a slice or two, and say a prayer of thanks - and know that getting back to normal - or at least your new normal - is just around the corner.
Before my surgery, as I was undergoing tests to figure out what was wrong with me (even though I knew. Believe me...I knew, I was just waiting for confirmation), I had so much fluid build up in my abdomen that it not only made it difficult for me to breathe, but it compressed my stomach so much I couldn't eat or drink much. Add to that the fact that after my surgery I was so nauseated I couldn't eat much, then having an NG tube in to help with the copious vomiting I had....it was no wonder that a month after my surgery, I still couldn't eat but a few bites at a time. Then I had my first chemo....*sigh*.
I lost weight. A lot of weight. They put me on TPN the first time because I was losing so much weight, and was getting malnourished. So I spent the next 3 months focusing on food. The cancer treatment educators encourage you to eat a few bites every hour while going through chemotherapy. And I tried to do that...but it was hard. When everything you eat or drink doesn't taste good, it's hard to eat something every hour. I did my best to choke down a tablespoon of peanut butter, or half a banana, but most everything grossed me out. My beloved Coke - the same icy cold drink that I literally dreamed about while that stupid NG tube was down my nose and throat - tasted weird. Iced tea, my second favorite drink, was too bitter for me to tolerate. I could drink apple juice, but only if it was ice cold, and even that got old after awhile. In desperation I turned to Facebook - hoping someone had an idea of what I could drink. Gatorade - of all things - was one of the most recommended and I learned I could tolerate that. But food - that was a struggle.
You know how I mentioned all those people who brought my family meals and food while I was recovering? Most of that I couldn't eat. They could bring my favorite food, but it was all gross to my tastebuds. I'll never forget how I nearly started crying when I realized that the pot roast and veggies that my sweet friend Tabbi brought me tasted too spicy and I couldn't tolerate it. I love pot roast. I had been looking forward to that pot roast - then I couldn't eat it. My family loved it. But me...I was pretty much living on Ensure those days.
That sucked.
My husband, bless his heart, was so worried about me that he was constantly hounding me to eat. Anything I mentioned that sounded even sorta tasty, he went and bought. I ate nothing but Kraft Mac & Cheese for a week. He bought enough for a month. I mentioned that Nacho Cheese Doritos sounded good - he brought home a huge bag. I ate a little...but a single box of Mac & Cheese lasted me 3 or 4 days.
I remember when I first started being able to tolerate regular food again. Someone had brought us a BBQ'd brisket - and for the first time, a meat didn't gag me. My mom made us chicken spaghetti, and *that* tasted ok. I tried a cherry limeade, and suddenly there was something different for me to drink. Then sweet tea became tolerable...and day by day, I added new foods to my diet. And day by day...my stomach finally stretched back out to where I could eat a full meal. When I started adding regular food, I could eat one taco. Then it built up to a taco and some rice. Then two tacos. You'll be happy to know that last week I had 3 tacos, a double order of rice, AND a tortilla.
It wasn't all at once. I had to try pizza no less than 3 times before the magic 4th time where I could finally eat it. It took months before I could drink Coke again. I couldn't eat Thanksgiving dinner, or Christmas dinner. But by golly - I ate the heck out of Easter dinner! And it was awesome.
I've lost a bit of weight since I came off the TPN the last time. But that's ok - it's not a ton, and I'm still a bit heavy for my height. I'm not worried about it. I'm just grateful for every bite of food I can enjoy. I hope y'all don't take your ability to eat whatever you want for granted. Believe me - it's a blessing. I love all types of food - and I'm so grateful I can get back to enjoying it. The only one of my favorite foods that I haven't tried yet is a steak. But it's coming. One day soon I'm going to drag my hubs out to my favorite steakhouse, and have me a steak and baked potato, french onion soup with blueberry muffins for desert. And I'll say thanks over every bite.
And if you're out there going through chemotherapy, and wondering if you'll ever be able to eat normally again - yes. Yes you will. It will take time. And some foods you'll have to try again and again. But eventually one day, you'll try that pizza - and not gag. Or not think it's too spicy to eat. You'll just think Oh My Hell this tastes good! Then you'll eat a slice or two, and say a prayer of thanks - and know that getting back to normal - or at least your new normal - is just around the corner.
Friday, April 05, 2013
Silent but Deadly
One of the things you do when you receive a Stage IV diagnosis is second guess yourself. You constantly try to think if you missed a symptom, a sign, something, ANYthing that if you had paid more attention to it, you might have been diagnosed sooner. Ovarian cancer is particularly insidious in that the symptoms could be anything...bloating? Shoot - what woman hasn't bloated on a regular basis since the onset of puberty? Constipation? Really? A sense of fullness? Changes in your cycle?
These are not the things that worry a woman - we don't have time to let a little bloating or irregular bowel habits slow us down. And often ovarian cancer hits in our later years - when changes in our cycle and weight gain that doesn't respond well to exercise is part of the change coming on. And again - while we don't *like* it, if you're over 45, you just assume it's the change. It never occurred to me that it might be ovarian cancer until it was too late.
Over the year before my diagnosis, I had a vague sense that my cycles were coming a little too close together. But I had just had my IUD removed, and figured that was why. I had gained weight, and it wasn't until I had been exercising regularly for 9 months without losing any before I started to think it might be something worrisome. 9 months folks. And honestly, it wasn't until I started gaining weight that I took it seriously. That and the fact I was getting short of breath going up stairs at work, even though I had quit smoking a year before. And let's not forget - my grandmother died from this disease - in her early 50s. One of her sisters had it as well when she was much older. I had a family history. Yet it took unexplained weight gain and shortness of breath to get me to a doctor.
I was 47 years old. That's actually considered a bit young for ovarian cancer. How long would I have waited to go to the doctor if I were 50? Or 55? or 60?
There is no way to accurately screen for ovarian cancer currently. For my diagnosis, it took a transvaginal ultrasound, an elevated CA-125 test of 220, and running a biopsy on the fluid they drained from my abdomen as it built up. But you don't want to get to the stage where fluid is building up in your abdomen before being diagnosed. You want to catch it before it gets to that point, and they are still looking for ways to do that. The CA-125 has not been shown to be a reliable indicator of the presence of ovarian cancer, and transvaginal ultrasounds can see some irregularities, but ovarian cancer is not always obvious. The only way they can truly diagnose it is through surgery.
When I had my IUD removed in the summer of 2011, I had a transvaginal ultrasound done. When I was diagnosed in 2012, 14 months later, my new GYN pulled that report from 2011. The radiologist noted irregularities on my left ovary, and recommended follow up. My former GYN never mentioned that to me. It was not followed up on. I was only 46 at the time, seemed perfectly healthy, and my family history was on my father's side of the family.
I cannot help but think that if we had done a CA 125 then, and did another one 3 months later, I would have been diagnosed much earlier, and would not have been stage IV. Stage II - maybe even as lucky as Stage I. I wouldn't have had tumors on my omentum requiring its removal, or on my diaphram, which was probably how fluid crossed from my abdomen to the areas around my lungs. That knowledge haunts me late at night sometimes - when I let doubt and worry in. I try not to dwell on it, but it never goes away. Not completely, it's always there, and always will be.
So - if you are reading this and you have any of the symptoms mentioned above - consider going to see your doctor. Even if he tells you that you're being silly - I'd rather be silly than have cancer. So go. Learn from the mistakes that were made by my and that other GYN. Don't ignore your body. Listen to it. It might save your life.
These are not the things that worry a woman - we don't have time to let a little bloating or irregular bowel habits slow us down. And often ovarian cancer hits in our later years - when changes in our cycle and weight gain that doesn't respond well to exercise is part of the change coming on. And again - while we don't *like* it, if you're over 45, you just assume it's the change. It never occurred to me that it might be ovarian cancer until it was too late.
Over the year before my diagnosis, I had a vague sense that my cycles were coming a little too close together. But I had just had my IUD removed, and figured that was why. I had gained weight, and it wasn't until I had been exercising regularly for 9 months without losing any before I started to think it might be something worrisome. 9 months folks. And honestly, it wasn't until I started gaining weight that I took it seriously. That and the fact I was getting short of breath going up stairs at work, even though I had quit smoking a year before. And let's not forget - my grandmother died from this disease - in her early 50s. One of her sisters had it as well when she was much older. I had a family history. Yet it took unexplained weight gain and shortness of breath to get me to a doctor.
I was 47 years old. That's actually considered a bit young for ovarian cancer. How long would I have waited to go to the doctor if I were 50? Or 55? or 60?
There is no way to accurately screen for ovarian cancer currently. For my diagnosis, it took a transvaginal ultrasound, an elevated CA-125 test of 220, and running a biopsy on the fluid they drained from my abdomen as it built up. But you don't want to get to the stage where fluid is building up in your abdomen before being diagnosed. You want to catch it before it gets to that point, and they are still looking for ways to do that. The CA-125 has not been shown to be a reliable indicator of the presence of ovarian cancer, and transvaginal ultrasounds can see some irregularities, but ovarian cancer is not always obvious. The only way they can truly diagnose it is through surgery.
When I had my IUD removed in the summer of 2011, I had a transvaginal ultrasound done. When I was diagnosed in 2012, 14 months later, my new GYN pulled that report from 2011. The radiologist noted irregularities on my left ovary, and recommended follow up. My former GYN never mentioned that to me. It was not followed up on. I was only 46 at the time, seemed perfectly healthy, and my family history was on my father's side of the family.
I cannot help but think that if we had done a CA 125 then, and did another one 3 months later, I would have been diagnosed much earlier, and would not have been stage IV. Stage II - maybe even as lucky as Stage I. I wouldn't have had tumors on my omentum requiring its removal, or on my diaphram, which was probably how fluid crossed from my abdomen to the areas around my lungs. That knowledge haunts me late at night sometimes - when I let doubt and worry in. I try not to dwell on it, but it never goes away. Not completely, it's always there, and always will be.
So - if you are reading this and you have any of the symptoms mentioned above - consider going to see your doctor. Even if he tells you that you're being silly - I'd rather be silly than have cancer. So go. Learn from the mistakes that were made by my and that other GYN. Don't ignore your body. Listen to it. It might save your life.
Wednesday, April 03, 2013
How Hicksville Blessed Us
Um. Wow. I never expected that kind of response to my little ramblings. Thanks so much y'all for all the bloggy love.
When MDH (aka My Darling Husband) and I first talked about moving out to the country, we knew our kids would face an adjustment. And those who might have read my blog back in the day know that acceptance into Hicksville (please know - "Hicksville" is meant in all fondness. I just didn't want to name the actual small town we live near in my blog title) did not come easy. It took time. My eldest had minimal acceptance, my youngest a little more. And my husband and I finally did make a few friends in town. It took some time. But let's be honest - there is a saying out in our part of the country - "If you weren't born here, you ain't from here." We found that to be very true. And we weren't the only ones.
I'm sure it's very common in small rural towns, not just our beloved Hicksville. New people are looked at with reservation, and I would imagine city folk - as we were - are especially considered as outsiders. It was just what it was. We didn't let it bother us much, and as time went on we made some friends. Granted, a lot of those friends were also not born there, but friends are friends and let's face it - we had something in common. It was ok. But we never really felt accepted.
Then I was diagnosed with cancer. A few nights before I had surgery, I mentioned my diagnosis on Facebook. I was completely unprepared for the outpouring of love, affection and support I received not only from my friends, family and work related contacts, but from folks in Hicksville as well. I was astounded. And humbled beyond belief. It wasn't just the not born theres. It was all of them. People I was friends with on Facebook, and their friends. And my kids' friends. And their friends. It was amazing.
Over the next few weeks as I recovered from surgery and tried to regain my strength, those people lifted me up in so many ways. Within days the cards came pouring in - from folks we went to church with in Hicksville, from folks we *didn't* go to church with. It didn't matter. As I posted my progress on Facebook, they would comment and encourage and pray for me and lift me up. It meant so very much to me. My only communication was via my iPhone, and thanks to Facebook, I didn't feel alone. I felt loved.
When I came home from the hospital, the blessings kept coming. In addition to my hockey family (and God Bless Y'all. You were one of the first groups I told about my diagnosis and I should have known from your reaction that I wouldn't be alone through all this. Love you. Everyone single one of y'all) making a schedule to bring meals to my family for the first few weeks, and my work "family" contributing to that, the Hicksville community continued sending cards. And not just cards. We go to the Methodist Church - we had meals from members there. Hell - we had a meal from the FISH class over at the Baptist church - and I barely knew most of those people! One of my son's classmates had his Sunday School class make cards for him to show him that they were praying for us. We constantly heard that the community was praying for us, for me, for health and strength. We had people come over and help clean the house, and do laundry. One gentleman built handrails for my front steps. They helped trim my Christmas tree and decorate my home for the season. Heck - one sweet lady and her husband actually came over in January and took down my Christmas tree and the decorations.
Y'all. I still don't know what I did to deserve that. But I was so very very grateful and humbled by all of it. I'm so lucky that I'm a part of this community. I may not have felt accepted before, but my goodness, I do now. West Texas small town folk know how to take care of their own. I feel like I'm one of their own now. I am so blessed by all of the support I received, and I know all those prayers helped me do as well as I'm doing now.
Hicksville may not be perfect, but I wouldn't live anywhere else. And I continue to be grateful for those I've gotten to know better as I've battled cancer. I hope that one day, once I've gone into remission, a group of us can go and have a few drinks and just laugh and talk about something besides this stupid PITA disease. And I look forward to watching football and basketball games and track meets with them over the next few years. Y'all rock.!
(And - that concludes a couple of days of serious heavy posts. Next up - discovering that the DAY after we lost our beloved dog, a freakin bunny dug a hole in our backyard. Next to the porch. Then sat at the base of the steps as if to taunt us. I assure you - that bunny? Will soon be joining my beloved dog in animal heaven. Little bastard.)
When MDH (aka My Darling Husband) and I first talked about moving out to the country, we knew our kids would face an adjustment. And those who might have read my blog back in the day know that acceptance into Hicksville (please know - "Hicksville" is meant in all fondness. I just didn't want to name the actual small town we live near in my blog title) did not come easy. It took time. My eldest had minimal acceptance, my youngest a little more. And my husband and I finally did make a few friends in town. It took some time. But let's be honest - there is a saying out in our part of the country - "If you weren't born here, you ain't from here." We found that to be very true. And we weren't the only ones.
I'm sure it's very common in small rural towns, not just our beloved Hicksville. New people are looked at with reservation, and I would imagine city folk - as we were - are especially considered as outsiders. It was just what it was. We didn't let it bother us much, and as time went on we made some friends. Granted, a lot of those friends were also not born there, but friends are friends and let's face it - we had something in common. It was ok. But we never really felt accepted.
Then I was diagnosed with cancer. A few nights before I had surgery, I mentioned my diagnosis on Facebook. I was completely unprepared for the outpouring of love, affection and support I received not only from my friends, family and work related contacts, but from folks in Hicksville as well. I was astounded. And humbled beyond belief. It wasn't just the not born theres. It was all of them. People I was friends with on Facebook, and their friends. And my kids' friends. And their friends. It was amazing.
Over the next few weeks as I recovered from surgery and tried to regain my strength, those people lifted me up in so many ways. Within days the cards came pouring in - from folks we went to church with in Hicksville, from folks we *didn't* go to church with. It didn't matter. As I posted my progress on Facebook, they would comment and encourage and pray for me and lift me up. It meant so very much to me. My only communication was via my iPhone, and thanks to Facebook, I didn't feel alone. I felt loved.
When I came home from the hospital, the blessings kept coming. In addition to my hockey family (and God Bless Y'all. You were one of the first groups I told about my diagnosis and I should have known from your reaction that I wouldn't be alone through all this. Love you. Everyone single one of y'all) making a schedule to bring meals to my family for the first few weeks, and my work "family" contributing to that, the Hicksville community continued sending cards. And not just cards. We go to the Methodist Church - we had meals from members there. Hell - we had a meal from the FISH class over at the Baptist church - and I barely knew most of those people! One of my son's classmates had his Sunday School class make cards for him to show him that they were praying for us. We constantly heard that the community was praying for us, for me, for health and strength. We had people come over and help clean the house, and do laundry. One gentleman built handrails for my front steps. They helped trim my Christmas tree and decorate my home for the season. Heck - one sweet lady and her husband actually came over in January and took down my Christmas tree and the decorations.
Y'all. I still don't know what I did to deserve that. But I was so very very grateful and humbled by all of it. I'm so lucky that I'm a part of this community. I may not have felt accepted before, but my goodness, I do now. West Texas small town folk know how to take care of their own. I feel like I'm one of their own now. I am so blessed by all of the support I received, and I know all those prayers helped me do as well as I'm doing now.
Hicksville may not be perfect, but I wouldn't live anywhere else. And I continue to be grateful for those I've gotten to know better as I've battled cancer. I hope that one day, once I've gone into remission, a group of us can go and have a few drinks and just laugh and talk about something besides this stupid PITA disease. And I look forward to watching football and basketball games and track meets with them over the next few years. Y'all rock.!
(And - that concludes a couple of days of serious heavy posts. Next up - discovering that the DAY after we lost our beloved dog, a freakin bunny dug a hole in our backyard. Next to the porch. Then sat at the base of the steps as if to taunt us. I assure you - that bunny? Will soon be joining my beloved dog in animal heaven. Little bastard.)
Tuesday, April 02, 2013
It Ain't Moonlight & Roses
I've been debating for sometime whether I wanted to blog about my battle with cancer, beyond just saying I have it. For some reason, I feel like I should. There isn't near enough talk about ovarian cancer, and trying to find out if what I'm feeling or going through is normal has been difficult at best. There's tons of resources and information out there for breast cancer, for colon cancer, for damn near every other type of cancer out there. But it's like ovarian cancer for some reason is a big ole secret.
No wonder there's no cure yet!
I've put alot of stuff on Facebook about my battle. I've tried to stay positive as much as I can - from the beginning I've been convinced that I was going to be one of the 30% that survive and are cured. I get folks who tell me I'm an inspiration, and to be perfectly honest, that makes me feel weird. I'm not trying to be inspiring. I'm just trying to survive, you know? A nurse on the oncology floor told me very early on in my treatment that it was the feisty ones that make it. So yeah - I've indulged my inner feisty. But not to inspire anyone - just to do everything I can to live. Sure, I could be all doom and gloom and focus on that 70% statistic, but I've always felt it made more sense to choose to be happy, and positive. So that's what I did. What choice did I really have? I want to live. I want to see my boys marry. To hold my grandchildren someday. I have PLANS people!
I've lost most of my hair. What I have left is less than an inch long, sparse, and mostly GRAY. Not cool. I was totally hoping that if it must fall out, surely it could grow back in blonde and curly? Or even black and curly. Nooooo - it's gray. Hmph. I wear scarves rather than hats because my scalp is sensitive and hats often hurt. My mom gave me a ton of my grandmother's scarves, so that's been kinda cool having them to wear. I've also lost my eyelashes and eyebrows. I draw the eyebrows on now...just like an old woman. I haven't yet gotten the nerve up to wear false eyelashes.
I've been able to eat normally now for about a month. For about 4 months I could barely stomach anything. I probably would have lost way too much weight, but my husband insisted I get put on TPN for several weeks. What's TPN? Why, it's nutrition via IV. Yes, that's right, I received my nutrition via a big ole bag full o white stuff for over a month. I had to cart it around on a luggage cart during the day because if I hooked up to it at night, I had to go pee every freakin 2 hours. Stopping TPN was one of my happiest days.
My torso hurts after I've been sitting for very long. It's fine while I'm sitting, but when I stand up, I'm all hunched over and feel like I have to stretch something out so that I can stand upright. It takes a few minutes before I can do that...but it still hurts as I walk. And when I first lay down at night.
Oh! Did I mention that I have tubes on both sides that go into the sac around my lungs so I can drain fluid from around them every 3 days? Thank goodness my husband learned how to do that...I don't think anyone thought I'd still be draining 4 months after they were put in. I did get the abdominal drain taken out a while back when we stopped being able to drain fluid from there. But that fluid around my lungs just won't go away, and that worries us some.
My CA-125 count is now down to 39. Normal is 2 - 35. So close. So very very close. I was at 1198 when I had my first chemo last November. So I know the chemo is working. But why do I still have that fluid? I'm trying to focus on the CA-125 more than the fluid. And how good I feel.
I went back to work several weeks ago. Half time at first, but this week I've been working all day. It feels so good to be back at work - to be taking care of things for my faculty and staff. I missed that. I missed it a lot.
Huh. So this turned into the "whine about cancer treatment side effects" blog. Sorry about that. But maybe someday some other chick will be recovering from surgery, going through chemo and wonder if her tummy hurting is normal and she'll find this entry. I hope it makes her feel better. I hope it gives her hope. Because when she starts reading through the rest of the blog - I want her to find a whole bunch of posts about gardening, and cows and chickens and what a blessing living in a small town community is (that will be my next entry I promise - wait until you hear how Hicksville rallied behind me and my family when word about my diagnosis got out. I'm still astounded). Anyhoo - that's my plan man.
And I'm a Taurus - once we set our minds on something, its a done deal.
You hear that cancer??? DONE DEAL.
No wonder there's no cure yet!
I've put alot of stuff on Facebook about my battle. I've tried to stay positive as much as I can - from the beginning I've been convinced that I was going to be one of the 30% that survive and are cured. I get folks who tell me I'm an inspiration, and to be perfectly honest, that makes me feel weird. I'm not trying to be inspiring. I'm just trying to survive, you know? A nurse on the oncology floor told me very early on in my treatment that it was the feisty ones that make it. So yeah - I've indulged my inner feisty. But not to inspire anyone - just to do everything I can to live. Sure, I could be all doom and gloom and focus on that 70% statistic, but I've always felt it made more sense to choose to be happy, and positive. So that's what I did. What choice did I really have? I want to live. I want to see my boys marry. To hold my grandchildren someday. I have PLANS people!
I've lost most of my hair. What I have left is less than an inch long, sparse, and mostly GRAY. Not cool. I was totally hoping that if it must fall out, surely it could grow back in blonde and curly? Or even black and curly. Nooooo - it's gray. Hmph. I wear scarves rather than hats because my scalp is sensitive and hats often hurt. My mom gave me a ton of my grandmother's scarves, so that's been kinda cool having them to wear. I've also lost my eyelashes and eyebrows. I draw the eyebrows on now...just like an old woman. I haven't yet gotten the nerve up to wear false eyelashes.
I've been able to eat normally now for about a month. For about 4 months I could barely stomach anything. I probably would have lost way too much weight, but my husband insisted I get put on TPN for several weeks. What's TPN? Why, it's nutrition via IV. Yes, that's right, I received my nutrition via a big ole bag full o white stuff for over a month. I had to cart it around on a luggage cart during the day because if I hooked up to it at night, I had to go pee every freakin 2 hours. Stopping TPN was one of my happiest days.
My torso hurts after I've been sitting for very long. It's fine while I'm sitting, but when I stand up, I'm all hunched over and feel like I have to stretch something out so that I can stand upright. It takes a few minutes before I can do that...but it still hurts as I walk. And when I first lay down at night.
Oh! Did I mention that I have tubes on both sides that go into the sac around my lungs so I can drain fluid from around them every 3 days? Thank goodness my husband learned how to do that...I don't think anyone thought I'd still be draining 4 months after they were put in. I did get the abdominal drain taken out a while back when we stopped being able to drain fluid from there. But that fluid around my lungs just won't go away, and that worries us some.
My CA-125 count is now down to 39. Normal is 2 - 35. So close. So very very close. I was at 1198 when I had my first chemo last November. So I know the chemo is working. But why do I still have that fluid? I'm trying to focus on the CA-125 more than the fluid. And how good I feel.
I went back to work several weeks ago. Half time at first, but this week I've been working all day. It feels so good to be back at work - to be taking care of things for my faculty and staff. I missed that. I missed it a lot.
Huh. So this turned into the "whine about cancer treatment side effects" blog. Sorry about that. But maybe someday some other chick will be recovering from surgery, going through chemo and wonder if her tummy hurting is normal and she'll find this entry. I hope it makes her feel better. I hope it gives her hope. Because when she starts reading through the rest of the blog - I want her to find a whole bunch of posts about gardening, and cows and chickens and what a blessing living in a small town community is (that will be my next entry I promise - wait until you hear how Hicksville rallied behind me and my family when word about my diagnosis got out. I'm still astounded). Anyhoo - that's my plan man.
And I'm a Taurus - once we set our minds on something, its a done deal.
You hear that cancer??? DONE DEAL.
Monday, January 07, 2013
The Blogger Returns
Well - hello there!
Yes,it's been quite a while since I've blogged. But I totally have the best excuse. You see, you know how you make all these plans for your life, and God watches and laughs and says "whatever dude - I have something else in mind?"
That something else can be a doozy. You see, I have cancer. Ovarian cancer. I was diagnosed last October, had surgery October 30th, and told I was stage 4. But just because I have fluid around my lungs with cancer cells in it.
It's been a crazy few months. I've been humbled, amazed, gratified, and blessed. My husband and I have grown closer than I could have ever imagined. People have reached out to me and my family and just blessed us all over the place.
Yet it hasn't been fun. I've had all kinds of complications, and my recovery from surgery has been slow. I struggle at times, asking why I get the complications, why it hasn't been easier, when did someone change my name to Job?
But then I am reassured by His grace, by blessings unexpected. And I gird my loins so to speak - for the battle ahead of me. Because I have no intention of being the 70% who don't survive stage 4 ovarian cancer. Nope - I'm going to be that 30% that beats it.
There's just no other option.
Friday, July 22, 2011
I Believe...
Holy Mama just wrote a great post on what she believes. Because I believe in swiping other people’s genius when stumped for something to blog…here’s my own list. (Feel free to imagine Larry the Cable guy narrating if you will – heaven knows I did)
I believe that if you have a job, you are expected to come to work every day unless you’re hurling, bleeding or unconscious. Do not call in with a headache, or “female issues.” We all know you just don’t want to work today. And that irks the rest of us.
I believe that there is nothing as satisfying as a freshly weeded section of your garden.
I believe that front porches should be mandatory – as well as porch time. I think that if more people took the time to sit on their porch of an evening and just let themselves be – we’d all be happier.
I believe in telling the people you love “I love you” every time you talk to them on the phone – even if rotten teenagers won’t say it back.
I believe that while parents shouldn’t *flaunt* their active ‘marital life’ in front of their kids – they shouldn’t pretend it doesn’t exist. We should never give our kids the impression that once they are married the fun stuff stops. Pfft on that buster. An active marital life is healthy – and we should make sure our kids know that. (In a non-icky way of course.)
I believe in the right to bear arms. I don’t believe in the right to own a machine gun.
I believe in capital punishment.
I believe in a woman’s right to choose. Not my body, not my choice.
I believe we cannot throw away those who are on hard times.
I believe there should be time limits on welfare. It’s supposed to help them out, not be a way of life.
I believe there is not a political party in this country that encompasses my beliefs, which is why I rarely engage in political discussions. Because I think they’re all wrong.
I believe political discussions are a big ole waste of time anyway. No one wants to hear your point of view unless you agree with them so why engage?
I believe you can’t spoil a baby before six months. If they’re crying, pick ‘em up and love on ‘em. Babies need to be nurtured, and trust me – it won’t be just the baby that benefits.
I believe in hugs.
I believe that friends make life richer in so many ways. I cannot imagine life without my girlfriends.
I believe EVERYONE should laugh hard every day.
I believe Satan came up with gray hair. Bastard.
I believe I should have a pool. Unfortunately, my husband believes pools are a PITA, and he won that battle.
I believe having a dog makes everyone’s life better.
I also believe that having a kitty would make life better as well, but my husband won that battle too. Hmph.
I believe that reading is as necessary as food to some people – including myself. Therefore I insist on having time to just sit and read every day, even if it’s just 30 minutes.
I believe I could sit here and type up tons of other stuff, but let’s face it – I’m about to get all self-indulgent with this post, so I think I’ll just stop here and ask – what do you believe?
Monday, July 11, 2011
Vacation Gone Wild
So I took a vacation from work.
It was meant to be a “work around the home place” vacation – one where I caught up on my weeding, put down newspaper and cardboard mulch in the garden to keep from having to weed more, cleaned my house from top to bottom, and re-do the brick walkway in the backyard with landscape fabric to get rid of the grass going crazy and trying to invade my herb garden and strawberry bed. It was going to be a great plan.
Didn’t work out that way.
Friday, July 1st, I developed a tooth abscess. To the point we had to call and bother my dentist at 9 pm so he could call in a prescription for pain killers and antibiotics. At 10 am on Saturday, we met my most kind dentist at his office and he ground that particular tooth down and suggested we might have to pull it since it’s already had two root canals – the most recent one just a few months ago. Woohoo! By 2 pm that afternoon, we discovered I cannot take hydrocodone with acetaminophen without getting nauseous and all those fun things that go along with nausea. By 4 pm, I looked like a chipmunk storing nuts for the winter in my cheek.
Not the best look for me. Just sayin'.
Needless to say, I didn’t get much yard work done last week. And we won’t even go into the whole unsuccessful IUD retrieval procedure on Tuesday. It was not my week.
But – I did finally get my house cleaned. Well, parts of it anyway. And the strawberry bed got weeded. We also harvested our first yellow squash from the one volunteer squash plant that came up in the corn. None of our melon/squash/cucumber section came up. Only volunteers in other parts of the garden. We’re grateful for whatever did come up since it’s been so darn dry this year. We’ve had maybe an inch and a half of rain since January. We see clouds and get our hopes up, then it rains somewhere else. *sigh*
My Rhode Island red hen is sitting on banty eggs at the moment. She tries sitting on the leghorn’s eggs, but since we don’t have a full size rooster, we sneak those out when she’s eating, since nothing is going to hatch out of those eggs anyway. We’re keeping our fingers crossed that maybe we’ll get a few new babies!
I’ve lost 5 of my tater plants – I’m not sure what is killing them underground, but it’s annoying me to no end. And I’ve yet to see a single new potato on the others. Methinks this tater experiment might be a failure. Luckily the onions are doing pretty well, so I don’t feel like a total root crop failure.
My eldest son turned 18 yesterday. I’m having a bit of a crisis about it – but quietly, because how silly is it to have a crisis about the fact you managed to raise a handsome, intelligent, witty, kindhearted child to the age of 18? But really – 18? How did that happen? It’s just surreal. Does this make me officially old?
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Changing Seasons
Well hello there! I've been very remiss in my blog duties this year - I blame my job. I've been having to work of all things. (Oh - I kid. Really. Mostly.)
Anyhoo - life in Hicksville has been hot and dry this year. We're in the midst of an extreme drought of Dustbowl preportions - complete with the appearance of haboobs. I think we have had a grand total of maybe an inch of rain since January, which has stressed my garden to no end.
This year, we decided to attempt growing potatoes and onions - you know - root vegetables that are 90% WATER. Yeah - not the greatest idea, but to be perfectly honest they're growing better than nearly anything else in the garden. Certainly better than my corn and green beans and black-eyed peas. Those have been plagued with being planted a bit too deep and not coming up (my fault), evil grackles coming along and pecking the seeds out of the ground when they weren't planted deep enough (evil birds' fault) and windburned because my heavens - the wind - it won't stop blowing. So I'm not very optimistic that I'm going to have much of a corn crop this year. Heck - at this point I doubt I'll be able to even can much in the way of green beans and black eyed peas. I think we'll have enough for meals once they start producing, but canning? Not so much.
None of my cucumbers came up. Neither did the cantaloupe, the honeydew, the squash or pumpkins. One watermelon that we intentionally planted came up. Luckily, we have volunteer squash and cantaloupe coming up by the corn & beans, and volunteer watermelon everywhere. But I was really hoping to make pickles this year. Hmph.
But hey! I have 102 onions growing, and 34 potato plants. If I can get at least a couple of pounds of taters out of each tater plant, I'll be happy. We decided to mulch around the tomatoes and peppers this year, using a thick layer of newspapers covered with landscape fabric, and we already have little green tomatoes. I attempted yet again to grow tomatoes from seed as well, and so far have around 12 that have survived and are just about ready to be planted and covered with a milk jug until they're big enough to survive the desert on their own. Unfortunately, the wind got my peppers. That makes me very sad.
This year, we also applied something called BiotaMax to the garden. An old buddy of mine from high school has a company that came up with it, and when he heard me blathering on about gardening on Facebook, he sent me a sample. I can't help but wonder if that's why my tomatoes are doing as well as they are in all this heat and wind, but it's too early to tell. Apparently it doesn't ward off those damn grackles. We applied it to half of the new strawberry plants we put in this year to see if we could compare. I'll show pictures at the end of the summer and let everyone judge for themselves if it made any difference. Right now, the strawberries are struggling to survive in this heat. Today it's only going to be in the mid to upper 90's. Tomorrow - back to the 100's for the foreseeable future. I like summer and I like the heat, but dang - I'm dreading July!
Now for the chicken update - one of the banty hens was setting for awhile, but apparently we messed with her eggs one too many times, so she up and said 'pfft' and that was that. No baby chicks this year. Although our bedraggled Rhode Island Red went broody on us this weekend. Poor darlin' - we don't have any full sized roosters, so she's sitting for naught. The hubs is supposed to be tracking down some fertilized full size eggs for her to set on, but hasn't located any just yet. I hope we can find some - I love baby chicks!
The boys are enjoying summer so far - sleepin' til noon, then playing video games all day. I can't really blame them - it's too hot to work outside by the time they get up, and it's not cooling off until 8 or 9 pm at night. E has his first job not working for a relative this summer - he's a sacker at a grocery store in Mid-Size City and loving not having to ask mom and dad for money all the time. (Mom and Dad are enjoying that just as much!) E still struggles with being accepted out here and right now the other boys are still boys. I'm not sure when teenage boys grow out of being little turds and embracing the mob mentality, but apparently it's not the summer after junior year. *sigh* Luckily J has embraced the "whatever dude - who cares what you think about me?" attitude and doesn't seem to be bothered by the mob. I'm hoping E does the same soon. He's such a smart, witty kid. Too bad the mob doesn't have the maturity to get that.
As for me and the hubs, we are slowly learning to adjust to life with boys that are fixin to be men. While we enjoy being able to do more without having to track down babysitters, I have to admit missing all the time we used to spend together as a family. Thanks to his work, poor E wasn't able to go with us to see the 1st three blockbusters of the summer movie season - and who knows when he'll be able to? We're lucky if we get a couple of dinners together as a family every week between E's job, and summer workouts and just life in general. And J is about to start driver's ed. I know it's just part of the season of our lives right now, but I still struggle with having to let them go.
Darn kids - who said they could grow up?
Anyhoo - life in Hicksville has been hot and dry this year. We're in the midst of an extreme drought of Dustbowl preportions - complete with the appearance of haboobs. I think we have had a grand total of maybe an inch of rain since January, which has stressed my garden to no end.
This year, we decided to attempt growing potatoes and onions - you know - root vegetables that are 90% WATER. Yeah - not the greatest idea, but to be perfectly honest they're growing better than nearly anything else in the garden. Certainly better than my corn and green beans and black-eyed peas. Those have been plagued with being planted a bit too deep and not coming up (my fault), evil grackles coming along and pecking the seeds out of the ground when they weren't planted deep enough (evil birds' fault) and windburned because my heavens - the wind - it won't stop blowing. So I'm not very optimistic that I'm going to have much of a corn crop this year. Heck - at this point I doubt I'll be able to even can much in the way of green beans and black eyed peas. I think we'll have enough for meals once they start producing, but canning? Not so much.
None of my cucumbers came up. Neither did the cantaloupe, the honeydew, the squash or pumpkins. One watermelon that we intentionally planted came up. Luckily, we have volunteer squash and cantaloupe coming up by the corn & beans, and volunteer watermelon everywhere. But I was really hoping to make pickles this year. Hmph.
But hey! I have 102 onions growing, and 34 potato plants. If I can get at least a couple of pounds of taters out of each tater plant, I'll be happy. We decided to mulch around the tomatoes and peppers this year, using a thick layer of newspapers covered with landscape fabric, and we already have little green tomatoes. I attempted yet again to grow tomatoes from seed as well, and so far have around 12 that have survived and are just about ready to be planted and covered with a milk jug until they're big enough to survive the desert on their own. Unfortunately, the wind got my peppers. That makes me very sad.
This year, we also applied something called BiotaMax to the garden. An old buddy of mine from high school has a company that came up with it, and when he heard me blathering on about gardening on Facebook, he sent me a sample. I can't help but wonder if that's why my tomatoes are doing as well as they are in all this heat and wind, but it's too early to tell. Apparently it doesn't ward off those damn grackles. We applied it to half of the new strawberry plants we put in this year to see if we could compare. I'll show pictures at the end of the summer and let everyone judge for themselves if it made any difference. Right now, the strawberries are struggling to survive in this heat. Today it's only going to be in the mid to upper 90's. Tomorrow - back to the 100's for the foreseeable future. I like summer and I like the heat, but dang - I'm dreading July!
Now for the chicken update - one of the banty hens was setting for awhile, but apparently we messed with her eggs one too many times, so she up and said 'pfft' and that was that. No baby chicks this year. Although our bedraggled Rhode Island Red went broody on us this weekend. Poor darlin' - we don't have any full sized roosters, so she's sitting for naught. The hubs is supposed to be tracking down some fertilized full size eggs for her to set on, but hasn't located any just yet. I hope we can find some - I love baby chicks!
The boys are enjoying summer so far - sleepin' til noon, then playing video games all day. I can't really blame them - it's too hot to work outside by the time they get up, and it's not cooling off until 8 or 9 pm at night. E has his first job not working for a relative this summer - he's a sacker at a grocery store in Mid-Size City and loving not having to ask mom and dad for money all the time. (Mom and Dad are enjoying that just as much!) E still struggles with being accepted out here and right now the other boys are still boys. I'm not sure when teenage boys grow out of being little turds and embracing the mob mentality, but apparently it's not the summer after junior year. *sigh* Luckily J has embraced the "whatever dude - who cares what you think about me?" attitude and doesn't seem to be bothered by the mob. I'm hoping E does the same soon. He's such a smart, witty kid. Too bad the mob doesn't have the maturity to get that.
As for me and the hubs, we are slowly learning to adjust to life with boys that are fixin to be men. While we enjoy being able to do more without having to track down babysitters, I have to admit missing all the time we used to spend together as a family. Thanks to his work, poor E wasn't able to go with us to see the 1st three blockbusters of the summer movie season - and who knows when he'll be able to? We're lucky if we get a couple of dinners together as a family every week between E's job, and summer workouts and just life in general. And J is about to start driver's ed. I know it's just part of the season of our lives right now, but I still struggle with having to let them go.
Darn kids - who said they could grow up?
Thursday, April 07, 2011
Finding Home
Last night the wind finally died down enough that I was able to plant 2 rows of yukon gold seed potatoes, 3 rows of red pontiac seed potatoes, and umpteen onions - red, yellow and white. First things in the garden - and the official full start of gardening season. From now on, I will spend my evenings and weekends in the garden and in the yard - weeding, mulching, watering, and eventually - harvesting.
Some might look at that as drudgery. For me - it's necessary. I need that time every day to work outside in my garden and yard. From cutting asparagus each evening to pulling weeds to watering my peas - it's how I find my peace and balance each day. I do my best thinking and pondering while working in the garden, and I love seeing perennials come back each year, and the progress my yards and my garden makes from year to year. Seeing the fruit of my labor so to speak - it helps with that feeling so many of us have. The one where we feel like we're doing the same thing over and over and not accomplishing anything.
I see what I've accomplished. What my family has accomplished. I see it in the landscaping, in the spread of the oregano and thyme, the blooms of the strawberries ....
(The monstrous size of the little 6 inch rosemary plant that is now 4 feet tall - and at least as wide. After just 3 years. Sometimes nature surprises us.)
When we bought this property, it was a field. We've added a house, a barn, a garage, a wellhouse, a chicken coop, trees for shade, trees for windbreaks, trees for fruit, and berry bushes. We gave ourselves the means to feed ourselves for a good part of the year - with healthier, fresher food. I haven't bought eggs in over a year. I don't buy hot sauce anymore (because mine is SO much better y'all - you have no idea.) Thanks to the aforementioned monster rosemary bush, I'll never have to buy that again either. My hope is to not have to buy oregano, thyme or sage again, and to raise enough veggies to not have to buy canned goods over the winter. It's an ambitious goal - but one we're hoping to accomplish.
Even if we only raise enough for half of winter - that's less gas we'll use driving to town to buy that stuff. And I guarantee it will taste better than anything store bought.
We started with a field. Now we have a home. And even if life in Hicksville isn't the idyllic community we hoped for when we moved out here - I wouldn't trade it for anything.
(Oh! I almost forgot. One of the banty's is setting - we should have baby chicks in a few weeks. There is nothing as cute as baby chicks. Will try to get pictures when they arrive.)
Some might look at that as drudgery. For me - it's necessary. I need that time every day to work outside in my garden and yard. From cutting asparagus each evening to pulling weeds to watering my peas - it's how I find my peace and balance each day. I do my best thinking and pondering while working in the garden, and I love seeing perennials come back each year, and the progress my yards and my garden makes from year to year. Seeing the fruit of my labor so to speak - it helps with that feeling so many of us have. The one where we feel like we're doing the same thing over and over and not accomplishing anything.
I see what I've accomplished. What my family has accomplished. I see it in the landscaping, in the spread of the oregano and thyme, the blooms of the strawberries ....
(The monstrous size of the little 6 inch rosemary plant that is now 4 feet tall - and at least as wide. After just 3 years. Sometimes nature surprises us.)
When we bought this property, it was a field. We've added a house, a barn, a garage, a wellhouse, a chicken coop, trees for shade, trees for windbreaks, trees for fruit, and berry bushes. We gave ourselves the means to feed ourselves for a good part of the year - with healthier, fresher food. I haven't bought eggs in over a year. I don't buy hot sauce anymore (because mine is SO much better y'all - you have no idea.) Thanks to the aforementioned monster rosemary bush, I'll never have to buy that again either. My hope is to not have to buy oregano, thyme or sage again, and to raise enough veggies to not have to buy canned goods over the winter. It's an ambitious goal - but one we're hoping to accomplish.
Even if we only raise enough for half of winter - that's less gas we'll use driving to town to buy that stuff. And I guarantee it will taste better than anything store bought.
We started with a field. Now we have a home. And even if life in Hicksville isn't the idyllic community we hoped for when we moved out here - I wouldn't trade it for anything.
(Oh! I almost forgot. One of the banty's is setting - we should have baby chicks in a few weeks. There is nothing as cute as baby chicks. Will try to get pictures when they arrive.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)