Gratitude. I've Got It.

My goodness - what a difference a week can make.

Last Sunday, I was still full of worry and doubt about what was going to happen with my treatment.   I felt pretty good, and was dreading feeling bad this week.  Instead, I'm sitting here feeling pretty darn good today!

Since this new regimen consists of me receiving a smaller dose of Taxol every week instead of a big ole dose every three weeks, I haven't really had any nausea and very little fatigue.  This weekend we have purchased a new RAV4 for me to drive, gotten Christmas decorations taken down and put away, I've gone to church, and out to eat for lunch, worked on laundry and helped eldest son re-organize his room.

I don't think I've had this active of a weekend since summer.

Of course, I didn't do all this by myself.  The boys helped take the Christmas stuff down.  Most of my contribution to re-organizing E's room consisted of me sitting in a chair and suggesting/directing.  But I'm feeling good.  I don't have the discomfort I've had around my torso the last few months.  I'm not constantly tired.  And praise Jesus Halleluah, I'm not nauseous.  I'm able to eat normally.

I don't kid myself.  I know that next weekend may be a different story once I get Avastin.  But today, right now, I think I should be able to go to work tomorrow.  I think that I won't miss but one day a week with this weekly chemo.  I think I just might be able to have a greater quality of life.

Heck - I may be able to nag my children to do more chores if I'm feeling this good!

*gasp* Maybe I'll even get my house clean!

Pfft.  Even if I don't.  Even if all I do is manage to keep up with the laundry and the kids' schedule, I'll be happy.  I'll take it one day at a time.  I'll enjoy every minute of feeling practically normal.  And I'll be grateful for it.

Now - if only that hair will grow back....

Pow! Right in the kisser!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boy howdy am I feeling blessed.

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

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

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

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

Miracles indeed.

It's The Little Things

When you deal with a chronic disease as I am, eventually you find yourself being happy about the weirdest things.  Sometimes it's having a day without pain.  Sometimes it's being able to navigate your way through a difficult problem at work without having to ask your friend that works in another department 40 questions because your chemo brain isn't blocking all of your intelligence.

Sometimes you're happy that the barium you had to drink for your CT scans put an end to that almost constipation problem you've been struggling with since you started chemo again.

Yes.  That's right.  I said it.  For the first time ever, the barium got things 'moving well' shall we say.  Who am I kidding?  Let's be clear.  I might as well have had a cleanse.  I guarantee they got a good look at my colon today because there wasn't anything in there to block their view.  Nope.  Hell - they could do another one tomorrow and STILL have a great view because  dayum - I'm empty!

See?  It's the little things.

It's kinda bizarre that I'm discussing such things on a public blog.  I never used to discuss such things.  I remember the first time my husband asked about the last time I had taken a crap and I looked at him like he had lost his mind.  Why in God's green earth was he asking about THAT?  We didn't discuss bowel habits in my house growing up.  Unless you were my dad.  I'm pretty sure we all knew way more about my dad's bowel habits than we ever wanted to.  But isn't that true of most families? Anyway - I certainly saw no reason to discuss my bowel habits with my BOYFRIEND - it didn't matter how long we had been dating.

Now look at me.  HA!

But that's the thing - with ovarian cancer, the fear of an obstruction is a very real thing.  I've been SO lucky that I haven't any any bowel involvement with my cancer - no tumors that we've ever known of, no bowel resections during my de-bulking surgery, no obstructions - partial or otherwise.  Many women do have bowel involvement and have to have large portions of their bowel removed, or colostomy bags.  We're constantly on the watch for the signs of an obstruction - because that could mean that the disease is progressing.  That a tumor has worked its way into the bowel.  Or that one has developed and grown large enough to compress the bowel or colon...

So - I'm sorry and I hope you weren't eating when you started reading this.   If nothing else, take the time today or tomorrow and see what you can think of to be happy about that you don't have the nerve to share with anyone else.   Then share it anyway and see if anyone still thinks you're inspiring.

Muahahahahaha!!!!

(No - really - I wasn't trying to ick anyone out.  But if I'm going to be honest, I  might as well be honest about everything, and this is totally a big topic for many of us with ovarian cancer.  That dreaded obstruction is often what finishes us off - eventually there just isn't anything else to be done.  So forgive me for being tickled that for once I don't have to worry about taking stool softeners or fiber capsules for a day or two!)

In other news, the cow formerly known as Steak is eagerly looking forward to the arrival of Son of Steak.  I believe she is also eagerly looking forward to her new half barn that MDH is going to build for her.  At the moment, that barn consists of 9 poles set into the ground, one of which is a good foot shorter than the other two in that particular row because MDH didn't stand outside and watch the men who were setting the poles in the ground.  Now he has to decide whether to try to raise that one pole up a foot, or just to cut a foot off of the other two.  I vote for the cut - not that he always listens to me.

The hubs has also decided that since our Java hens were such crappy mamas, they have a future in our freezer and he will be buying a new breed of chicken to replace them.  As long as he doesn't replace my Americaunas that lay the blue and green eggs, that's fine with me. And of course, as long as he is the one who gets them prepped for our freezer.

Dove continue to line up on our back yard fence and our back yard trees - taunting the hubs who did not get to go dove hunting this year.  He's also figured out just when he can hunt geese and woe unto any Canadian geese that fly too low over Digbyland.  They just might find themselves being marinated in Fred Meske's secret goose sauce!

In another couple of weeks it will be time to start seeds around here for the garden. Every year I start seeds, and every year I'm lucky if 2 out of the 30 - 60 seedlings I nurse make it into the garden.  Or survive the garden.  But this year I'm determined.  I will have heirloom tomatoes!  And cucumbers so I can make pickles!  I will!  Maybe.

So that's what's going on in Digbyland - what are you up to these days?

(By the way - my scans are still clear. Woohoo!)

Miracles

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Easier said than done. 

2014

Hmm.  I never imagined that my first post of 2014 would be on the 21st.  It's been a weird month for me.  At the beginning of the month, I had another chemo treatment, and we tried once again to give me carbo - extra steroids, and more benedryl - in hopes to de-sensitize me so that I can still get one of the most effective chemos for my type of cancer.  Alas, within minutes of starting the carbo, my tongue started tingling again, my heart started racing, and even though they were watching me and stopped it immediately, my nose swelled shut again.

*sigh*

So - I don't know if I'll ever have carbo again.  And that scares the crap out of me.  My CA 125 only went down 6 points between the last two chemo sessions, and I worry that means without the full carbo infusion, we're not beating the cancer back as much as we'd like.  I haven't re-developed acites in my abdomen, but I still have the fluid around my lungs.  I thought we had that on the run, but the last time my husband drained it, it was significantly more fluid than the previous time.  In addition to all that, I've had much more discomfort around my middle the last few weeks.

Whine whine whine.

Tomorrow I'll be having CT scans of chest, abdomen and pelvis.  So maybe we can see what is exactly going on in there.  I haven't had scans since last October, so I am very curious as to how things look.  I keep hoping that once again it'll be a scan with no new evidence of metastic disease.  Wish me luck.

I've struggled keeping a positive attitude the last couple of months.  Having fevers every time I hit those compromised immunity days every round of chemo is a double whammy of feeling like crap and worrying that the doctors are missing something when they try to figure out what is causing the fevers.  This last time I was prescribed preventative antibiotics in hopes I wouldn't have a fever.   It certainly delayed the fever, and it was just a low grade fever that only lasted a few days, but I still got a fever.  Again.

This constant feeling like crap wears on you.  It frustrates me to no end to only have a few days out of every 21 that I feel like doing anything.  I miss way more work than I'd like, but there are just some days I can't make it in.  I still feel like I'm letting down not only my boss, but my staff and faculty as well.  I've been told that some of my faculty are complaining.  But what can I do?  I'm trying my hardest to be at work as often as I can.  To get as much done while I am in the office as possible. 

I used to rarely miss work.  I rarely got sick, and I had to be pretty sick before I called in.  I wasn't the employee who called in with a sinus headache or because I had cramps.  If I called in, I was most likely running a fever or hurling.  Now I call in because I'm so fatigued I can barely function, or because I'm so nauseated from chemo I can't comprehend trying to drive into town. 

Part of this adjusting to the new normal I guess.  Trying not to assign scary meanings to every ache, pain, lump or spot.  Trying to remember that God's plan doesn't necessarily mean I'm supposed to be his example of grace under pressure - or anything worse. 

Those who know me well know that I have a strong faith in God.  During this recurrence, I've struggled holding onto that.  I've struggled with believing that there are still miracles to be had.  I want to believe that - of course I do.  But I feel like for some reason that's God's answer to my prayers might be no. 

To help with that, I've been working my way through a Beth Moore book.  A devotional of sorts.  I'll be honest - I have it on my kindle because it was free this month.  But working through it these last couple of weeks has been fascinating - giving me a different look on how my relationship with God works - and me questioning if I've been putting enough into it.

For those of y'all who don't buy into God, or who worship a different diety, feel free to move skip all this rambling of God and faith. It won't hurt my feelings a bit.  This blog is an exploration of how I'm working my way through my cancer and my life in general, so there's gonna be some God talk occasionally.

Anyhoo - that's what's going on with me.  As usual, January sucks.  My least favorite month.  Chemo again this Friday.  Not sure what they are going to do - according to my oncology nurse, we'll find out Friday.  I'm not real sure I'm ok with that,  but it doesn't seem like I have much choice.  Keep me in your thoughts, and I hope your January is going well.

I'll just be glad when it's February again.

Pretty Women

The first time I saw this, it overwhelmed me.  It was long before I was diagnosed, before I had to re-evaluate my own self-image as I have had to over the last 14 months.  But the message that Katie Makkai shared at the National Poetry Slam in 2002 was one that literally brought me to tears.

(And this was in the days before my hormones got all screwed up and I started weeping at unexpected moments and at any and all vids or commercials that include servicemen coming home to adoring children.  Jeez - that stuff gets me every time.)

I don't have daughters.  I had always hoped that my brother would have nieces for me - little versions of me with a bit of Russian thrown in from their mom.  It only seemed fair, as my eldest was the spitting image of my brother as a boy - and my youngest certainly had moments that reminded me of my brother as well.  But no - he had to go and have a boy as well.  Hmph.

Katie's message isn't just for the young women who are starting to find out who they are - and what they are pretty amazing at.  It is for all of us.  I hadn't thought about it in years, but a week or so ago, a friend from Austin posted a picture from Katie's performance with a good portion of the conclusion on it, and I remembered.  I remembered the gut reaction I had to it - so I had to go find it and watch it again.

Since then, it has come to mind in odd moments.  Such as this evening - when, as I was in the bathroom, I once again caught a glimpse of my latest self - head covered with a few wispy hairs, eyes with just a few eyelashes left and dark circles that look like some one slugged me three days ago.  I caught myself wrinkling my nose at my reflection thinking "well ain't that purdy" and heard an echo of the video above.

Will I be pretty?  Will I be pretty?  Will I be pretty?!!

Well hell.  I thought I had gotten past all that.

The thing is, it's hard to let go of vanity.  It's no wonder it's listed as one of the deadly sins - once it gets a hold of you, it doesn't want to let go.  I would love nothing better than to not glance in a mirror and start picking apart how I look now.  To not give in to that ritual of self-loathing that anorexic Victoria's Secret models with D-cup jugs have bequeathed to those us not blessed that way naturally (or monetarily). 

Some day I might have granddaughters.  I hope like hell at some point - if I'm not around to do it - that someone points them at Katie's performance above.  I wish for them a society that reveres women that have talent, intelligence and a willingness to work hard instead of those with nothing but a sex tape in their past and a willingness to do anything to be "famous" in their present.  I hope that my sons - and their wives - don't focus on them being merely pretty, but instead encourage them to be "pretty intelligent, pretty creative, pretty amazing."

But never. Merely. Pretty.

(All the credit in the world goes to the amazing Katie Makkai, who inspired this entire post and I don't know at all, but I consider an inspiration for myself - and I hope for you as well.  She is, quite simply, one of my heroes.)

I'm Sure I Don't Know WHAT You're Talking About

There are times in your life when you have to hear what I like to call "hard truths."  These are usually things you don't want to hear - either about you, or your job, or your friends, or your life, or whatever.  But they are truths that for whatever reason, need to be said.  You need to hear them.

It's never easy to hear these hard truths.  Often when you hear them, you react with anger or denial because who wants to believe something unpleasant?  Rarely are hard truths pleasant to hear - if they were, they wouldn't be hard.  It often takes a long time to absorb what you've heard.  Sometimes your denial is so firm that you won't even accept that what you have heard is a truth.  Denying it only hurts yourself, but we humans rarely want to hear - or  believe - the bad stuff.

When I finally found out that my cancer was Stage IV - that was a hard truth.  I didn't want to believe it.  After all - as soon I noticed my bloating stomach, I went to the doctor.  I had the tests run.  Surely it had been found early?  I didn't have the run around that so many ovarian cancer patients have - fighting to find a doctor that will take their symptoms, their feeling that something wasn't right seriously.  Many of them spend months or years begging health professionals to figure out what is wrong.  It's no surprise that after all that time they are diagnosed at Stage III or IV. That shouldn't have been my case, but it was.

After finding out what stage my cancer was, I did what most of us do these days - I googled it.  The statistics were terrifying.  At that point I had to accept another hard truth - I most likely would never be "cured" of ovarian cancer.  I might get to remission some day, but I would spend the rest of my most likely shortened life fighting cancer.  I should start viewing it as a chronic disease because I would never be free of it.

Ouch.  That sucked.  That's not what's supposed to happen with cancer these days, is it?  No - you're supposed to be diagnosed, have surgery/chemo, and then go into remission.  After 5 years of remission, you're supposed to be cured.  That's what so many of us that that haven't been diagnosed think.

Uh - no.  That's not how it works for a lot of cancers.  Including mine.  So I had to find a way to accept another hard truth.  I didn't like it - the truth or having to find a way to accept it and absorb it and to change my way of thinking - but I did it.  Because that is what we do as mature adults. 

I've tried to find ways to learn and grow from every hard truth I come up against.  While my health issues are the hard truths I've dealt with the most lately, I've also had to do it for hard truths at work, and with my family and friends.  Sometimes it just takes a little pouting, and ranting before I take a deep breath and start to get down to the business of processing this new knowledge.  I've tried to teach my boys the art of accepting hard truths - they're younger, so of course it's harder for them.  But I think it's important we *all* learn to hear hard truths - and to learn from them.  To not just immediately discount what we're hearing because we don't like it.


You can't tell hard truths out of meaness.  It has to come from sincerity - otherwise it's just being petty or hurtful.  You shouldn't say a hard truth unless you truly want to help that person.

(It also helps if you wait until they ask.  Blurting out a hard truth out of nowhere isn't helpful, it's hurtful.  And mean.  Like Wil Wheaton says - don't be a dick.)

What about you?  Have you had to hear a hard  truth lately?  How do you find ways to deal with those truths?  Have you had to share a hard truth?  Am I the only one who struggles with saying what has to be said?

I've had to tell people hard truths lately.  It's as hard to tell hard truths as it is to hear them.  It's not fun to tell someone something they don't want to hear, but sometimes that truth has to be said.  I hope those people take the time to really think about what they've heard.  I hope they find a way to learn and grow from it.  They might.  Then again, they might stay in denial and refuse to believe what I've shared with them.  Either way - I pray for them.  I hope they all know that I don't say hard truths out of malice.

I just want us all to do better.  To be better.  Is that so much to ask?

A Little of This, A Little of That

Yup - I'm still kicking.

I haven't blogged in awhile - partly because we have somehow lost the power cord for my laptop.  I know we put it up somewhere, but for the life of me, I can't remember where.  We just recently discovered that the cord for my husband's laptop will work on mine as well, so at least I finally got it charged again.

The other reason I haven't blogged is because I just haven't been my usual cheerful self.  Every time I thought about blogging, it was basically a whinefest, and honestly, no one wants to read that.  So instead I look through Facebook, and read other blogs, and surf through Pinterest, and basically avoid blogging.  Tonight I had to get on my laptop to look up directions for a super secret Christmas project because Yikes!  Christmas is a week away.  I figured while I was on here, might as well ramble a while.

Chemo is ongoing.  Last Friday was my third chemo, and darned if I didn't have a reaction to the carbo out of no where.  It was scary, and no fun, and totally messed up my sleep habits last weekend thanks to the extra Benedryl and extra steroids.  Now my sleep schedule is back on track, but the Neulasta shot I get after chemo to build my white cell counts is making my ankles and knees ache something fierce, so that's made it harder to sleep.  (see?  WHINEFEST!)  My next chemo is scheduled for early January, and I don't know if I'll find out before then what we're going to do about that carbo reaction.  Will they just slow the carbo infusion down? Or are we done with carbo?  What are our other options?  We found out today that no one has done anything about the appeal for the recommended chemo that was denied by my insurance.  I hate not knowing what is going on, and I'm not scheduled to see my oncologist until the same day I'm supposed to have my next round of chemo.  This is not how I planned on spending my Christmas break!

Anyhoo.  That's where we are on that.  In better news, my CA 125 has dropped down to 55, the ascites went away about a week after the first chemo, and we're draining less than 60 mls a day from around my lung.  The chemo is working, and seems to be working pretty well.  I hope we don't lose any momentum.

My oldest son recently moved back home, and we are all re-learning how to live together.  It's hard to remember that he's spent the last year or so not having to answer to anyone, or deal with a curfew.  I'm sure it's hard for him to deal with not staying out all night because his worry wart mama doesn't sleep well until he's home.  We're figuring it out.  So far we've managed to avoid any huge scream fests, so I guess it's going pretty well.  It is nice having him home.  I missed him. 

I'm so not ready for Christmas.  Well - I'm almost ready for Christmas.  I have about 85% of what I need to finish everything up and no motivation to finish it up.  I just pile all that stuff under the tree, and tell myself that tomorrow I'll wrap some presents or put some things together.  So far - no luck.  I'm running out of time though - someone convince me to get going so I'm not doing everything Christmas Eve!

My beloved husband ruined my present for him.  I was so excited - I came up with a brilliant idea of something to get him, something I knew he'd appreciate, but he hadn't thought of asking for.  I had found one at a local store, and had it stashed in my truck.  Then I came home yesterday and damned if he hadn't bought one for himself.  Men.  No idea what to get him now, plus I have to return the one I bought.  Hmph.  If anyone has any brilliant ideas what to get a man who tends to go buy the damn things I WOULD get him for Christmas, let me know.  He may end up with nothing but Christmas cookies.  Or coal.

All in all, things are pretty good.  But going through chemo really messes with my energy levels, and the temps the week after are a pain.  We are hoping that I won't have that this time.  I'm doing my best to enjoy the season.  To enjoy this time with my family and friends.  I hope you all are doing the same. 

Hairology

As I mentioned before, my hair started falling out while I was in the hospital this last time.  It hasn't been as traumatic or heartbreaking as it was the first time.  Honestly, this time it has been just annoying.  Hair is getting everywhere.  I had just had the thought a week or so ago that we were to the point that we weren't really vacuuming up much hair these days since we lost Evie so long ago.  Trust me - as thick as my hair came back, I am certainly making up for it.

I had thought to try brushing my hair out really well each morning and evening, to get all that was loose out and maybe the constant drift of hair around me wouldn't be quite so bad.  I tried that this morning before I got into the shower - hoping that maybe I wouldn't stop up the drain.  Uh - no.  So much came out while washing my hair that all I needed were a couple of little ears and a tail and I would have had a good sized mouse.  Or two.

Ew.  Totally making the hubs clean that up.

When I checked my head after my shower, I realized I now had bald spots, and gave up on the idea of waiting another day or so before having the hubs buzz it off.  Now I have returned to my little old man (only now with receding hairline!) look for the duration.  I kept waiting for the tears to come, but honestly?  I'm just glad my scalp doesn't hurt all the time!

I mentioned on Facebook that I am grateful for perspective.  When this happened last fall, I had such a hard time with it.  But this year, it just doesn't seem like that big of a deal.  Maybe it's because I know it's going to grow back.  Sure - it'll be whiter.  Maybe curlier.  Hopefully still thick.  But it grows back.  If looking like a little old man with a receding hairline is what it takes to get back into remission, so be it.  I'm down with that.

Now I have to decide for Monday - bare head with my buzz and receding hairline, or break out the scarves?  I have a feeling it will be a last minute decision.

Today I'm going to watch Mid-Size University hopefully kick some butt on the football field, and do some laundry.  The hubs wants to cook burgers on the grill one last time before it gets so cold later this week, and we might put up the last of the tomatoes as stewed tomatoes.  I also would like to go out and see what my english peas are up to today.  All in all, it's great to be out of the hospital.

Even without any hair.

Some Like it Hot

Well - hello there!

I honestly intended to blog throughout the week following my return to chemo.  I can assure you that I felt pretty darn good the day after chemo, and up to around lunchtime the day after that.  Then the Emend wore off and as Andy Taylor (the sherriff, not the hot dude in Duran Duran) used to say "whewwww doggy!"  It took me days to recover.  Just when I started to get my groove back, last Friday I started running a bit of a fever.  I was determined to attend the football game because it was Senior Night, and my son is a senior.  I did, however, convince MDH to drive us up there early so we could grab a parking spot near the fence and I could watch the game from the truck.

Saturday morning when I woke up I felt pretty good.  I had had my belly drained on Friday, so I slept wondrfully, but I was a little achy.  Like you are after having a bit of a fever.  After lunch, I encouraged MDH to go ahead and head out to the deer lease and enjoy opening weekend.  I felt fine!  There was no reason for him to hang around the house.

*sigh*

Seriously, he had been gone less than an hour when I started feeling chilled.  The first time I took my temp, it was 100. something.  I had taken a tylenol, so I gave myself 30 minutes for it to take affect, then took it again.

102.5.  Guess who had to call their hubby to come back home to take her to the hospital?  And guess who has been in the hospital since?

For the record, they ran a ridiculous amount of tests, and never figured out what caused the fever.  It was some kind of infection, because my white cell oount was elevated.  At chemo nadir.  But other than a slight fuzziness seen in an xray behind my heart that *might* have been the start of pneumonia, they haven't found anything.  After 3 1/2 days of 102 - 103 degree fevers, tylenol every six hours, and two types of IV antibiotics, the fever started going down.  As of 10 pm on day 5, I am 19 hours without a fever. I'm hoping I'll make it 24 hours, and they'll spring me tomorrow.

The best part (remember - always try to find a silver lining!) of this ordeal is getting to see so many of the wonderful oncology nurses from last year.  They actually put me in the same room I had last year after my surgery.  Some of the ones I loved have retired or moved on, but a huge number of them are still here, and it's been so much fun to see them again.  I've also met a couple of new ones that I like just as well.  Oncology nurses are awesome.

In addition to all this fun (ha!), this morning, the hair on my head started to fall out.  The first time I went through it, I cried.  This time I just laughed, rinsed my hands off and went on.  Of course, it's so very annoying that it loves to attach itself to my electronics - then I try to wipe it off and end up swiping something off my screen.  I feel for the cleaning ladies - as fast as it seems to be dropping, they might have a rug to sweep up in the morning!

I'm crossing my fingers that this week of being in the hospital doesn't push back my chemo.  Currently all my numbers are in the normal range.  If the fever is over (please please please) and non of the cultures grow any critters, I should be ok.  But the oncologist did say he'd have to see how I'm doing next week.  Keeping my fingers crossed!

So that's what is going on in my world.  I had one of my staff bring me some work that I can do up here during the day because oh.my.hell there is only so much HGTV, Food Channel and SoapNet I can stand to watch.  I've made a point to walk around the entire floor and nurses station before I let myself have anything fun from the patient nutrition room.  I'm doing much better, and I hope to hell I never again run a temp of 103 because that's no freakin fun at all!  Hoping your life has been less eventful! 

What Has To Be Done

Today, I start chemo again.

My insurance finally approved the cancer regimen I had for frontline chemo, and right now I am kicked back receiving pre- meds prior to starting carbo/taxol.

The pre-meds they give seem to make me cold. When I arrived, this room seemed to be the perfect temperature. An hour later, I've pulled out my blanket because I'm freezing. It's the meds - they're room temperature and it chills us.

The massive dose of Benedryl I was given is making me seriously sleepy. If I stop sounding coherent that's why.  They have just started the Taxol, which most likely will take 3 hours.  Since it has been so long since my last treatment, I'm supposed to pay attention to make sure I don't have a reaction to it. It's rare but it happens. I just had a hot flash and had to remind myself that those are normal.

I brought my Kindle, my phone and a book to occupy myself. But I have a feeling that I'm going to be asleep. Maybe not too long because I just started Shadow of the Hegemon and I really want to get it read.


Yup. I fell asleep for an hour and a half. I'm trying to wake up enough so when it's time to head home I can drive my car home instead of leaving it at my best friend's house overnight. no reaction which is a good think. 10 days from now my hair will start falling out again. I keep reminding myself to get a picture of my cute sassy do before it's gone.

Next up will be the carboplatin, which is what we're hoping I'm not resistant to. That will only take 30 minutes or so. I'm getting 80% of a normal dose in hopes it won't do such a number on my bone marrow.

So many have sent me support via Facebook today. To be honest, I'm always surprised and a bit humbled by what I read there. I understand in a way. Before I got sick, I never thought I'd handle it well. I hoped I would, but you never really know.  Once it happened, I just did what I had to do. And I just keep doing it. It's not anything special.  It's just doing what has to be done. Trust me - if it were you, you'd do the same. I discovered a long time ago that we're stronger than we think. I assure you - YOU are stronger than you think.  When the tough times come most of us just get 'er done.

We just started the carbo and I'm on the home stretch. I'll be home in an hour or so, and hoping that the nausea is being held off by both the pre-meds and the Zofran I'll be taking 3 times a day. I'm increasing my stool softener for the next few days so I don't get "bound up" as my grandmother used to say. It's the side effect of the pre-meds that no one talks about. The last thing I need is something turning into a partial bowel obstruction. TMI - I know. But I had to find out the hard way. I don't want that for anyone else.

So far, it's been pretty easy. It's so different than the first chemo of frontline treatment. Then I was in the hospital, after discovering I had blood clots in both lungs. This time comparatively speaking, is easy peasy.  I'm so much stronger. And just as determined to beat this crap.

Because that's what has to be done.

Not The Life I Expected

So here's the deal.

I'm definitely recurring - my CA-125 is up to 231.  Way outside of normal range.  Ascites is developing pretty severely.  Yesterday I had 3 liters drained off of my abdomen.  I am averaging about 90 mls a day in what we drain out of the space around my left lung.

Yet I have not yet started chemo.  Because of my insurance.

Look - I know they have to run a business.  And part of that is to have doctors on staff to review things like requests for approval for chemo regimens.  But they need to have doctors that are actually up on the latest developments in the various cancer treatments, and they sure as hell shouldn't be second-guessing on of the top researchers in the field.

They certainly shouldn't take nine days to deny that regimen.  And if they are going to deny that regimen, then they shouldn't take another week to approve the same regimen I was on the first time I had chemo - or request further clinical information.  Honestly folks - my doctor isn't requesting more chemo so that I can lose weight.  It's because my cancer is returning. 

That's where we are.  As of today, my insurance company still has not approved carbo/taxol for my treatment.  My CA-125 has been rising since September, and on October 2nd, nodules were felt during an exam.  Cancer is happily growing inside of me for going on two months now, and because of some random doctor at the insurance company, I don't know how much longer it will continue to run rampant.  My fear is that my most recent CT scan still didn't show any tumors, but just the ascites building, and that they will try to use that as an excuse to delay treatment.  My oncology nurse says I'm scheduled for chemo on Thursday.  I hope they approve it by then.  If it hasn't been approved by the end of business today, tomorrow I will get the name of the person they are dealing with and start calling every hour asking them what the hold up is.  Because folks - this is my life we're talking about here.

Now - before anyone tries to use this as a political issue - stop right now.  This is a health care issue, and there is no doubt in my mind that I would have had this same thing come up 6 months ago.  This is what happens when a business - such as insurance companies - decide to make health care decisions.  While I understand that they feel they are trying to control costs, they are doing so the wrong way.  I am convinced that these types of decisions cost LIVES.  There are people who will not fight with the insurance companies when this happens - I'm not one of them.  But how many people die because some general doctor makes this type of decision?  Health care decisions should be between the patient and doctor.  No one else.  NO ONE ELSE. 

It boggles my mind that this is my life now.  That I am literally going to be fighting an insurance company for my life.  How the hell did this happen?  This isn't the life I was supposed to have.  I'm supposed to be enjoying working my last four and a half years before I can retire from my job and start enjoying grandbabies.  I'm supposed to be getting my garden and flower beds ready for winter, not making sure that I'm walking around enough to prevent blood clots, and getting fluid drained off of my abdomen.   I should be still trying to convince my husband we should take a trip to Cancun, not hoping that I'll be able to go in the early spring depending on where I am with chemo treatment!

Seriously y'all - I've been had.

I can't change it.  Yet sometimes it still seems surreal.  It's hard to accept at times that I have cancer.  Cancer!  Yet I do.  Hmph.

So.  That's where we are.  I'm feeling much better since they drained the ascites off yesterday, a little sore (because ow - having a needle stuck in your side to drain fluid is ouchy even with lidocaine!).  I'm trying to not be too scared, and I'm relieved that nothing yet is showing on the scan.  But it's only a matter of time, so we need to get this show on the road.  Again - any thoughts, prayers, good vibes, etc are appreciated.    Y'all have no idea how much your love and support means to me. 

(And no - I haven't gotten any more senior citizen discounts.  Heh)

The Queen of Denial...

I've talked about my vanity before.  How I've struggled to accept the changes that cancer has brought to my appearance, my body, my self-image.  I might have mentioned once or a hundred times that my hair grew back in gray, and what isn't grey is nearly black.  And that I didn't care for it much at all.

I've enjoyed having thick hair.  Thick hair with a pretty good curl to it.  Yes - I finally got my chemo curls after all.  I just have had a hard time having gray hair.  I've gone back and forth for weeks about whether I was going to just get used to being gray-headed, or go ahead and dye my hair again.  On one hand, there's a lot to be said for growing old gracefully.  On the other hand - I'm only 48, and I'm not so sure I want to spend the rest of what life I have looking 10 years older than I really am. 

Last week I made an appointment with my hair dresser.  I wanted to get my wild locks under some kind of control - as my hair has grown back in, it has grown at different rates, leaving me with odd lengths around my head.  I intended on getting her to even things out, and let me rock a cute sassy spiky do - like I never had the guts to do back in the Before.  I still hadn't made up my mind whether or not I was going to get her to dye it for me.  After all - I'm starting back on chemo soon, and at the very least my hair will thin, if not all fall out completely. 

But then, at lunch last Friday, the cute little cashier at the local Rosa's Cantina gave me the senior citizen's discount.  On the one day when not only was I meeting my best friend for lunch, but at the next table were a couple of old friends from high school.

Seriously?  I'm FORTY-EIGHT.  I know I had a head of grey hair, but really? 

As I posted on Facebook, I was insulted that this kid (who obviously must think everyone over 40 is ancient) thought I qualified for a senior citizen discount, but not so insulted that I gave them their 79 cents back.  It's the least they could do after making me feel old.  In front of my friends!  Hmph.  (Not that my friends didn't enjoy it.  I'm pretty sure my humiliation made their day, if their laughter were anything to judge by.)

Needless to say, when I made it to the hair dressers' later that day, I most certainly did have her dye my hair.  Take that, 18 year old boy.  Not to mention former classmates and alleged best friend.

Was it an extravagance?  Absolutely.  But you know what?  I feel more like myself.  I see myself in the mirror and I no longer ask "who is that old woman?"  I don't know what grandma is doing in my house.  At a time when my belly is filling up more and more with ascites every day, I have no problem splurging a little to feel better about myself as I start a new chemo journey. 

So tonight as I sit here blogging while trying to drink my berry flavored contrast (which let's be honest here - tastes like liquid chalk with a couple of berries mixed in - blech), I'm happy with my dark brown hair with the blonde highlights and the spiky do.  When I go in to get my latest CT scan, and labs, and see my oncologist to discuss what our new treatment plan will be, I go in with the false confidence of a woman who has colored her hair.  A woman who is trying to fool herself into thinking that nothing has really changed.

Even though everything has. But I can live with that. 

Sure beats the alternative.

(And for all those who have already found the grace to accept their gray hair, I am so impressed by you.  One of these days I will join you.  Just...not yet.  Not quite yet.  I choose to live in the land of denial a wee bit longer)

The Next Step

October is a weird month for me now.

A year ago from this week, I was in the process of confirming what I already knew in my heart - that I had ovarian cancer.  I was getting ultrasounds, blood tests, CTs, and paracentesis.  My husband knew, and I told my boss so that I could explain why I was having to take so much time off all of sudden, but I didn't tell anyone else. 

Those were lonely, scary weeks.  I did my best to go on about my life as usual - I worked, went to football games, had lunch with my friends when I could, but didn't really tell them what was going on with me.  By about the middle of the month or so, I had been formally diagnosed with cancer, although the doctor couldn't tell me definitively it was ovarian until I had surgery.  But I knew. 

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  It's a huge big to-do across the national.  I'm pretty sure we all aware that breast cancer exists, and that it kills a ridiculous amount of women each year.

I knew.

I also knew in my heart I had cancer.  Once I was officially diagnosed, I remember telling my friends.  Telling my sons.  Calling and telling my parents.  Then slowly letting people I work with know what was going on, and trying to get them prepared for my being out for a few weeks.

Each time I hear of a new pink activity, I wonder why there wasn't more awareness around for ovarian cancer.  Why I didn't hear anything about it for the entire month of September - which is Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month.  Maybe if I had, I might have gone to the doctor a little earlier.  I don't know - nor will I ever know - if a month made that much difference in my staging.  When I think about when I started getting short of breath, I think it might have.

This year, I made sure the folks in my small community heard about the most basic symptoms of ovarian cancer in September.  And even though it's October, I'll still be stashing symptom cards around town.

As I said previously, we're all pretty aware of breast cancer.  We're aware of how to do breast exams, to get our yearly mammogram after we hit 40.  If all those pink ribbons raised funds towards *research* into a cure and better treatments, I would be happier.  That's what is really needed.  Research. Awareness has been achieved for that type of cancer.  Now the funds need to be funneled towards research - not the foundation's CEO's $700K salary.  Just sayin'.

Because research into any type of cancer can lead to a cure - or treatment - for another type of cancer.  The taxol that I will most likely be starting again next week was discovered while doing breast cancer research.  So let the research abound!  Right now we have a bunch of over-paid polititians holding our government - and many cancer research projects - hostage over political ideology.  I don't care which side you're on - or if you're a middle-of-the-roader as I am.  But it is ridiculous that much needed research is being held up because someone isn't getting their way.  They all need to grow the flock up.

(and that concludes my political rant for the year)(well - at least for now)

Navigating October will be weird this year - as I said - it's the month of my diagnosis and surgery.  I'm flooded with memories of last year every day - made even more surreal as I am recurring this year.  Ascites is beginning to  build up again.  My belly is starting to distend, and be uncomfortable.  I'm short of breath again - not quite as bad as last year, but certainly not the freedom of breath I had even a month ago.  I'm constantly flooded with fear that I will revert to that person who was so ill last November - the one who couldn't go up stairs, or walk very far because she was so weak.  The one who literally had to spend the day after chemo in bed because she was so sick.  I don't want to go there again. 

I was enjoying feeling better, you know?

So far I've managed to keep the anxiety attacks to a manageable level.  I don't have to take anything for them, and other than distracting me from work sometimes, they haven't incapacitated me.  But they are there.  With every twinge, every new ache, they are there.  I keep praying that they'll go away - that I'll find a graceful way to deal with all this without freaking out.  This blog and talking to my husband have been the best ways to keep me calm and focused. But my calm now is nothing to compared to what calm used to mean to me.

Everything changed.  Everything.

I know my blogs aren't all that fun to read lately.  They are full of my fear and dread, and talk about my symptoms and what's ahead.  That's what fills the mind of someone having a recurrence apparently.  It doesn't mean that that's all my life is about.  I'm still doing what I can to enjoy life.  I'm not giving up by any means.  But I write not just for myself, but for any other ovarian cancer patient out there, or their caregivers, or their loved ones - so they know that what they feel is normal.  I wish (oh man - do I ever!) it could be a blog about an ovarian cancer patient in full remission for months on end.  Apparently that isn't the story I'm meant to tell.  So I tell the story I've been given. 

And look forward to the happy ending next year ;-)

Finding Silver Linings

This is my 100th post.

It's only taken me over 6 years to get to 100!  Well - that and cancer.  Let's face it, I didn't start blogging on a regular basis again until I started fighting cancer. 

Last week, my husband and I went down to Houston for a consult at MD Anderson.  We were hoping that I might qualify for a clinical trial - we had always said if I recurred, we would go there.  So - we did.

To be honest, down deep, I hoped I would go down there, and the doctor would tell me "Don't worry!  We'll cure you!"  I know it wasn't a reasonable hope, but there it is.  Needless to say, that wasn't what he said.  He did tell us that all of their clinical trials at the moment required coming to MD Anderson weekly.  We are 9 hours away from Houston, so that wasn't an option for us.  So he told us about several different second line chemo options, and gave us his recommendation for which one he would put me on if I was being treated down there.  He is supposed to send that to my oncologist here, and I meet with him in a week or so.

I have very mixed feelings about going back on chemo.  On one hand, I'm ready to start doing something before the cancer gets any worse.  My ascites in my abdomen is starting back up, and the fluid around my left lung is increasing.  The doctor in Houston was able to actually feel nodules during my physical exam.  I don't like sitting here knowing that it's growing unchecked at the moment, gnawing away at my insides like a rat that's found its way into a bag of grain.

That doesn't mean that I'm excited about being on chemo again.  Although this new regimen is supposed to be less harsh on my body - not as much nausea, I might not even lose my hair although it may thin - fatigue is supposed to be a big side effect.  I don't feel like I have that much energy right now, so that's a worry.  And any nausea is going to suck.

I try to look for silver linings.  While nausea sucks, maybe then I'll lose some of this weight I've gained back since I was able to eat everything again.  My hair came in so thick that a little thinning will probably just make it look like it did before I lost it all.  One of the new chemo drugs is supposed to work well on ascites, so that should go away quickly, and maybe I'll even get to where I can get this last catheter out. 

Most of all, I can continue to fight this lousy disease off.  Maybe - because I'm Stage IV - I can't be cured.  But as long as I can fight, I can live with stable disease.  I can learn to live with cancer. 

On the home front, my youngest was nominated for homecoming court this year.  While he wasn't elected king, we still got a kick out of him being nominated.  He looked very handsome at the pep rally last week, and he managed to make his mama both cry and laugh within two minutes.  I'm so glad I'm still here to enjoy his senior year. I'm bummed however, that every. single.one of the pictures I took of him at the pep rally were blurry.  My only hope is that the mom of the girl he was paired with will share her pictures!

The garden is winding down.  I'm happy to report that I indeed get 1st place in the biggest watermelon contest at the fair this year.  Our entry was 40 pounds, and I'm already plotting how to grow one even bigger next year.  But there is one goal met, eh?  We didn't get as many potatoes this year as we did last year, but we did get some.  The black eyed peas are just about dead, and the green beans are debating how much longer they're willing to put out.  Our cantaloupes, after producing a ridiculous amount of large tasty melons, suddenly died out in about 3 days...some sort of powdery mildew looking stuff wiped them out.  I almost ate so much cantaloupe that I got sick of it.  Almost.  I've always loved cantaloupe.  We did have to share with friends - when you are picking 7 or 8 large cantaloupe a day, there's no way you can eat it all. 

We still have a few watermelons we need to eat, and our peas and snow peas are growing quite well.  We noticed yesterday that the peas are blooming and making peas, so I'm really looking forward to having fresh peas in a few weeks.  If you've never had fresh peas from the garden, you have no idea what you're missing!

So - wish me luck as I start this whole crazy battle up again.  I'll take any prayers, good wishes, happy thoughts and positive energy you can spare.  Because I'm not ready to give up by any means.

I'm determined I'm going to live with cancer.  Whether cancer likes that or not.  Bring it, bitch. 

I ain't skeered.  (much)

What Boys Are Made Of

"Snakes and snails, and puppy dog tails - that's what little boys are made of."

Trying to figure out what to blog - and when to blog it - is a ongoing struggle.  There are things going on that I'm not comfortable sharing with the world at large - much of it having to do with my family.  I try to remember that just because I have cancer doesn't meant that they should lose their privacy.  My husband has been very supportive of my writing here, but I think my boys struggle with it.

They're at difficult ages - 18 and 20.  They are dealing with something I never had to face at their ages - the prospect of possibly losing their mom to cancer.  I don't know how to help them deal with it as I have no experience at that age to draw on.  As they have gone through other things growing up, I always had *something* that I could draw on - but this?  I'm clueless.

My mom is still alive and well and healthy.  My dad as well.  My beloved Aunt Linda passed away when I was in my mid-twenties, and let's face it - we're a lot more grown up and settled at 24 or 25 than we are at 18 or 20.  At 18 and 20 we are still trying to figure out who we are, and what we want to do with our lives, and how we want to do that.  Those are tough things to figure out - and I would imagine even tougher to really think about when your mind keeps turning to "my mom is sick...my mom might die...my mom is better! my mom's cancer is coming back..." 

We have offered counseling to both of them.  But they are boys, raised in redneck country, and I get the feeling that they feel like it wouldn't be "manly" or something if they went.  So as far as I know, they talk about it with their friends, and I hope and pray that it's enough.  And I hope and pray that if they need more, that either one of them will feel comfortable enough to come to me or their dad and ask.

I get the impression from them that they are tired of mom worrying about them so much.  Both do their best to reassure me when they can that they are fine, that they are handling the chaos that comes with a parent with cancer just fine.  Being just 18 and 20, they can't begin to understand the love that a parent has for a child.  They just can't - no more than I could until I had children of my own.  They think I'm worrying unnecessarily.  The love of a parent for a child cannot be explained to someone who doesn't have children - either of the body or of their heart - it doesn't matter.  It's just a different kind of love.  It can be overwhelming at times - for the parent as well as the child.  And it is oh-so-hard to let that child go out there and make their own decisions and choices.

But we have to - the whole idea is to raise them so they are able to make it on their own someday.  I have to trust that everything their dad and I tried to teach them over the last 18 and 20 years will find fertile ground in their hearts.  I have to trust in their choices, even if those choices might not be *my* choices.  I won't lie - it's hard - so very hard.  It's doubly hard when you're aware that you might not be around when they finally get it all together.  That you might not see them finish college, find a career that they love, marry, or have children of their own.

Sometimes that is what hurts the most - the possibility that I might never know my own grandchildren.  I am almost positive that I'll never know my own great-grandchildren.  It pisses me off.  Except for my grandmother who passed away from ovarian cancer in her 50's, the rest of my relatives were fairly long-lived.  My dad's father is in his 90's and still kickin'.  I had every expectation of living to be a sorta sweet little old lady, spoiling her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  Now?  I'm not so sure.

So I try to trust in our raisin' of them.  I pray for them every chance I get.  I try to be available to them in case they want to talk - and if they aren't comfortable talking to me, or their dad, I'm supportive of them talking to anyone else that might help them get through all this. But most of all - I just try to love them without smothering them.  It's hard to do when you don't know if you'll have months or years or decades to show them how much you love them.  I just hope for the best.  I hope that what they are made of is strong stuff.

And maybe - just maybe - if all of y'all reading this can drop a prayer to the deity of your choice, maybe my boys will be ok.

It's not too much to ask, is it?  

Being Aware

I haven't written lately.  Here it is, September, Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month, but I haven't written.  I should have.  I should have been writing about the things I've been trying to do to raise awareness for ovarian cancer - making bracelets, having an awareness get together at my office for other ladies in my college, attending the Teal Out pep rally at my son's school and speaking, getting his school to have an ovarian cancer awareness football game, raising funds for ovarian cancer research, and even getting that game mentioned on the local news. 

It's been crazy busy, and so gratifying.  Thanks to some help from wonderful ladies at work and in Hicksville, we raised over $500 for ovarian cancer research.  Seeing everyone wearing the Team Teal tshirts for the pep rally and game just about undid me.  My son's speech at the pep rally literally brought me (and just about every other mama there) to tears.  So why haven't I been blogging about all this as I went?

Because my CA-125 went up. 

I'm no longer considered in partial remission.  At my check up at the end of August, it had gone up to just a few points over normal.  When we re-tested last week, it jumped another 26 points.  Scans have been done, and those were clear (woohoo!) so whatever is going on in there is smaller than a centimeter.  But something is going on.

Recurrence less than 6 months from the end of chemotherapy indicates platinum resistance.  And that makes my cancer a little harder to treat.  I have an appointment with my oncologist this coming week and we'll know more then. 

I've always known that recurrence was a real possibility for me.  Those of us with ovarian cancer that don't recur are the exception.  In a way, I had been preparing for that since the beginning.

I just hoped it would be a little later on, you know?

When I first learned that my count went up again, I spend my afternoon worrying about what it meant, then came home and broke down.  I try to keep a brave front going the majority of the time, but sometimes you just need to let it all out.  So that evening, while my son was at band practice and my husband wasn't yet home from work, I wept and wailed and felt sorry for myself.  My poor husband came home when I was almost done, and he did his best to comfort me.  To be honest, I'm not sure I really wanted to be comforted at that point.  I wanted to just take the time to feel bad, to mourn my dreams of a long first remission, to find some way to come to terms of what this first recurrence will mean for me 

Does that make me selfish?  Whiny?  Maybe.  I think sometimes those of us with cancer feel like we have to be so damn brave and noble all the time.  You know what?  I didn't want to be brave. Or noble or a freakin' inspiration for anyone.  I just wanted to be healthy.  I just wanted to not have any freakin' cancer, damit.

Being an inspiration is over-rated y'all.  You know what you have to do to be an inspiration?  Have something god-awful happen to you.  So. Not. Worth. It.  If I had my druthers, I much rather be a nobody.

But we don't get to pick and choose with cancer.  Oh sure - some cancers are directly related to lifestyle choices you've made.  With ovarian cancer, not so much.  It most likely was destined to be because of who my family was.  Since it's so hard to detect, and there is no screening, it's just the luck of my draw. 

Just when my hair gets long enough that I start thinking of getting it shaped and colored, it may end up falling out again.  Or it may not - depending on when my doctors decide it's time to go back on chemo, and on what chemo they decide to do.  Luckily there are lots of different treatments out there, even for us most-likely platinum resistant folk.  This is no where near the end, but just a new chapter.  And I am gearing up to kick cancer's butt - again.

So that's what's going on with me. 

Out here in the boonies, the tomatoes are finally ripening, so I've been making hot sauce and canning it, as well as canning green beans and black eyed peas.  The cantaloupe is finally ready, and they are HUGE and oh so tasty.  I tell ya - west Texas grows some awesome cantaloupe.  We grow an heirloom variety and save the seeds.  If you are ever wondering what a good heirloom cantaloupe variety is to grow in this area, we highly recommend Hale's Best.  We literally have to use the largest 18 quart Tupperware bowl to keep it in, as many of them are nearly a foot long.  Since you can't really can cantaloupe, we are eating it with every meal, as well as enjoying fresh green beans, peas and tomatoes.

We are already eying a couple of our watermelons - we'll have to decide later this week which one is the biggest so we can enter it in the fair.  Last year, before I got sick, one of our watermelon's got third in the biggest watermelon contest.  This year, our volunteer (as usual) watermelon is a different variety, and those suckers are getting big.  I'm hoping for first this year!  I'll also be entering one of my jars of jelly because it was so darn pretty. 

The chickens went on an egg laying strike last week.  We're not really sure what their problem is.  I suggested to the hubs that we inform them that fall is a great time to put chicken in the freezer if they're not fulfilling their egg-laying duties.  I'm not sure why he keeps rolling his eyes at me.  It started when I began referring to the cow as Lactation. Wait until he hears that I've named the roosters Fricasse, Nuggets, and Fried.  Heh.

Tonight I'm watching some pre-season hockey, after enjoying some college football earlier in the week.  Our Mid-Size University has a new coach this year, and he's been doing really well so far.  It's fun to watch those games again.  Unfortunately, Hicksville lost their game last Friday.  My son took it very hard, but we were playing the #3 ranked team in the state.  To me - the fact that we had such a great response to the Team Teal concept made it a win in my book.  As I've said before - Hicksville folk are awesome.  I love their heart.  I'm so glad we moved out here.

It's good - this Living in Hicksville.  I intend to keep on doing it.

Oh No He Di'n't...

Dear Daddy Longlegs -

WTH dude?  I thought we had come to an accord?  You stay in the high corners of the ceiling, and eat all of the flies and gnats and skeeters you and your family can handle, and I would leave you alone to complete all that circle of life shit.  And it was working - I left you alone.   Let your little wispy webs exist high up and out of way where I can't see them, and only my mother-in-law looks.  She only comes down once every three years, so we were good.  We were happy.

So why the HELL would you choose last night as the time to weave a web across the doorway to the living room?  AT FACE LEVEL????

Buddy.  It is ON.

Remember Bill Murray's character on Caddyshack?  He is my hero.  I will clean every corner, every crack, every crevice in my house to avenge myself of having to start my day doing the heebie jeebie dance after walking through that.  I am not above delving into the use of chemicals to make sure that my house will be web free. If it comes to using explosives, I'm not afraid.  You betrayed me.  And you. Will. Pay.

I know what you're thinking.  You're sitting up there in the corner laughing, thinking there is no way I can obliterate all of your many children and grandchildren.  You see all of my husband's cutter and think there is no way I can thoroughly clean you all out.  You underestimate who you are dealing with here.  I'm a Taurus.  We invented stubborn.  Not to mention determined.  Have you not been paying attention this last year?  I beat CANCER bitch.  I can take out an army of spiders.

IN MY SLEEP!!

So I advise you get your webby ass out of my house.  You have until Saturday.   After that?

Bring it.

Two Down...

Today I had one of my pleural catheters removed.

Last November, I had two pleural catheters put in when they installed my chemo port.  They did this because I had so much fluid around my lungs it was hard to breathe.  For a long time, we had to drain every day.  Then, as I went through chemo, the fluid lessened, and we went to draining every other day, then every three days.  Sometime last spring, the fluid around my right lung reduced to the point that I've only been draining that side once a week.  A few weeks ago, it became obvious that we just weren't getting anything measurable out of that side.  So - today the surgeon removed it.

Last November, when I got out of the hospital, I had 3 tubes in my body (I also had an abdominal drain that was removed several months ago).  I was weak and could barely walk.  I couldn't sleep without being on an incline.  Hell - until we got a hospital bed installed at home, I slept in my recliner.  I was on IV nutrition twice.  And at times, I wondered if I would ever get back to normal.

Well - normal isn't what it used to be.  But I'm down to one tube.  I have hopes that someday I won't have any tubes.  That's what awesome in my world today.

It's been crazy busy at work lately, and this probably wasn't the best time to have to take a day off.  But I wanted that tube out so badly, even though I knew it would make my job a little bit more crazy tomorrow.  I have another oncology visit on Thursday, and that doesn't help matters.  But it is so worth working a couple more 11 hour days to be a step closer to tubeless.

I attended a cancer support group this month, and I found that to be really helpful.  I'm not sure why hearing the stories of a bunch of stage III and IV survivors helped me so much, but it did.  I even met another ovarian cancer survivor - one that has many years of remission.  If anyone out there is wondering if they should go to one of those meetings - do.  It's worth it.  The next meeting is on my son's birthday, so I'll miss that one, but I'm looking forward to the one after that.

Next month is Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month.   A week or so ago, one of my staff was sweet enough to nominate me to win a cake from a professional bakery on Facebook, and we won!  I've requested an awareness cake.  September 5th is my son's birthday, the 6th is National Wear Teal Day, so we're going to have a little teal event at work with that cake.  If there's anything left, then I guess J gets a teal cake for his birthday.  (Oh I kid.  I'll get him his own cake, or big cookie or whatever he wants.  He's turning 18.  18!!)

On the 13th, Hicksville's football team will be wearing teal athletic tape, and I will be sitting at the booster club table, handing out symptom cards and selling bracelets to raise awareness.  A sweet Hicksville lady has designed a teal tshirt that we're going to sell so folks can wear them to the game, and raise a little more money for ovarian cancer research.  On the 14th, I'm hosting a "Teal Fest" at my house to raise a little more.  No idea exactly what we're going to do that evening, but there will be wine and good food, and good company.  Well - I hope good company! 

I probably won't raise thousands of dollars.  I may not even raise hundreds.  I'm starting small with this fundraising thing.  It's a brand new thing to me.  But I feel like I have to.  Like I'm almost being called to.  It's like I figure maybe this is why I got cancer - maybe this is why I survived when so many don't.  I could be just fooling myself, but I've always thought if I can make any kind of difference from what I went through, it'll be worth it.  One way or another.

In other news, Fricasse and the rest of the chickens have finally stopped sitting on their eggs.  Eventually we'll get the two different breeds we have separated.  Wilbur, the wild hog we attempted to raise to adulthood, gave in to the heat.  We are so not hog breeders.  Lactation and her pregnancy seems to be progressing well, but we noticed this evening that she's developed a pretty bad limp.  We're not sure what happened to her and we're hoping that it's not too serious.

The garden is doing very well - we're starting to get some tomatoes, eating green beans during the week, and I actually canned some black-eyed peas last weekend.  Good Lord willing, we should have home grown cantaloupe to eat before too much longer, and I've got my eye on this year's entry into the biggest watermelon competition at the fair.  Last year I got third.  I'm aiming for first this year!  I also made grape jelly a few weeks ago that was turned out *gorgeous* - so I'm going to enter that in the fair too.  Winning the bell pepper division last year turned me into a fair ribbon junkie.

All in all - just another fine day in the boonies. 

Contemplating the Mundane

The last two days have been lovely out in Hicksville.  I've woken up to temps in the 60's, rain yesterday and clouds today.  It makes it so much more pleasant to pull grass and weeds in the garden.  This morning I was pulling wheat from the hay around my potato plants.  I pull it, twist the roots off and feed it to Lactation.  She loves getting something besides dried hay and the tops of weeds.  Yes, it's a pain to have to pull the wheat when you use wheat straw as mulch, but taters seem to grow so much better mulched in like that.  The only sounds were my roosters crowing and the neighbor's donkeys braying.  A peaceful contemplative morning.

I'm not going to church these days - not because I have anything against church, but because I only have so much time to work in the garden.  It's too hot in the afternoons and evenings, so Saturday and Sunday mornings have to do.  I do my talking to God during these mornings in the garden, praying for my loved ones, my friends, and in general.  I miss seeing everyone at church, but it doesn't feel right to go to Family Night when I haven't been to church in weeks. Once it cools off, I'll be back.

I had my followup with my new gyn on Friday.  I didn't realize how nervous I was about that visit until I heard her tell me "I don't feel any masses, or nodules.  As a matter of fact, everything feels normal.  No enlarged lymph nodes, nothing."  The wave of relief that washed over me made me realize just how much worry lives at the back of my mind. 

I'm grateful to be feeling so well.  To be able to make jelly and freeze corn, to weed and harvest my garden, to shell black eyed peas and snap green beans.  Still haven't gotten into the swing of cleaning the house every week, but I do keep up with laundry for the most part.  I know I'm lucky, and every day is a gift.  But it's so hard to stop worrying.  To wonder at every ache or twinge. 

To try and keep my mind off of worrying, I'm trying to be more pro-active.  I'm working to get the only home game in September designated Ovarian Cancer Awareness night.  The coach has agreed to have the boys wear teal athletic tape.  The booster club has agreed to let me sit at their table and hand out symptom cards.  I'm thinking of selling ribbons or bracelets or something to raise some funds for ovarian cancer research.  While at my new gyn's office, she told me that someone from my surgeon's office was organizing a Ovarian Cancer Walk that I'm thinking of participating in.  It won't cure me, but at least I feel like I'm doing *something*.  And maybe, just maybe, there will be some woman who reads the symptom card I'll be handing out and recognizes that she might want to see her gyn the next week instead of assuming that there's nothing to worry about it.

I tried a counseling session, and I'm just not sure that's what I need.  This week I plan on going to a cancer survivor support group meeting - hoping that talking with others that have gone through what I have will help.  I haven't had as many blue days, but they still crop up.  It may end up just being part of my new normal, but I'll attend that support group meeting just in case. 

What seems to help the most is talking with my friends, my husband.  I seem to head to that blue state when I'm not talking to people, trying to be "brave" or "tough."  I do better talking about things, and not dwelling with might have beens.  I'm also learning to ration my time on Inspire.com. Too much time there has me wondering when I will recur, instead of wondering if. 

It's the busiest month of the year at work, and after a full day there, I'm not always in the mood to do much when I get home.  I tell myself day after day I'm going to blog when I get home, but most days I just want to rest when I get here.  So far the hubs isn't minding being the one to make supper most days, but I'm not sure how much longer that will last.  One of these days I'm going to get organized again.  Really!

Until then, it's mornings in the garden, and waiting for football to start up again.  Mid-Size University has a new coach, and we can't wait to see what he can do.  Hicksville football is in two-a-days and my youngest has decided to play his senior year.  Senior mom and dad shirts are ordered already, and we're ready for our friday night lights. 

Just like normal people.