In Jean-Paul Sartre's work, Existentialism is a Humanism, I found the words:
"...man first of all exists, encounters himself, surges up in the world – and defines himself afterwards."
Take a good minute or two and let that sink in.
And my friend, John Bon Jovi mentioned something of similar lines...
"you live for the fight when that's all that you've got."
Yes, I just compared Sartre in a roundabout way to Bon Jovi. I feel like if I explain, I will weaken my association. But, to keep from being called crazy, here goes...
I was thinking yesterday about how I existed all of these years, but only really LIVED for the past two. I know I can dig up all sorts of quotes on finding myself and taking risks, but that's not really the point. I have been around for thirty years, there's no doubt. It's these constant encounters with myself--the grit and glitter that I am made of-- this is when I finally figure out what defines me.
I am not saying I felt this inspirational all weekend. In fact, I had a HARD time. The exhaustion is setting in, and I have moments where I want to sob. I am so tired of being so tired, and extremely exhausted from keeping all the plates spinning in the air.
"This is the good type of cancer to have."
"There's a great chance of no recurrence."
"If you can be sick, this is what you would want."
Excuse me, but who the hell says this stuff?!?
I know people are trying to be comforting in their own strange way, but I don't tell a person in a wheelchair "at least you don't have your legs chopped off!" And I don't tell people with disfiguring scars from catastrophic events, "at least you are still alive."
Because I know that these words are ridiculous, and don't validate the pain they feel. It also doesn't validate the struggle they are enduring, and maybe this is me entering the "angry" phase of grief.
And this is where Bon Jovi comforted me, this morning while getting ready for work. They were on the rotation for Shower Music, and I took a good look in the mirror when I heard the words "you live for the fight when that's all that you've got."
And that's exactly how I am feeling right now. I am in this because I have nothing left. And as my friend pointed out very bluntly today... "it's better than the alternative..."
And I wanted to hug her, and thank her for not sugar-coating it. :-)
I have thought a lot about my purpose in life, about why I was sent here and what I am supposed to do before I leave. I am not saying I am getting all my affairs in order, but I do want to make my moments with people count. Heck, none of us knows when our time is over. I just got a bigger jolt of this reality.
Right now, I feel like these strange and terrible events in my life have been my "surging up in the world." Each event, both during and after the encounter, defines me. I guess I'd like to think that my grief and struggle are forming me into a tough cookie. But not too tough--when you see the world, and all of it's beauty, and wonder how many more sunrises you will see in your life, I dare you not to shed a tear.
I was talking to a student the other day about the speech she will be giving at the Awards Night, as well as at graduation. I told her about a song that came out around graduation time when I graduated high school. It was entitled, "Everybody's Free to Wear Sunscreen." If you haven't heard it, it was written based on a speech to a graduating class, and it gave all the wisdom one older person wanted to share with the youth. I have attached a clip below:
http://youtu.be/sTJ7AzBIJoI
I have always known that I wanted to teach two things to my students--first, to encourage them to take risks and go out and find things they are passionate about. The second thing is to not be afraid to love people around you, and tell them how you feel. People are so ready to tell people negative things, and to crush dreams of those around them. There aren't many people out there that are itching to take risks, make mistakes, and love the people around them without fear of being hurt.
After watching the video, and reminiscing of my youth, I decided I wanted to write something to my seniors (and juniors really, because they need to hear this). These students have been with me for almost two years, and I hope they've learned SOMETHING through their time with me. Graduating high school is quite a big deal--it's the start of opportunities, risks, and LIFE. I kind of feel like I am sitting on the other side, thirteen years later, looking back and seeing what really mattered.
So, my project for the next week is to write my words of wisdom. Will they listen to it all? I hope that it strikes a nerve with them, or at least that it's something they tuck away for later (to see if I was right!). Regardless, now is the time to tell them how fantastic they are, how much possibility lies before them, and that most of the mistakes they make really won't matter in the end.
It seemed like a daunting task, but then I thought to myself:
"If I can bring Bon Jovi and Sartre together, I think I can handle this..."
:-)
Monday, April 29, 2013
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Almost Three Weeks
I guess I wrote the title out of exasperation...
It's been almost three weeks since my surgery, and since my life has been turned upside-down. I was told it would be 7-14 days before I felt like returning to work, but that was before they uncovered the cancer diagnosis, and started me on all this other plan.
From the surgery, I can say that my scar has healed VERY nicely! This picture was taken this past Sunday, which was 17 days post-surgery.
Calcium Update: It seems that my body just doesn't want to get normal with the calcium! I have had the hardest time regulating it. We've had it go up, then shoot back down twice. That was even while I was INCREASING the amount of calcium supplements. I hope I have some relief soon- the twitching and muscle cramps are wearing me out.
The thyroid hormones were stopped yesterday, and I am really hoping that the yucky feeling I was having today wasn't my hormones already giving me trouble. I was supposed to get at least a few days of calm before the storm. I try to relax and realize that everyone is different, but the general consensus is that this will be a ROUGH period. I will be extremely tired, I will have muscle and body aches, I will be foggy and forgetful, and I will probably be moody. I hate it, because I know that I don't deserve to be tired and miserable, and the people around me don't deserve to hear me gripe. In a perfect world, I would be able to disappear for part of the time to stay out of people's hair. In the next few weeks, if you encounter me, consider giving me a hug or doing something nice like that. Chances are, I'll need it.
Work: I love my job, and I usually like the end of the year. This is the chance to do some fun things with the kids, and work on things for next year. I feel bad that the students won't get me at my best. I am grateful that I will be there to see everything at the end of the year, but I also feel bad that their last days of seeing me will be when I feel like death. I will try my best to keep a perky demeanor with them. We will see how that works...
I guess over the past few days, I have tried my best not to really think about things. It's been tiring to deal with everything, and I permitted myself a break from it all. In fact, while I was riding in the car with Robin to a dinner, I finally started talking about this whole ordeal again. I don't want to rehash things every day, but it does take time to process. I was grateful to her for talking with me--there are moments that hit me when I least expect it. I am hoping this feeling is normal. During these times, I feel this sudden dread that all of this stuff is happening whether I like it or not, and I feel absolutely and utterly helpless. There are no other words to describe the feeling that I am racing toward a wall, and there's no way to put on the brakes. I know in the end it all works out, but I also don't know what "works out" means in this situation.
I think I had mentioned this before, but I had the kids' photos made for their "birthday" time of year. We had my niece and nephew in town, and it was a good chance to get photos of all of them together. This was about two weeks before the surgery. The sad thing is in the madness of getting four children to look at the camera, I missed the opportunity to get a photo of just me and the kids. I remember coming home from the hospital, a few days after the surgery and everything, and sobbing in the shower. I came to the realization that I missed having a photo with the kids--a photo now will have my scar. And then I also had a brief flirtation with the idea of "what if something happened to me, and the kids didn't have a good picture with me?" That's not a great thought to have in the shower. Or ever.
Here's a shot of my beautiful children (taken by their Aunt Jessi):
So, in the next few weeks, I am going to try to get some good photos of me with the kids. Though I missed the opportunity to get GOOD photos of me and the kids, I can get a bunch of snapshots to fill that void.
And now, because my body cannot keep up any longer, I am going to bed EARLY. I will update more tomorrow, once I find out what's happening with my calcium levels. Wish me luck!
It's been almost three weeks since my surgery, and since my life has been turned upside-down. I was told it would be 7-14 days before I felt like returning to work, but that was before they uncovered the cancer diagnosis, and started me on all this other plan.
From the surgery, I can say that my scar has healed VERY nicely! This picture was taken this past Sunday, which was 17 days post-surgery.
Calcium Update: It seems that my body just doesn't want to get normal with the calcium! I have had the hardest time regulating it. We've had it go up, then shoot back down twice. That was even while I was INCREASING the amount of calcium supplements. I hope I have some relief soon- the twitching and muscle cramps are wearing me out.
The thyroid hormones were stopped yesterday, and I am really hoping that the yucky feeling I was having today wasn't my hormones already giving me trouble. I was supposed to get at least a few days of calm before the storm. I try to relax and realize that everyone is different, but the general consensus is that this will be a ROUGH period. I will be extremely tired, I will have muscle and body aches, I will be foggy and forgetful, and I will probably be moody. I hate it, because I know that I don't deserve to be tired and miserable, and the people around me don't deserve to hear me gripe. In a perfect world, I would be able to disappear for part of the time to stay out of people's hair. In the next few weeks, if you encounter me, consider giving me a hug or doing something nice like that. Chances are, I'll need it.
Work: I love my job, and I usually like the end of the year. This is the chance to do some fun things with the kids, and work on things for next year. I feel bad that the students won't get me at my best. I am grateful that I will be there to see everything at the end of the year, but I also feel bad that their last days of seeing me will be when I feel like death. I will try my best to keep a perky demeanor with them. We will see how that works...
I guess over the past few days, I have tried my best not to really think about things. It's been tiring to deal with everything, and I permitted myself a break from it all. In fact, while I was riding in the car with Robin to a dinner, I finally started talking about this whole ordeal again. I don't want to rehash things every day, but it does take time to process. I was grateful to her for talking with me--there are moments that hit me when I least expect it. I am hoping this feeling is normal. During these times, I feel this sudden dread that all of this stuff is happening whether I like it or not, and I feel absolutely and utterly helpless. There are no other words to describe the feeling that I am racing toward a wall, and there's no way to put on the brakes. I know in the end it all works out, but I also don't know what "works out" means in this situation.
I think I had mentioned this before, but I had the kids' photos made for their "birthday" time of year. We had my niece and nephew in town, and it was a good chance to get photos of all of them together. This was about two weeks before the surgery. The sad thing is in the madness of getting four children to look at the camera, I missed the opportunity to get a photo of just me and the kids. I remember coming home from the hospital, a few days after the surgery and everything, and sobbing in the shower. I came to the realization that I missed having a photo with the kids--a photo now will have my scar. And then I also had a brief flirtation with the idea of "what if something happened to me, and the kids didn't have a good picture with me?" That's not a great thought to have in the shower. Or ever.
Here's a shot of my beautiful children (taken by their Aunt Jessi):
So, in the next few weeks, I am going to try to get some good photos of me with the kids. Though I missed the opportunity to get GOOD photos of me and the kids, I can get a bunch of snapshots to fill that void.
And now, because my body cannot keep up any longer, I am going to bed EARLY. I will update more tomorrow, once I find out what's happening with my calcium levels. Wish me luck!
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
My Outlook
Well, it has been the better part of a week before I posted. I have actually attempted to make this post two different times, but never completed it.
On Friday, I visited the doctor and learned that he removed the one cancerous tumor. He said my chances of survival were pretty good, and I will be getting radioactive iodine treatment. He was pretty casual about it, but I made it to the hospital before the nurse called me. My calcium levels were still low, so I was getting my blood drawn AGAIN. I hated that the people at the hospital now knew me by name...
I was told that the endocrinologist wanted to see me Monday morning. They wanted me in QUICKLY. I agreed (because I didn't have a choice), got my blood drawn and headed back to work. I started feeling progressively worse as the day went on, and at about 2pm the nurse called to tell me that my calcium levels were as low as when I had problems in the hospital. I could tell something was up, because my muscles were twitching, I had terrible cramps in my legs, and my face was shuddering. They adjusted my supplementation again, and I went home to rest.
I will say I barely made it home. I felt absolutely miserable. I don't remember much of the night, other than talking to a friend for a long time. He did a good job of distracting me from my discomfort. I called the doctor, and he told me to take more meds. I went to bed finally, hoping everything would sort itself out.
The weekend was easy-going. On Saturday, we had a tea party for Carly's guest (a friend from school). By Sunday, I didn't leave bed except to make a cake in the morning. I was absolutely drained, and there was barely enough energy to eat. If I could have operated from bed, I would have been happier. I was a bit worried about how the week would go if I felt this bad on the weekend!
Monday came around, and I had to move the appt because of a work meeting. I arrived in the afternoon, to find that there was definitely cause to remove the thyroid. There were multiple nodules that looked strange, and the cancerous mass. I knew I did the right thing, but it helped to have more people back me up. They told me my schedule for the radioactive iodine, and went over how the withdrawal of thyroid hormones would work.
I told the doctor that I had gone through hypothyroidism before, and I knew what it was like. She laughed... HARD. She told me she saw and heard about my symptoms, but that my levels were never significantly below the appropriate level. In short: she told me this was going to be BAD. She said I had a great outlook, but to prepare myself for the worst. I was going to have ZERO energy, muscle pain, hair issues, my voice might get weird, and I will be moody. Very, very moody.
I took notes, and headed home. Well, actually I headed BACK to the hospital to give them MORE blood, then headed home. As I walked into the hospital, I saw on the news that there had just been a bombing at the Boston Marathon. I remember looking at the news, and wondering if this was a sign of some sort. It seems like there's always something, and it saddens me to think that there's so many people that don't value how precious life is.
I got home and intended to write about the experiences. I had been trying to write for the past few days. I guess my body finally became less vigilant, and was finally able to rest. I also tried desperately at work to get a lot done, because I knew once the medication withdrawal started, it was going to be a rough road. It would be better to get everything done, then I could sit back and enjoy the end of the year.
I'd like to say it's been easy the past few days, since I am recovering nicely. In reality, I barely get home from work, and am in miserable pain. I make it home wincing in pain to get through the doors of the house, and it's a battle to get everything done for the evening. I am just praying for Friday to get here QUICKLY.
Last night, before I fell asleep, I was thinking about the future. I thought about plans to get me through the summer, plans of what would ideally happen in the next year, and even where I wanted to be in the next ten years (the purpose of this blog). I also realize that I am a fantastic planner, and wanted to have plans around for things "just in case." I guess the fact that I can even write about all of this without crying tells me I have a certain level of detachment that is necessary to cope with all of this mess. I am definitely not saying things will go bad--I just realize that the POSSIBILITY is out there.
I also thought about my friend Scarlett, and how she told me this is one more thing I will conquer. I thought about all of the stuff I've been through- attack, TBI and long recovery (wheelchair to walking and running), abusive relationship and getting OUT, raising two kids on my own while working and trying to normalize their life, even surviving an attack in college. Suffice it to say, if I come to it, I will go through it. I guess cancer would inevitably make its way onto that list. Gee, when I look at the list, I can see why I intimidate men. ;-)
I'm not as verbose today as I was last week (can you imagine? this is short for me!). Tonight, I have a lot of thoughts swirling in my head. I know that I need to sort through these before I can write, but I also wanted to let you know where things stand.
I have yet to tell my friend Jere about this situation. I am usually quick to tell him about everything. I just don't want him to worry, because he is an oncologist. He has dealt with great success stories, and he's had terrible stories to tell. I have always wanted to be one of the good stories he tells. :-)
Alex lost his first tooth last night. I was so excited, because he has been looking forward to this milestone for weeks now. I felt a twinge of anxiety, because I saw how important it was to see this milestone. I had already been fully aware of these special moments, because I wondered how some people would choose to miss them! I realized that now he's losing a tooth, and won't be my baby boy for much longer. He'll be graduating kindergarten, sailing through grade school, and will be graduating in 2025. It won't be long before he has his career and family. And I hoped and prayed to God, in the ten seconds it took me to think of all of this, that I would be there to get the call from my grandchild, telling me he lost his first tooth! It's moments like these when I realize that a lot of great can come of my life. I also realize it is terrible precious and fragile, and I need to enjoy it while I can.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well. -Psalm 139:14
This has been a Psalm that's been on my mind quite a bit lately. I am mystified at my life, and I know my friend Robin talks about how I can make hugging a trucker in a parking lot sound magical. I am so grateful I have that ability, and can see the amazing in the ordinary. It makes me appreciate really how much awe and amazing is created in every moment, and I am grateful for all of these experiences that have added so much to my life. Our trips around the sun are really too few, no matter how many years we get. They key to all of this is finding a rich life, and appreciating that we are fearfully and wonderfully made, no matter what our religious path. No matter what news we receive, or day we have at work. No matter what ideas are floating or pounding or swirling around in our heads. We all need these moments to center us; these moments where we lie on the driveway and stare in awe at the dark universe.
And for me, I was always the one to watch in awe. I will say there's an added glisten to all of these ordinary moments. I feel like I am seeing things differently, and really seeing how fantastic our world can be. Maybe that's the best gift I could receive right now, when terrible things happen and so many people are fearful. I know my place in this world, and my purpose as well. It is to inspire change, and to show love. If I can say I've done these two things every day, then I've served my purpose. This is really quite a feeling of contentment, and one that will ensure restful sleep tonight.
On Friday, I visited the doctor and learned that he removed the one cancerous tumor. He said my chances of survival were pretty good, and I will be getting radioactive iodine treatment. He was pretty casual about it, but I made it to the hospital before the nurse called me. My calcium levels were still low, so I was getting my blood drawn AGAIN. I hated that the people at the hospital now knew me by name...
I was told that the endocrinologist wanted to see me Monday morning. They wanted me in QUICKLY. I agreed (because I didn't have a choice), got my blood drawn and headed back to work. I started feeling progressively worse as the day went on, and at about 2pm the nurse called to tell me that my calcium levels were as low as when I had problems in the hospital. I could tell something was up, because my muscles were twitching, I had terrible cramps in my legs, and my face was shuddering. They adjusted my supplementation again, and I went home to rest.
I will say I barely made it home. I felt absolutely miserable. I don't remember much of the night, other than talking to a friend for a long time. He did a good job of distracting me from my discomfort. I called the doctor, and he told me to take more meds. I went to bed finally, hoping everything would sort itself out.
The weekend was easy-going. On Saturday, we had a tea party for Carly's guest (a friend from school). By Sunday, I didn't leave bed except to make a cake in the morning. I was absolutely drained, and there was barely enough energy to eat. If I could have operated from bed, I would have been happier. I was a bit worried about how the week would go if I felt this bad on the weekend!
Monday came around, and I had to move the appt because of a work meeting. I arrived in the afternoon, to find that there was definitely cause to remove the thyroid. There were multiple nodules that looked strange, and the cancerous mass. I knew I did the right thing, but it helped to have more people back me up. They told me my schedule for the radioactive iodine, and went over how the withdrawal of thyroid hormones would work.
I told the doctor that I had gone through hypothyroidism before, and I knew what it was like. She laughed... HARD. She told me she saw and heard about my symptoms, but that my levels were never significantly below the appropriate level. In short: she told me this was going to be BAD. She said I had a great outlook, but to prepare myself for the worst. I was going to have ZERO energy, muscle pain, hair issues, my voice might get weird, and I will be moody. Very, very moody.
I took notes, and headed home. Well, actually I headed BACK to the hospital to give them MORE blood, then headed home. As I walked into the hospital, I saw on the news that there had just been a bombing at the Boston Marathon. I remember looking at the news, and wondering if this was a sign of some sort. It seems like there's always something, and it saddens me to think that there's so many people that don't value how precious life is.
I got home and intended to write about the experiences. I had been trying to write for the past few days. I guess my body finally became less vigilant, and was finally able to rest. I also tried desperately at work to get a lot done, because I knew once the medication withdrawal started, it was going to be a rough road. It would be better to get everything done, then I could sit back and enjoy the end of the year.
I'd like to say it's been easy the past few days, since I am recovering nicely. In reality, I barely get home from work, and am in miserable pain. I make it home wincing in pain to get through the doors of the house, and it's a battle to get everything done for the evening. I am just praying for Friday to get here QUICKLY.
Last night, before I fell asleep, I was thinking about the future. I thought about plans to get me through the summer, plans of what would ideally happen in the next year, and even where I wanted to be in the next ten years (the purpose of this blog). I also realize that I am a fantastic planner, and wanted to have plans around for things "just in case." I guess the fact that I can even write about all of this without crying tells me I have a certain level of detachment that is necessary to cope with all of this mess. I am definitely not saying things will go bad--I just realize that the POSSIBILITY is out there.
I also thought about my friend Scarlett, and how she told me this is one more thing I will conquer. I thought about all of the stuff I've been through- attack, TBI and long recovery (wheelchair to walking and running), abusive relationship and getting OUT, raising two kids on my own while working and trying to normalize their life, even surviving an attack in college. Suffice it to say, if I come to it, I will go through it. I guess cancer would inevitably make its way onto that list. Gee, when I look at the list, I can see why I intimidate men. ;-)
I'm not as verbose today as I was last week (can you imagine? this is short for me!). Tonight, I have a lot of thoughts swirling in my head. I know that I need to sort through these before I can write, but I also wanted to let you know where things stand.
I have yet to tell my friend Jere about this situation. I am usually quick to tell him about everything. I just don't want him to worry, because he is an oncologist. He has dealt with great success stories, and he's had terrible stories to tell. I have always wanted to be one of the good stories he tells. :-)
Alex lost his first tooth last night. I was so excited, because he has been looking forward to this milestone for weeks now. I felt a twinge of anxiety, because I saw how important it was to see this milestone. I had already been fully aware of these special moments, because I wondered how some people would choose to miss them! I realized that now he's losing a tooth, and won't be my baby boy for much longer. He'll be graduating kindergarten, sailing through grade school, and will be graduating in 2025. It won't be long before he has his career and family. And I hoped and prayed to God, in the ten seconds it took me to think of all of this, that I would be there to get the call from my grandchild, telling me he lost his first tooth! It's moments like these when I realize that a lot of great can come of my life. I also realize it is terrible precious and fragile, and I need to enjoy it while I can.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well. -Psalm 139:14
This has been a Psalm that's been on my mind quite a bit lately. I am mystified at my life, and I know my friend Robin talks about how I can make hugging a trucker in a parking lot sound magical. I am so grateful I have that ability, and can see the amazing in the ordinary. It makes me appreciate really how much awe and amazing is created in every moment, and I am grateful for all of these experiences that have added so much to my life. Our trips around the sun are really too few, no matter how many years we get. They key to all of this is finding a rich life, and appreciating that we are fearfully and wonderfully made, no matter what our religious path. No matter what news we receive, or day we have at work. No matter what ideas are floating or pounding or swirling around in our heads. We all need these moments to center us; these moments where we lie on the driveway and stare in awe at the dark universe.
And for me, I was always the one to watch in awe. I will say there's an added glisten to all of these ordinary moments. I feel like I am seeing things differently, and really seeing how fantastic our world can be. Maybe that's the best gift I could receive right now, when terrible things happen and so many people are fearful. I know my place in this world, and my purpose as well. It is to inspire change, and to show love. If I can say I've done these two things every day, then I've served my purpose. This is really quite a feeling of contentment, and one that will ensure restful sleep tonight.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
The Waiting
I always hate the night before news. It can be good news or bad, but I always end up anxious, and I usually end up too introspective. Although, as I've talked to people, I wouldn't trade my overthinking for anything. :-)
Tomorrow I meet with the surgeon to talk about the pathology results, to remove my stitches, and to hopefully make a real plan. I will say that I have had the absolute best experience with Dr. Jeffrey Paffrath in Murfreesboro. At first, when I was coming out of surgery, I wanted all of the answers, and I wanted them NOW. He has been incredibly thorough, but he has also let me deal with each piece one at a time--he ensured I made it through surgery and had a night's rest before giving me the diagnosis, he told me we will talk more and needed to focus on calcium, then he has called and worked with me consistently over the past week to get my calcium back in an acceptable range, and now we deal with the next part. I will say that his confidence in dealing with all of these issues has put my mind at ease quite a bit. And for a person that has had her world turned upside-down, I will say that was quite a relief.
I will go ahead and tell you a few things I've observed over this week. First of all, the song "Live Like You Were Dying" should now be on my forever banned playlist. And right now, I get a little teary watching the sun rise and set. I am not sure where I'm going with that, I've always liked both the rising and setting of the sun. For some reason, it's just too much for me right now. But that brings me to a real point...
My aunt posted a little bit ago, in response to my last post. I am annoyingly positive, and I always have to be DOING something. This helps other people that are in crisis, but it does usually leave me exhausted if it's my own trauma. I was speaking with a friend last night, and he said something interesting. We were talking about leadership and personality styles, and how different people were. I told him I wasn't sure where I fit- I didn't mind leading, but I really enjoyed supporting others. He had an interesting thought: he said that I have thrived in the leadership I have had, but these were positions I had out of necessity. I didn't seek them, but I needed to be able to survive, and so I made the best. I think there was quite a bit of truth to it. As much as it looks like I am Rosie the Riveter, I'd rather be the supportive June Cleaver. But the opportunities such as these have yet to arise...
Which brings me back to my original point, pertaining to my fantastic Aunt Carol: she told me to be who I am, to look for that support, and to go through these stages of grief. I know she's right. The truth? I am in tears as I write this... It's a delicate balance between maintaining control and losing it, and when I am a mother, and a teacher, a daughter, a friend, and a supporter to others, I worry that I won't be at my best. And I worry that once I fall down, it will be really hard to come back up. Or, I won't.
I like having plans- they comfort me. I know this seems like some colossal joke then, because none of this situation really has a plan. But in an effort to operate low-energy, I do feel like a plan would help. And I feel like a plan would also let me let others help me. I know so many people ask how they could help. I don't want to inconvenience people, and I also don't know what to tell them to do. I realize now they feel as helpless as me about all of this. Maybe with some direction, we'll all start to make it through.
When I came home from the hospital, I had to sit the children down and explain to them what had happened. It's traumatizing for young children to have their only available parent disappear to the hospital for an extended period (though my parents were absolutely GREAT to help out!), for mommy to come home a whole day later than planned, with a giant cut and stitches across her neck, and for mommy to tell them that the doctor took cancer out. I hugged them, held them, and told them I loved them dearly. I told them the doctor got all he could, and will give mommy some medicine to take in a few weeks that should eat up all the rest of the cancer cells. For children that knew mommy was just going to have an operation and come home, I know this was a lot to handle. For a few days afterward, we were all in a fog. I admittedly lost my temper easily, they cried a little more than usual, and it was really just a miracle we are all sane now.
Last night, Alex, Carly and I sat on his bed and talked about all that had happened. We had been talking over the past days, but I know the kids didn't really know what to ask. I didn't push too much before, because I didn't know if I had the energy to answer the questions (or even the answers!). Last night, I went ahead and asked him if his extra crying was dealing with mommy's cancer news, or that she's been sick in the house. Even with the help of my parents, he's sensitive to me, and seems to react when I become ill. I figured that was the reason for the moodiness, and I was right. What I found in the conversation, is that he is just like me.
He wants to help, and he needs to know what to do. We talked about ways he can work on responsibility, help mommy around the house (which gives her more energy for fun things!), and help him relax about his worries. I answered their questions, told them everything will be ok, hugged them and kissed them, and we went to bed.
I think most people are like Alex, and when they know what to do, and have a purpose in the situation, then they feel calm. I am convinced that's why churches send food when bad things happen. When life hands you lemons, then send cakes and casseroles! It's sweet how people try to ease the burden of others. It restores my faith in humanity every time I see it.
I have seen a lot of that over the past few days at school. When you teach, you are part of a pretty tight community. I will admit that I felt like an outsider when I moved to the area last year, but they quickly welcomed me. Through this year, as the tests have moved toward the direction of surgery, people have been more quick to check on me and help in any way they could. When I got the diagnosis, and I told my family, I was comfortable enough to tell my boss, because he's that easy to talk to. It made it so much easier to know it was out there, and I didn't have to sit and worry about what I would tell him. And when I returned to work, over the past few days, people have been fantastic. Students have been honestly wanting to know how I have been doing(and though it's really public, I haven't shared the specifics with many outside those that I teach), because when you see teenagers for most of their day, you become family. Coworkers have stepped up to cover my classes when I couldn't make it through the day, and I will be honest: I was grateful when my boss looked me in the eye Tuesday, knew I wouldn't make it through the day (or the next few hours), but allowed me my stubborn pride to give it a shot. The last thing I wanted was to be babied. True, I didn't make it, but at least I wanted to give it my best shot.
This might all seem like rambling, and it probably is. There have been a lot of thoughts that have been floating in my head this week. There have been great thoughts, fantastic memories, and thoughts of what I want to do differently in the future. I have started to relax a bit, which I think will let me start to move through these stages of grief a little easier.
I definitely don't have the answers, and I really don't even have a lot of the questions right now. Sometimes I feel like I am wandering around blindly, feeling for a light switch. I feel like if I can just turn the light ON, I can start to make sense of everything. The truth is I am wondering if the light would even help. This might be something I have to feel, sight unseen.
I feel like I want to say some things, but I also feel like I shouldn't go there. I am a firm believer in letting people know how you feel about them, but I also don't want to be a crazy person that leaves my manifesto. I am by no means giving up or acting sappy. But I do think that it's a good time to acknowledge important people in my life, and all they have done for me. We don't say kind things enough to each other, and I want that to end with me now. So, here goes (and this list is by no means exhaustive- it's a work in progress):
My mother- I want to thank her for being an incredible rock. She has been strong and steady, and seems to know what I want to hear. We bicker, but that's because we are so alike. We also have more fun laughing than two people deserve to in a hospital. I am grateful she has been here to support me through this week, and really for the past years of my life. No doubt it has been a roller coaster; she has always stood strong beside me, helping me stand up after each defeat.
My father- He is such a good man. I know he is lost in this situation, because there's nothing he can really do. He looked at me Tuesday, when I looked like death. I was crying before work, because I didn't know if I could do it. He told me, "You can do it! You can be a hero right NOW!" Carly quickly corrected him, that I didn't have a cape... But he has been the most fantastic support to my children, a wonderful father, and a great role model of how a husband should be. I am thankful for moving back home, and getting this chance to get to know him better.
My brother- He moved away to Seattle to follow his dreams, which makes me more happy than anything. I am insanely proud of him, and will tell anyone that will listen. He's a fantastic friend, a great father to his children, and he really stepped up to provide a lot of support to my children when they needed it the most. I have always been close with him, because whenever we moved, we were all we had. I remember sitting in the same room, him playing video games and me reading a book. I was always comforted by his proximity. I also remember the time I paid him to wear my high heels and break them in for prom... Watching him playing video games with his legs crossed and navy blue pumps was priceless. ;-) We still have a great sense of humor, and I appreciate that I can call to talk when I need to. And that when we go awhile without talking, it's ok.
Allison, my sister-in-law- She started dating my brother when they were sixteen, so I have known her for almost half of her life. She has always been warm, loving and supportive, but is also incredibly honest with me. I love that we can talk honestly, and still communicate well. And I also love how much she loves my children (as I do hers!), and how much she has done to help them become great human beings! She's a great mother to her babies, and a great friend. I love her very dearly. :-)
Robin, my best friend- When I moved home to Tullahoma, I was reunited with a friend from high school. I was never a big fan of being female friends, but Robin definitely proved me wrong. I remember meeting her for coffee, and having her say "why on earth haven't we been friends all along?!?" Because I knew that God had a plan, and he knew when we needed each other. He knew I would need someone that cut through the BS, and someone that pushed me to follow my dreams. He also required that this same person keep me laughing constantly, and always go home from our meetings in happy tears. I am so glad that such a transitional period in my life was met with such a good friend.
Scarlett, my other best friend- I would say, that for a woman that doesn't have many female friends, I was blessed over the past two years. I am beyond thrilled to have Scarlett as my friend. She has been a great coworker, a wonderful lunch buddy, and someone I can be completely honest with. I appreciate her insight, the fact that we are both moms and share thoughts on this regularly, and how appreciative she is of my trying to help. :-) I am truly blessed to work with someone that has the interest of her coworkers, her students, and her friend at heart at all times. And when we went to the special education convention together, she stayed in her own bed. That owns her bonus points. :-D
I don't want this to go on all night, so I will be sure to continue these posts. I want to tell all of the people around me how I feel. I don't think they are wasted words of affirmation. I assure you I am not high at the moment--I just know that I enjoy hearing kind words. I know that this is one gift I can give others right now.
My final words...
I have two beautiful children, Alex and Carly, that are my world. I do think if they were not in the picture, I would have already given in, and wouldn't have left the bed. I love them fiercely and wonderfully, and can see so many beautiful, wonderful things in their future. I try so hard to be a good mother, and I am happy to hear and receive so much love in return. I remember being pregnant, and having many talks with God. All I wished for with each baby?
I wanted a child that would show so much love to the world. I was convinced that two children that intensely loved those around them could be the greatest change I could make for the world. And I am determined to help them grow, to keep that passion and fire burning bright, and to show plenty of love to all of those around them. I am proud of their compassionate, empathetic souls, and know that I have left such a beautiful legacy so far.
The tears are drying, and I'll assure you there have been plenty while typing this post. I needed to get out a good cry, and usually the only way I can do that is by writing honestly. I certainly don't want anyone to feel sorry for me, but my hope is that through my honest writing, you will get a gift as well. I am a person that has quite a big wall built around herself. I think it's time for the wall to come down. It'll take time, but this will be the best way to do it. So bear with me, and know I will be writing often.
And to end, because I am a geek at heart, one of my fantastically favorite quotes. Seems fitting about now:
Tomorrow I meet with the surgeon to talk about the pathology results, to remove my stitches, and to hopefully make a real plan. I will say that I have had the absolute best experience with Dr. Jeffrey Paffrath in Murfreesboro. At first, when I was coming out of surgery, I wanted all of the answers, and I wanted them NOW. He has been incredibly thorough, but he has also let me deal with each piece one at a time--he ensured I made it through surgery and had a night's rest before giving me the diagnosis, he told me we will talk more and needed to focus on calcium, then he has called and worked with me consistently over the past week to get my calcium back in an acceptable range, and now we deal with the next part. I will say that his confidence in dealing with all of these issues has put my mind at ease quite a bit. And for a person that has had her world turned upside-down, I will say that was quite a relief.
I will go ahead and tell you a few things I've observed over this week. First of all, the song "Live Like You Were Dying" should now be on my forever banned playlist. And right now, I get a little teary watching the sun rise and set. I am not sure where I'm going with that, I've always liked both the rising and setting of the sun. For some reason, it's just too much for me right now. But that brings me to a real point...
My aunt posted a little bit ago, in response to my last post. I am annoyingly positive, and I always have to be DOING something. This helps other people that are in crisis, but it does usually leave me exhausted if it's my own trauma. I was speaking with a friend last night, and he said something interesting. We were talking about leadership and personality styles, and how different people were. I told him I wasn't sure where I fit- I didn't mind leading, but I really enjoyed supporting others. He had an interesting thought: he said that I have thrived in the leadership I have had, but these were positions I had out of necessity. I didn't seek them, but I needed to be able to survive, and so I made the best. I think there was quite a bit of truth to it. As much as it looks like I am Rosie the Riveter, I'd rather be the supportive June Cleaver. But the opportunities such as these have yet to arise...
Which brings me back to my original point, pertaining to my fantastic Aunt Carol: she told me to be who I am, to look for that support, and to go through these stages of grief. I know she's right. The truth? I am in tears as I write this... It's a delicate balance between maintaining control and losing it, and when I am a mother, and a teacher, a daughter, a friend, and a supporter to others, I worry that I won't be at my best. And I worry that once I fall down, it will be really hard to come back up. Or, I won't.
I like having plans- they comfort me. I know this seems like some colossal joke then, because none of this situation really has a plan. But in an effort to operate low-energy, I do feel like a plan would help. And I feel like a plan would also let me let others help me. I know so many people ask how they could help. I don't want to inconvenience people, and I also don't know what to tell them to do. I realize now they feel as helpless as me about all of this. Maybe with some direction, we'll all start to make it through.
When I came home from the hospital, I had to sit the children down and explain to them what had happened. It's traumatizing for young children to have their only available parent disappear to the hospital for an extended period (though my parents were absolutely GREAT to help out!), for mommy to come home a whole day later than planned, with a giant cut and stitches across her neck, and for mommy to tell them that the doctor took cancer out. I hugged them, held them, and told them I loved them dearly. I told them the doctor got all he could, and will give mommy some medicine to take in a few weeks that should eat up all the rest of the cancer cells. For children that knew mommy was just going to have an operation and come home, I know this was a lot to handle. For a few days afterward, we were all in a fog. I admittedly lost my temper easily, they cried a little more than usual, and it was really just a miracle we are all sane now.
Last night, Alex, Carly and I sat on his bed and talked about all that had happened. We had been talking over the past days, but I know the kids didn't really know what to ask. I didn't push too much before, because I didn't know if I had the energy to answer the questions (or even the answers!). Last night, I went ahead and asked him if his extra crying was dealing with mommy's cancer news, or that she's been sick in the house. Even with the help of my parents, he's sensitive to me, and seems to react when I become ill. I figured that was the reason for the moodiness, and I was right. What I found in the conversation, is that he is just like me.
He wants to help, and he needs to know what to do. We talked about ways he can work on responsibility, help mommy around the house (which gives her more energy for fun things!), and help him relax about his worries. I answered their questions, told them everything will be ok, hugged them and kissed them, and we went to bed.
I think most people are like Alex, and when they know what to do, and have a purpose in the situation, then they feel calm. I am convinced that's why churches send food when bad things happen. When life hands you lemons, then send cakes and casseroles! It's sweet how people try to ease the burden of others. It restores my faith in humanity every time I see it.
I have seen a lot of that over the past few days at school. When you teach, you are part of a pretty tight community. I will admit that I felt like an outsider when I moved to the area last year, but they quickly welcomed me. Through this year, as the tests have moved toward the direction of surgery, people have been more quick to check on me and help in any way they could. When I got the diagnosis, and I told my family, I was comfortable enough to tell my boss, because he's that easy to talk to. It made it so much easier to know it was out there, and I didn't have to sit and worry about what I would tell him. And when I returned to work, over the past few days, people have been fantastic. Students have been honestly wanting to know how I have been doing(and though it's really public, I haven't shared the specifics with many outside those that I teach), because when you see teenagers for most of their day, you become family. Coworkers have stepped up to cover my classes when I couldn't make it through the day, and I will be honest: I was grateful when my boss looked me in the eye Tuesday, knew I wouldn't make it through the day (or the next few hours), but allowed me my stubborn pride to give it a shot. The last thing I wanted was to be babied. True, I didn't make it, but at least I wanted to give it my best shot.
This might all seem like rambling, and it probably is. There have been a lot of thoughts that have been floating in my head this week. There have been great thoughts, fantastic memories, and thoughts of what I want to do differently in the future. I have started to relax a bit, which I think will let me start to move through these stages of grief a little easier.
I definitely don't have the answers, and I really don't even have a lot of the questions right now. Sometimes I feel like I am wandering around blindly, feeling for a light switch. I feel like if I can just turn the light ON, I can start to make sense of everything. The truth is I am wondering if the light would even help. This might be something I have to feel, sight unseen.
I feel like I want to say some things, but I also feel like I shouldn't go there. I am a firm believer in letting people know how you feel about them, but I also don't want to be a crazy person that leaves my manifesto. I am by no means giving up or acting sappy. But I do think that it's a good time to acknowledge important people in my life, and all they have done for me. We don't say kind things enough to each other, and I want that to end with me now. So, here goes (and this list is by no means exhaustive- it's a work in progress):
My mother- I want to thank her for being an incredible rock. She has been strong and steady, and seems to know what I want to hear. We bicker, but that's because we are so alike. We also have more fun laughing than two people deserve to in a hospital. I am grateful she has been here to support me through this week, and really for the past years of my life. No doubt it has been a roller coaster; she has always stood strong beside me, helping me stand up after each defeat.
My father- He is such a good man. I know he is lost in this situation, because there's nothing he can really do. He looked at me Tuesday, when I looked like death. I was crying before work, because I didn't know if I could do it. He told me, "You can do it! You can be a hero right NOW!" Carly quickly corrected him, that I didn't have a cape... But he has been the most fantastic support to my children, a wonderful father, and a great role model of how a husband should be. I am thankful for moving back home, and getting this chance to get to know him better.
My brother- He moved away to Seattle to follow his dreams, which makes me more happy than anything. I am insanely proud of him, and will tell anyone that will listen. He's a fantastic friend, a great father to his children, and he really stepped up to provide a lot of support to my children when they needed it the most. I have always been close with him, because whenever we moved, we were all we had. I remember sitting in the same room, him playing video games and me reading a book. I was always comforted by his proximity. I also remember the time I paid him to wear my high heels and break them in for prom... Watching him playing video games with his legs crossed and navy blue pumps was priceless. ;-) We still have a great sense of humor, and I appreciate that I can call to talk when I need to. And that when we go awhile without talking, it's ok.
Allison, my sister-in-law- She started dating my brother when they were sixteen, so I have known her for almost half of her life. She has always been warm, loving and supportive, but is also incredibly honest with me. I love that we can talk honestly, and still communicate well. And I also love how much she loves my children (as I do hers!), and how much she has done to help them become great human beings! She's a great mother to her babies, and a great friend. I love her very dearly. :-)
Robin, my best friend- When I moved home to Tullahoma, I was reunited with a friend from high school. I was never a big fan of being female friends, but Robin definitely proved me wrong. I remember meeting her for coffee, and having her say "why on earth haven't we been friends all along?!?" Because I knew that God had a plan, and he knew when we needed each other. He knew I would need someone that cut through the BS, and someone that pushed me to follow my dreams. He also required that this same person keep me laughing constantly, and always go home from our meetings in happy tears. I am so glad that such a transitional period in my life was met with such a good friend.
Scarlett, my other best friend- I would say, that for a woman that doesn't have many female friends, I was blessed over the past two years. I am beyond thrilled to have Scarlett as my friend. She has been a great coworker, a wonderful lunch buddy, and someone I can be completely honest with. I appreciate her insight, the fact that we are both moms and share thoughts on this regularly, and how appreciative she is of my trying to help. :-) I am truly blessed to work with someone that has the interest of her coworkers, her students, and her friend at heart at all times. And when we went to the special education convention together, she stayed in her own bed. That owns her bonus points. :-D
I don't want this to go on all night, so I will be sure to continue these posts. I want to tell all of the people around me how I feel. I don't think they are wasted words of affirmation. I assure you I am not high at the moment--I just know that I enjoy hearing kind words. I know that this is one gift I can give others right now.
My final words...
I have two beautiful children, Alex and Carly, that are my world. I do think if they were not in the picture, I would have already given in, and wouldn't have left the bed. I love them fiercely and wonderfully, and can see so many beautiful, wonderful things in their future. I try so hard to be a good mother, and I am happy to hear and receive so much love in return. I remember being pregnant, and having many talks with God. All I wished for with each baby?
I wanted a child that would show so much love to the world. I was convinced that two children that intensely loved those around them could be the greatest change I could make for the world. And I am determined to help them grow, to keep that passion and fire burning bright, and to show plenty of love to all of those around them. I am proud of their compassionate, empathetic souls, and know that I have left such a beautiful legacy so far.
The tears are drying, and I'll assure you there have been plenty while typing this post. I needed to get out a good cry, and usually the only way I can do that is by writing honestly. I certainly don't want anyone to feel sorry for me, but my hope is that through my honest writing, you will get a gift as well. I am a person that has quite a big wall built around herself. I think it's time for the wall to come down. It'll take time, but this will be the best way to do it. So bear with me, and know I will be writing often.
And to end, because I am a geek at heart, one of my fantastically favorite quotes. Seems fitting about now:
“I went to the woods because
I wanted to live deliberately,
I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life,
To put to rout all that was not life
and not when I had come to die
Discover that I had not lived.”
-Henry David Thoreau
And no, I will not be camping anytime in the foreseeable future... LOL
Monday, April 8, 2013
I Finally Write...
It's seems like I've been in a fog the past few days. Honestly, I just turned on my computer and went back to work today... The past week seems like it happened in slow-motion, then rewind, then slowwww again. Here's the best I can remember:
On Thursday morning, I woke up and seemed ready to get this surgery over with! We dropped the kids off to school, and I drove us to the hospital to check in. I didn't have to be to the hospital until 10am, which meant surgery wasn't starting until later. We seemed pretty relaxed the entire time, and I was just ready to put all of this behind me. I knew I would have a few days of discomfort, then I would be back to my old crazy self--encountering new adventures and telling stories to my friends.
I remember coming out of surgery feeling a little strange. I wasn't sure how long I'd been in there, and I vaguely remember falling asleep. Usually, it's a pretty relaxed experience (and it's sad it's happened so many times for me!). The strange thing about this time is they strapped an oxygen mask to my face, and I remember having a panicky feeling, thinking "something is NOT right!" Then I was out... So, coming out of surgery, I expected to feel miserable. Quite the contrary--I felt very chatty, and seemed to tell the nurse my entire life story. She was incredibly empathetic, and listened to all my jabbering. Actually, I seemed coherent, and it was the last case before she could go home, so she might have actually enjoyed herself. I was given a little extra pain medicine, she wished me well, and deposited me at my room for the night.
I was supposed to stay overnight to make sure my body could regulate calcium. Sometimes the parathyroid glands get damaged during surgery, and the calcium levels go haywire. This can cause all sorts of problems with muscles and the heart, and they watch to make sure nothing happens.
Well, the next morning it seemed like I was only going on a few hours of sleep. I figured the doctor would come by to discharge me, and then I could go home and sleep for the next few days. Then I would be back to work, and life would be back to NORMAL. The food services lady brought my breakfast tray, and I began eating. Shortly after eating my pancake, the doctor walked in.
He was a normally-chipper man, and he looked like he was making a real effort to be happy. I figured he was mad he had to come to the hospital (I was his only hospital case that day), or something else was happening. He asked me about symptoms, and checked my incision. It was when I asked about what he saw... I don't think for as long as I live I will forget the look on his face.
He backed up a few steps, and immediately started to fidget with my hospital blanket. I remember feeling an almost out-of-body experience as I watched him and wondered how many times he had to tell people bad things. I was trying to absorb what he was saying, and also think about what on earth he was saying, and why he was being fidgety all at the same time. I have to wonder what my face looked like at that moment. It must not have looked good, because for a moment he looked like he might cry.
He quickly told me I had two children already, so I'd probably want to opt for the radioactive iodine. That made me snap out of it. What was he talking about? I guess I hadn't fully digested the fact that the thyroid was out, let alone that I had cancer, or that I would be arranging treatment. I had to be honest, I really didn't know much about cancer, outside of the bits I read when people become diagnosed. I know things are so specific to different types, and it's not like I troll around morbid sites looking for cancer research. So, honestly, I had no idea what he was talking about. I could tell he understood that facial expression, because he paused, and said we could talk about all this once the pathology lab came back from the other half of the thyroid (I was diagnosed based on a 4cm papillary mass visually found on the left side- results are still out on the rest).
He then walked up to me and started tapping my face. My eyes started shuttering violently, and I realized I wasn't feeling well. He got quite an alarmed look on his face, while telling me that my calcium levels were dipping. This was causing the leg pains and restlessness (that I thought was anesthesia wearing off), and the scary actions of my muscles. He asked me if my face was numb- a bit, but I couldn't tell if that was my regular Topamax.
The staff jumped to action, starting me on calcium supplements via IV and orally. I didn't have much of an appetite, but I was trying to consume anything that had calcium. I was also taking Calciotrol, which is supposed to aid in the absorption of calcium. We were doing everything we could from keeping the numbers down. I desperately wanted out of the hospital- I hadn't seen the kids in a while, I had received a diagnosis of cancer, and I was now feeling anxious and miserable. From Friday to Saturday, those were NOT good hours in my life.
On Saturday, the push was to get the calcium stable so I could get out of the hospital. Thankfully, at the 3pm draw, I was stable, and we were able to leave!! We packed up quickly, and headed home as soon as possible. I had become so fixated on dealing with the calcium issues, I didn't have to think about much else. Until I got home...
Then I started having a few moments of calm. Moments of quiet are dangerous, because I think. And when I think, I think too much... Well, over the past two days, it seems like all I've done is gone through a fog. Every time I try to think, my brain shuts me down- I end up in a trance-like state. I think this is to protect myself from worrying about things that might never happen. I also think for the first few days, I had to get all the calcium normal before I could deal with life. Today was the first day that fog lifted, and I could start dealing.
Today I went to get my calcium levels checked again, and I have to travel to the hospital again on Wednesday afternoon to get them checked. This is unfortunate, because on top of recovering, I have to balance. I also return to work tomorrow (I am out of sick days!), so I don't have a choice but to embrace this hectic lifestyle. I am wondering if this will keep me from thinking about all sorts of yucky thoughts.
Today I was sitting in the hospital, waiting for my blood to be drawn. Montel Williams was on the Rachael Ray show, and he was talking about how he survives with multiple sclerosis. They had just shown a picture of him snowboarding, so my ears perked up when I thought about what words of wisdom he might have for me.
He said to get out there, to read EVERYTHING I could, and be the best advocate for myself that I could. I need to get an idea of all the options that are out there, of all the treatments, all the outcomes, and all the paths of life I might take. This will let me deal with everything, and will let me be active in my care.
The bald man makes a lot of sense... But that means I will have to finally sit still, think for a little bit, write down my long list of questions for my doctors, and research all I can. I want to make sure I make decisions that will give me the best outcome, and leave me here to ponder life for many years to come. That means doing some homework now. And thinking a little extra about all of this--I will have to lift my own fog.
I remember on Friday, looking across the room at my journal. I remember just getting the diagnosis of cancer, and remembering that for a person that writes about everything, that I should really write about how I felt at that moment. I was worried it would go away. I got up, made my way across the room to get the journal, and by the time I got back to my bed with a pen, I fell asleep. Un-thankfully, the memory of hearing those words never leaves, and I don't feel like I missed my moment. I am not saying I am having a pity party or have lost hope from the beginning- just saying it is an experience I will never forget. So thankfully, I didn't miss the moment of putting pen to paper. :-)
And in the coming days, I will be focusing on recovering slowly, being present in the moment, and trying not to take myself too seriously. And researching to become my best advocate for Friday. :-)
On Thursday morning, I woke up and seemed ready to get this surgery over with! We dropped the kids off to school, and I drove us to the hospital to check in. I didn't have to be to the hospital until 10am, which meant surgery wasn't starting until later. We seemed pretty relaxed the entire time, and I was just ready to put all of this behind me. I knew I would have a few days of discomfort, then I would be back to my old crazy self--encountering new adventures and telling stories to my friends.
I remember coming out of surgery feeling a little strange. I wasn't sure how long I'd been in there, and I vaguely remember falling asleep. Usually, it's a pretty relaxed experience (and it's sad it's happened so many times for me!). The strange thing about this time is they strapped an oxygen mask to my face, and I remember having a panicky feeling, thinking "something is NOT right!" Then I was out... So, coming out of surgery, I expected to feel miserable. Quite the contrary--I felt very chatty, and seemed to tell the nurse my entire life story. She was incredibly empathetic, and listened to all my jabbering. Actually, I seemed coherent, and it was the last case before she could go home, so she might have actually enjoyed herself. I was given a little extra pain medicine, she wished me well, and deposited me at my room for the night.
I was supposed to stay overnight to make sure my body could regulate calcium. Sometimes the parathyroid glands get damaged during surgery, and the calcium levels go haywire. This can cause all sorts of problems with muscles and the heart, and they watch to make sure nothing happens.
Well, the next morning it seemed like I was only going on a few hours of sleep. I figured the doctor would come by to discharge me, and then I could go home and sleep for the next few days. Then I would be back to work, and life would be back to NORMAL. The food services lady brought my breakfast tray, and I began eating. Shortly after eating my pancake, the doctor walked in.
He was a normally-chipper man, and he looked like he was making a real effort to be happy. I figured he was mad he had to come to the hospital (I was his only hospital case that day), or something else was happening. He asked me about symptoms, and checked my incision. It was when I asked about what he saw... I don't think for as long as I live I will forget the look on his face.
He backed up a few steps, and immediately started to fidget with my hospital blanket. I remember feeling an almost out-of-body experience as I watched him and wondered how many times he had to tell people bad things. I was trying to absorb what he was saying, and also think about what on earth he was saying, and why he was being fidgety all at the same time. I have to wonder what my face looked like at that moment. It must not have looked good, because for a moment he looked like he might cry.
He quickly told me I had two children already, so I'd probably want to opt for the radioactive iodine. That made me snap out of it. What was he talking about? I guess I hadn't fully digested the fact that the thyroid was out, let alone that I had cancer, or that I would be arranging treatment. I had to be honest, I really didn't know much about cancer, outside of the bits I read when people become diagnosed. I know things are so specific to different types, and it's not like I troll around morbid sites looking for cancer research. So, honestly, I had no idea what he was talking about. I could tell he understood that facial expression, because he paused, and said we could talk about all this once the pathology lab came back from the other half of the thyroid (I was diagnosed based on a 4cm papillary mass visually found on the left side- results are still out on the rest).
He then walked up to me and started tapping my face. My eyes started shuttering violently, and I realized I wasn't feeling well. He got quite an alarmed look on his face, while telling me that my calcium levels were dipping. This was causing the leg pains and restlessness (that I thought was anesthesia wearing off), and the scary actions of my muscles. He asked me if my face was numb- a bit, but I couldn't tell if that was my regular Topamax.
The staff jumped to action, starting me on calcium supplements via IV and orally. I didn't have much of an appetite, but I was trying to consume anything that had calcium. I was also taking Calciotrol, which is supposed to aid in the absorption of calcium. We were doing everything we could from keeping the numbers down. I desperately wanted out of the hospital- I hadn't seen the kids in a while, I had received a diagnosis of cancer, and I was now feeling anxious and miserable. From Friday to Saturday, those were NOT good hours in my life.
On Saturday, the push was to get the calcium stable so I could get out of the hospital. Thankfully, at the 3pm draw, I was stable, and we were able to leave!! We packed up quickly, and headed home as soon as possible. I had become so fixated on dealing with the calcium issues, I didn't have to think about much else. Until I got home...
Then I started having a few moments of calm. Moments of quiet are dangerous, because I think. And when I think, I think too much... Well, over the past two days, it seems like all I've done is gone through a fog. Every time I try to think, my brain shuts me down- I end up in a trance-like state. I think this is to protect myself from worrying about things that might never happen. I also think for the first few days, I had to get all the calcium normal before I could deal with life. Today was the first day that fog lifted, and I could start dealing.
Today I went to get my calcium levels checked again, and I have to travel to the hospital again on Wednesday afternoon to get them checked. This is unfortunate, because on top of recovering, I have to balance. I also return to work tomorrow (I am out of sick days!), so I don't have a choice but to embrace this hectic lifestyle. I am wondering if this will keep me from thinking about all sorts of yucky thoughts.
Today I was sitting in the hospital, waiting for my blood to be drawn. Montel Williams was on the Rachael Ray show, and he was talking about how he survives with multiple sclerosis. They had just shown a picture of him snowboarding, so my ears perked up when I thought about what words of wisdom he might have for me.
He said to get out there, to read EVERYTHING I could, and be the best advocate for myself that I could. I need to get an idea of all the options that are out there, of all the treatments, all the outcomes, and all the paths of life I might take. This will let me deal with everything, and will let me be active in my care.
The bald man makes a lot of sense... But that means I will have to finally sit still, think for a little bit, write down my long list of questions for my doctors, and research all I can. I want to make sure I make decisions that will give me the best outcome, and leave me here to ponder life for many years to come. That means doing some homework now. And thinking a little extra about all of this--I will have to lift my own fog.
I remember on Friday, looking across the room at my journal. I remember just getting the diagnosis of cancer, and remembering that for a person that writes about everything, that I should really write about how I felt at that moment. I was worried it would go away. I got up, made my way across the room to get the journal, and by the time I got back to my bed with a pen, I fell asleep. Un-thankfully, the memory of hearing those words never leaves, and I don't feel like I missed my moment. I am not saying I am having a pity party or have lost hope from the beginning- just saying it is an experience I will never forget. So thankfully, I didn't miss the moment of putting pen to paper. :-)
And in the coming days, I will be focusing on recovering slowly, being present in the moment, and trying not to take myself too seriously. And researching to become my best advocate for Friday. :-)
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Night Before the Knife
Tomorrow will be my thyroidectomy, and I guess the idea of being sliced open has me a little sentimental. I guess anytime I am under the knife, I want to make sure my affairs are in order...
In order to understand my thoughts and anxieties of tonight, I kinda need to retrace the events of the past week.
Last Tuesday, I was sitting in a meeting, ready to finish my day. I remember walking into the meeting feeling rough. It seemed that everyone had already gotten sick, and I thought that maybe I had a touch of something. By the end of the meeting, I felt like DEATH. I couldn't turn my head, I had an intense headache, and I was burning up. I couldn't tell if the meeting room was too warm, or if a fever was brewing. I told a coworker what was going on, and she told me I needed to go see a doctor. I got in the car, and headed for the doctor instead of going to class that night.
When I got to the doctor, they took one look at me and thought I had meningitis. They sent me to the ER to be tested for it. Of course, I already knew the test for meningitis: lumbar puncture. And, unfortunately, I had already had that test before. So, I was terrified because I had been there and experienced the pain.
It worked on the SECOND full attempt. Yes, after digging around the first time, they had to go get someone else from the anesthesia department to complete the puncture. I remember breathing eerily slow, with tears streaming down my face. I knew what the needle looked like, and I knew where it was. I knew that one renegade breath could paralyze me. And with my history in a wheelchair, I didn't want to chance any issues with my legs. It was definitely not the best 20 minutes of my life. Add to that a headache that wouldn't quit (even after two shots of demerol, and add-on percocet), and I was a miserable mess.
I was also concerned that I had either given this to Travis, or got it from him. I had alerted him of this on the way over to the hospital.
They told me I would be staying in the hospital for at least 24 hours, and they were going to start the treatment for meningitis while waiting for the test results. They moved me up to the isolation room, and I settled in for the night. I remember being ready for sleep, but being in such an uncomfortable bed. I remember being thankful that I would be recovering from whatever this was, and that at least I had a supportive family, friends, and a pretty good life.
Nausea and a headache continued through the night, but as long as I ate crackers and drank sprite, I seemed fine. I didn't feel miserable, but I certainly didn't feel well. I just wanted to go home, so I could get back to spinning all of my plates in the air.
Well, on Wednesday, it seemed like I waited ALL day to see the doctor. In fact, I did. The doctor wandered into my room around 7pm and asked me if I wanted to go home. The best he could guess was that my body overreacted to a virus. I told him I would rather recuperate in my own bed, so we were headed home. I was thankful to get to see my children and to have my life back again. I packed up my belongings, and mom drove me home.
I got home, hugged my children, and headed upstairs. I sent a message to Travis, asking how his evening was going, and life in general. Then I got the news:
He decided that it wasn't working. And apparently the best time to decide this is when the significant other is in the hospital. That does seem rather convenient.
Ok, I am not being fair. I will back-track a moment to a week before. We had been on a date, and he shared a story of a past girlfriend, and some issues she had. Because he had shared the story, I decided to share a story of my long-ago past. It was 16 years before, and really had nothing to do with my current life. Some people can hear stories about people, and respect all they have been through. Other people hear stories, and probably think about all the ways it might affect THEM. Again, it seems that I find a lot of men that really just worry about themselves.
And to kinda confirm my thoughts of this event, I heard a character on tv say these words the other day: "Scars tell us where we have been. They don't have to dictate where we will go." This is the mindset I have always had, and that experience always shapes our future. It doesn't follow us to constantly make decisions for us--we are ultimately accountable for our growth and development. For some people that either can't think that deeply, or are terrified of having to care for someone, I guess this is too much.
So, on the night of my discharge from the hospital, I also had another plate come crashing down. I was single again.
I decided I was going to enjoy my kids and take a break from a lot of things. I also decided that since I had surgery coming up, and I had suddenly gotten really TIRED, I was going to be withdrawing from classes. I would rather focus on my self, my family, and my job. Everything else can wait until later. So, for the next few days, I took some extra-deep breaths, appreciated how great I really was, and really, really, really appreciated the friends I have.
Tomorrow, I will be put to sleep while they remove my thyroid. Hopefully, while they do this surgery, they won't a) release any abnormal or cancerous cells into my body, or b) damage my vocal nerves. Those are really my only concerns. But those are pretty hefty concerns. Let's face it: my job is all about talking, and I need to be able to talk to perform my daily duties. I also have a stellar karaoke career... And I am a bit worried that things aren't right with my thyroid- there's always the chance, and I would hate to think that my adventures would be cut short.
I would say for the past week, I have been through too much. I would also say that I am redefining with whom I need to spend my time. I was talking with my friend Robin about this very issue. She told me about her awesome Aunt Imagene. She's 87 years-old, and does whatever she wants. She pretty much decided she wasn't going to take care of a man, so she lives her life to the fullest, and enjoys being around men. She just isn't a slave to worrying if a man is going to stick around to be MAN enough. Imagene didn't take any crap, and I don't think I will either. She also apparently had some great chandeliers, which I am looking to purchase sometime soon. Honestly, the idea of living my life to explore the world and make my own decisions sounds intriguing. I already have kids, and I love them. I can raise them and enjoy that, and when they leave the nest, I can leave mine.
Or, I can re-prioritize when I come out of this surgery, and realize that someone man enough will come along. And I can still explore the world. And I will definitely be getting tacky chandeliers, as a heads-up to whatever man is looking at heading my way... ;-)
In order to understand my thoughts and anxieties of tonight, I kinda need to retrace the events of the past week.
Last Tuesday, I was sitting in a meeting, ready to finish my day. I remember walking into the meeting feeling rough. It seemed that everyone had already gotten sick, and I thought that maybe I had a touch of something. By the end of the meeting, I felt like DEATH. I couldn't turn my head, I had an intense headache, and I was burning up. I couldn't tell if the meeting room was too warm, or if a fever was brewing. I told a coworker what was going on, and she told me I needed to go see a doctor. I got in the car, and headed for the doctor instead of going to class that night.
When I got to the doctor, they took one look at me and thought I had meningitis. They sent me to the ER to be tested for it. Of course, I already knew the test for meningitis: lumbar puncture. And, unfortunately, I had already had that test before. So, I was terrified because I had been there and experienced the pain.
It worked on the SECOND full attempt. Yes, after digging around the first time, they had to go get someone else from the anesthesia department to complete the puncture. I remember breathing eerily slow, with tears streaming down my face. I knew what the needle looked like, and I knew where it was. I knew that one renegade breath could paralyze me. And with my history in a wheelchair, I didn't want to chance any issues with my legs. It was definitely not the best 20 minutes of my life. Add to that a headache that wouldn't quit (even after two shots of demerol, and add-on percocet), and I was a miserable mess.
I was also concerned that I had either given this to Travis, or got it from him. I had alerted him of this on the way over to the hospital.
They told me I would be staying in the hospital for at least 24 hours, and they were going to start the treatment for meningitis while waiting for the test results. They moved me up to the isolation room, and I settled in for the night. I remember being ready for sleep, but being in such an uncomfortable bed. I remember being thankful that I would be recovering from whatever this was, and that at least I had a supportive family, friends, and a pretty good life.
Nausea and a headache continued through the night, but as long as I ate crackers and drank sprite, I seemed fine. I didn't feel miserable, but I certainly didn't feel well. I just wanted to go home, so I could get back to spinning all of my plates in the air.
Well, on Wednesday, it seemed like I waited ALL day to see the doctor. In fact, I did. The doctor wandered into my room around 7pm and asked me if I wanted to go home. The best he could guess was that my body overreacted to a virus. I told him I would rather recuperate in my own bed, so we were headed home. I was thankful to get to see my children and to have my life back again. I packed up my belongings, and mom drove me home.
I got home, hugged my children, and headed upstairs. I sent a message to Travis, asking how his evening was going, and life in general. Then I got the news:
He decided that it wasn't working. And apparently the best time to decide this is when the significant other is in the hospital. That does seem rather convenient.
Ok, I am not being fair. I will back-track a moment to a week before. We had been on a date, and he shared a story of a past girlfriend, and some issues she had. Because he had shared the story, I decided to share a story of my long-ago past. It was 16 years before, and really had nothing to do with my current life. Some people can hear stories about people, and respect all they have been through. Other people hear stories, and probably think about all the ways it might affect THEM. Again, it seems that I find a lot of men that really just worry about themselves.
And to kinda confirm my thoughts of this event, I heard a character on tv say these words the other day: "Scars tell us where we have been. They don't have to dictate where we will go." This is the mindset I have always had, and that experience always shapes our future. It doesn't follow us to constantly make decisions for us--we are ultimately accountable for our growth and development. For some people that either can't think that deeply, or are terrified of having to care for someone, I guess this is too much.
So, on the night of my discharge from the hospital, I also had another plate come crashing down. I was single again.
I decided I was going to enjoy my kids and take a break from a lot of things. I also decided that since I had surgery coming up, and I had suddenly gotten really TIRED, I was going to be withdrawing from classes. I would rather focus on my self, my family, and my job. Everything else can wait until later. So, for the next few days, I took some extra-deep breaths, appreciated how great I really was, and really, really, really appreciated the friends I have.
Tomorrow, I will be put to sleep while they remove my thyroid. Hopefully, while they do this surgery, they won't a) release any abnormal or cancerous cells into my body, or b) damage my vocal nerves. Those are really my only concerns. But those are pretty hefty concerns. Let's face it: my job is all about talking, and I need to be able to talk to perform my daily duties. I also have a stellar karaoke career... And I am a bit worried that things aren't right with my thyroid- there's always the chance, and I would hate to think that my adventures would be cut short.
I would say for the past week, I have been through too much. I would also say that I am redefining with whom I need to spend my time. I was talking with my friend Robin about this very issue. She told me about her awesome Aunt Imagene. She's 87 years-old, and does whatever she wants. She pretty much decided she wasn't going to take care of a man, so she lives her life to the fullest, and enjoys being around men. She just isn't a slave to worrying if a man is going to stick around to be MAN enough. Imagene didn't take any crap, and I don't think I will either. She also apparently had some great chandeliers, which I am looking to purchase sometime soon. Honestly, the idea of living my life to explore the world and make my own decisions sounds intriguing. I already have kids, and I love them. I can raise them and enjoy that, and when they leave the nest, I can leave mine.
Or, I can re-prioritize when I come out of this surgery, and realize that someone man enough will come along. And I can still explore the world. And I will definitely be getting tacky chandeliers, as a heads-up to whatever man is looking at heading my way... ;-)
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