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Brene Brown for the Win

I love Brene Brown.  She’s my author girlfriend.

 

For context, Ryan Gosling is my movie boyfriend, James Spader is my tv sugar daddy boyfriend, Tim Keller is my pastor boyfriend.  It should be noted that these relationships are all entirely one-sided and even so, platonic.  I guess you could just say I admire these people a lot, and the whole significant other thing is kind of stupid.  But that’s how I think of them, so (sticks tongue out.)

Brene Brown is a research professor and author and a really brave woman.  She’s into exploring our emotions, thoughts and behaviors and getting real about how we make up stories about ourselves and others that point us down dangerously dishonest paths.  She talks about shame and blame and how those experiences impact the way we see ourselves and our roles and identities.

I’m reading her book, Rising Strong, and it got me thinking about shame.  And wondering if shame has impacted me.  I don’t feel ashamed, typically.  I mean, if I do something wrong, like overreact to an employee’s mistake or freak out on my daughter over some small misstep, I do feel ashamed, and seek forgiveness and to make amends.  But I move on quickly and generally think of myself as worthy of love and care.  But as I was reading about how shame exists in schools, and how there is an impact on creativity and learning, I began to get flooded with memories of experiences where teachers said things that I experienced as shame.  Some examples:

Kindergarten.  I was playing a game of musical chairs with my class, and I got pushed out of the circle of kids walking around the chairs.  I tried to get back in but the other kids reacted as though I was “cutting.”  My teacher saw me out of the circle and crossly demanded I get back in.  The kids still wouldn’t let me in and I started to cry out of frustration.  She marched over and told me to quit acting like a crybaby.  I distinctly recall filing that information away: Don’t cry.  It makes people think you’re a baby.

Second grade.  We were talking about movies and how what we see in a movie is the end product, but there is so much that goes into making it.  We were discussing how they might have to shoot a scene where a family is eating at a table and they may have to shoot the scene 20 times.  I raised my hand to ask a question about it, and inexplicably my teacher said “Yes, Jessica, we know, the actors have to pretend to eat while they’re shooting.”  I gleaned in that moment that my teacher thought I was a know-it-all.  I also learned in that moment that people make assumptions about what you say before you say it and they can be wrong.  I have kept those two pieces of information close at hand ever since.  I often worry that people think that I think I know everything and I frame my communication accordingly, occasionally saying things like “this probably isn’t right but…”  I know this is dumb, and I only do it when I’m operating out of insecurity.  But it happens from time to time, and it’s fascinating to trace it back to that day, almost 30 years ago.

Fourth grade.  I sat at a table with three other students and one was a boy I was friends with.  He accidentally kicked me under the table, I looked up, and he said “sorry” and we smiled at each other.  From the front of the room I heard “If Jessica and Josh would stop playing footsie, we could get on with the lesson.”  I was so embarrassed and frustrated.  First of all, we weren’t doing anything wrong.  Secondly, it was a sweet moment.  But instead, it became shameful.  I “learned” that teachers disapproved of girls and boys interacting and I took on that position, finding myself judging girls that did anything that resembled flirting with boys for the next couple of years.

Sixth grade.  I wore lipstick to school and my teacher called me up and told me it was inappropriate.  I am happy to report I completely ignored this and continued to wear it.  In 8th grade, I stepped it up to red lipstick and haven’t looked back.

It was right around sixth grade where I realized it was possible to know things teachers don’t know.  Like the time I used the word “stature” in a book report and my teacher marked it wrong because he assumed I meant statue (which wouldn’t have made sense.)  I am so grateful that I broke out of the false reality that adults always know more and know better.  I began making more keen judgments, regarding who was worthy of my respect and admiration.  Just being older than me didn’t get you that entitlement anymore.  I wasn’t being disrespectful; outwardly, I extended the requisite obedience and compliance regardless of how little I actually respected a teacher.  However, I had a very active thought life in my brain regarding whether these educators knew what they were talking about or not.  This probably ventured a little too close to “superiority complex” land, but, overall, I believe I was deeply empowered by this new awareness that things are not always what they seem, that adults have major shortcomings, and that I didn’t have to accept what was fed to me, mindlessly.

Like everything else, you can put teachers along a standard bell curve.  Like everyone else, I’m grateful to have come across a few genuine, intelligent, insightful, caring teachers.  Those people impacted me in a positive way much like the few truly bad apples impacted me in a negative way.

The important part, however, is that we go back, examine these stories, consider what we gleaned from them and decide if it’s useful or not.  We can CHOOSE how much these experiences impact us.  If we heard from a teacher 30 years ago that we were stupid, and we have operated out of that belief, isn’t it time to go back and consider how valid that one person’s perspective at that specific point in time was?  And this doesn’t apply to just teachers.

Your first boyfriend thought your feet were ugly.  Are you still hiding them under a towel at the beach?  Your mom thought the ten pounds you gained freshman year would ruin your life – was she right?  Do you still see her disapproving face when presented with an Oreo?  Did your camp counselor tease you for how you walk?  Do you find yourself adjusting your gait if you think others are watching?

We have to challenge these stories we subconsciously tell ourselves.  These stories that tally up our value and loveableness.  The fact is, from my perspective, you were created by God.  And He created you with loving intention.  Just because your feet, hips or walk don’t meet the weird, current, temporary standard of perfection that 21st century America has decided for you, doesn’t mean you’re somehow less worthy than those who do.  You have to decide what the standard is.  If you want to stick with society’s standards, go for it. But remember, it’s contrived by flawed people like my impatient Kindergarten teacher.  What matters is what you think, and what God thinks.  And you can invite as many caring, safe, loving people into your life, to speak into these things as you want.  But you can decide how much weight their opinion holds.  And you don’t have to be a slave to anyone’s standards.  Challenge those ideas you’ve been operating out of.  Because they could be dead wrong.  And you can be free of them.

Rising Strong is an excellent book.  It’s incredibly challenging if you’ve never thought about this stuff before.  I’ve been thinking about this stuff for 18 or so years, and it is still bringing up new challenges for me, regarding how willing I am to reckon with and rumble with and allow the revolution of my thoughts and feelings to take place.  Emotional honesty and vulnerability are so, so hard.  We all want to hide, to pretend we’re fine, to act like the choices of others don’t hurt us.  We want to run from the tough emotions.  We want to dismiss them and move on.  But there is beauty in the uncertain, sticky, icky places of hard emotions.

Today, Cass went to see if the boy across the street would like to play.  For a few months, they played almost daily and couldn’t get enough of each other.  Recently he has stopped coming over and when she’s gone to see him, he’s been about to leave for an activity, or not feeling well.  Today, he just flat out said he didn’t want to play.  She was devastated!  She came back, quite dejected.  My instinct was to change the subject and get her engaged in something before this turned into a howling, negative mess. But since Rising Strong was literally in my lap, I paused.  I invited her over to sit by me.  I asked her some questions about how she was feeling.  And when she started to cry, sharing that she feels like he just doesn’t like her, I wanted to run – literally wanted to run away from this hard feeling of a 7 year old boy rejecting my daughter.  I wanted to run or yell at someone – his mother maybe?  Yeah, I could yell at her for raising such an insensitive little brat who would hurt my little girl in this atrocious way by refusing to play with her.  She’s better than him, anyway.  He’s out of his league, by far.  Why was she even wasting her time with him?  I’m going to have a party and invite the entire neighborhood and purposely exclude them.

Oh my gosh.  We go to such weird, dark places in pain, don’t we?  But I hung in there.  I stayed with her.  I held her through some tears.  Asked some more questions.  Assured her that she is loved and a fun playmate.  We sat quietly for a long time.  I prayed silently, asking God to bless the moment, to bring some light.  After a while, she slithered off my lap and ran off to play on her own.  I caught a glimpse of her resilience and thanked God for it, because I know almost no characteristic is more valuable than the one that helps you bounce back.  And it is often developed by experiencing loss or disappointment, being surrounded by a support system, and learning that “it’s ok.”  We created a foothold today, with this tiny loss.  We crammed strong metal into the rock face and tested it.  It held.  The rock face is high.  But those footholds make all the difference.

Brene Brown for the win.

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The best Weekend EVER.

What a weekend!

I had chemo yesterday and I am not feeling great.  But I have this past weekend to look back on to warm my heart.

Seven years ago, I was pregnant with Cassidy and stumbled across a web site called Babycenter.com  It is basically a site where you can go to get information about being pregnant and being a new mom.  You can create a profile and put a photo and some information about yourself like if it’s your first pregnancy, etc.  Then you can go into the “Community” part of the web site to interact with others who are pregnant.  You can join a “birth board” which is a group of women who are all pregnant and due the same month as you.  There are thousands of women on each birth board, and you can get kind of addicted, interacting, talking, arguing about breast feeding in public and elective c-sections.  Things can get dramatic and heated and it is in these threads that you find “your people.”  The women you connect with.  In my case, I seemed to gravitate toward funny, outspoken but sensible people.  Both the kind who were in the midst of the drama at times, and the ones who broke into those conversations with well timed senses of humor.

From those connecting moments, you got to know “your people” and would have private conversations through chat functions, and if you were lucky, like me, you got invited to private groups.  This is where the magic really happens.  I was on several private groups.  And people joined and would get into an argument and leave.  Groups would break up and regroup into smaller groups.  About the time the babies were born and crawling, things general got moved over to Facebook.  Once you’d been friends online with someone for a year, it seemed safe to let the non crazy ones into a more real part of your life.  So we moved our groups to Facebook.  Again, there have been changes, people leaving groups – I even got kind of kicked out of one once.  But what has lasted has been some of the friendships. I have met several of these girls individually, in “real life” as I’ve traveled or they have.  And it’s always been great.  No horrible “catfishing” stories of people actually being a 50 year, creepy man (this has happened, though not to us!) or someone scamming for money.  Well, I have witnessed that one but I, fortunately, didn’t get involved.

This weekend, 6 women came to visit me.  They could have gone anywhere, as the people I am friends with typically meet up once a year.  I haven’t been able to join them for various reasons including timing and the expense of travel.  But even though I haven’t been able to join them in other cities for these meet ups, this year, they came to me.  The weekend was truly epic.  We had an enormous amount of fun.  I got to show off our beautiful city.  We sang karaoke, toured the homeless shelter at Light of Life where I work.  We ate our way through the city at such places as Steel Cactus, The Yard, Enrico’s Biscotti, Hofbrauhouse, and visited other establishments such as Over the Bar and Lava Lounge.  We gave a homeless man a cannoli, We rode the incline.  We Uber’d all over the city.  We even ran into the mayor and he was nice enough to greet my friends and say nice things about me.  It was a really fun moment.

They loved our bridges and rivers, were perplexed by why we put french fries on our salads and sandwiches, were moved by the homeless shelter and were puzzled by why people wear black and gold even when it’s not game day.  They made me laugh a thousand times.  We had heartfelt conversations, took naps and walked many miles.  I felt so energized and refreshed by this visit.  These women are so funny, generous, adventurous and have bigger hearts than the Duquesne incline car.

Kristy, Jess, Barb, Nichole, Annette, Mandy – you ladies gave me the weekend of the year.  I’m so incredibly blessed by your friendships.  My life would be less full if I had never landed on the July 2009 birth board.

Here are some photos of a weekend to remember.

 

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Check it: part 3

I met Tammy through one of my prayer warriors, Leigh.  And I met Leigh through my amazing friend, Laura, who passed away in 2013 from this dreaded disease.  Sometimes it’s hard to believe that Laura is gone.  I still see her signature symbol (rainbows!) all over the place and I notice her love of people, her legacy, really, lives on as great people continue to connect because of her.

Tammy’s story is much like the rest of ours – an unexpected cancer diagnosis for a young woman.  But I especially relate to her as a mother.  The news of a cancer diagnosis rips right through you, no matter what, but for a mother, there is this additional second terror that hits you What is going to happen?  What if I’m not ok?  Who will cut the itchy tags from their little shirt collars if I die???
I’m pleased to share Tammy’s story with you.  I wish she never had to go through any of this stuff, but because she did and shared her story, it strengthens and galvanizes me in my own fight.  (5 chemo rounds down.  7 to go!)
What I want you to know is that Tammy’s is a story of hope and current good health.  She is here today, in part, because she FOUND SOMETHING and she CHECKED IT!  Please let this be your weekly reminder that getting anything that concerns you checked out is your first punch in fighting cancer.  Earlier is always better and easier!  
 
Here is Tammy’s story in her own words:
 
“I‘m sorry. You have cancer.”
 
You are never prepared to hear those words. My cancer story began in the summer of 2010.  We planned a quick getaway with friends to Deep Creek for a weekend of boating, bonfires and board games.  It led me to discover a small lump on my chest wall. After taking a nasty spill off the tube, my life jacket pulled and I felt a pop.  I made my way back to the boat and could feel a small lump or something. It never changed in size like it would if it was swollen from the fall and no bruising, so my friend insisted that I call my doctor just to be safe. 
 
Normally I avoid the doctor at all cost but something just stayed with me to get checked; after all it couldn’t be cancer because I was only 38.  
 
I did what we all do and I googled the symptoms of breast cancer other than this small bump which was obviously totally related to the life jacket.  I didn’t  have any symptoms. 
 
I met with my doctor after the initial exam things moved at a quick pace. Initially they led me to believe it might be a cyst so that day we did an ultrasound but the location was tricky.  They felt it best we should do a mammogram and a stereotactic biopsy just to cover all the bases. Great! My lump was not in my breast – it was about 1/2 inch below my collar bone (the life jacket pulled so part of the tumor could be felt beneath the muscle.)  About a week later I had the testing and a week after that which was July 19, 2010.  I received that call and no matter how sympathetically it is delivered, the words “you have cancer,”STOPS YOUR WORLD. 
 
The future is never given but now it is dark, scary and fast.  As hard as it is to hear it is even harder to say. In the moments after the call I had to call my husband and I just cried on the phone.  The words just stuck in my throat. Finally, I said it and it was even worse saying it than hearing it. 
 
I had to leave work. Fortunately I work with amazing people and they were quickly learning of my meltdown and as I exited my office I saw the fear on their faces as i shared my news.  As the hours of that day past and my house filled with family and friends I needed a few minutes to myself.  
 
I was out of tears – you can only cry so much – so I prayed for God to take my worry.  I prayed that I would do whatever the doctors wanted, see, do, take whatever, just carry my worry, God. In that instance I was at peace and was overwhelmed with love and strength which slowly built to hope. It’s with that hope I carried to my many doctor appointments and it’s that hope I kept in my heart. 
 
It made hearing Stage 3, multiple types of cancer discovered, 8 rounds dense dose chemo, port,  hospital stays, radiation, BRCA 2 gene, mastectomy, prophylactic oophorectory (sounds like a Dr. Seuss word but it’s  removal of ovaries and the Fallopian  tubes), bone treatments not just manageable to survivable. Hope and holding hope high in your heart allows you to not only survive but thrive.
When I began treatment my daughters were 6 and 3 my hair was falling out so I armed them with safety scissors and they gave me the most beautiful haircut ever.  The fear disappeared from their faces and I gave them the power of hope.  And hope is like magic – it changes your attitude when the power of God intersects with your soul. The power of prayer and hope were my “secret” weapons in my cancer fight. And if it wasn’t for that life jacket pulling the muscle I may have never detected the tumor which secretly was growing under the my chest muscle.  Miracles happen every day. I am forever grateful for my prayer warriors, family, friends, Dr. Keenan, Dr. Rubino and Dr. Analo of West Penn great cancer care.
 

 

 

Remember…if it concerns you, CHECK IT.  And if your friend tells you about some bump or lump or weird thing, tell them to CHECK IT.
 
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Some days are tough. We have to be tougher.

Some days, you just have a “day.” I got chemo on Monday. Had to wear home the wonder woman fanny pack, got through Tuesday and Wednesday. Got unhooked on Wednesday. Went to work on Thursday. Friday, I had some appointments and some conference calls. I was doing ok, but took a downturn.  Nauseous, wobbly, shaky. I hate when my hands don’t work right.

Today is a rough day.  Cassidy’s last soccer game was this morning. There was no way I was missing it.  I thought it would be ok but I just felt so tired and cold and out of it.  My attitude was tanking and I could feel the negative affect I was having on my family.  I felt guilty and frustrated.  But I prayed.  I asked God to help me be thankful.
I came home and was treated to a lunch feast of Pho.  If you have had it, you know how awesome it is. If you have not had it, it is basically the world’s greatest chicken noodle soup. It’s a Vietnamese, and the kind I like to get is broth with shredded chicken.  It comes with rice noodles, fresh bean sprouts, basil, lime, and hot sauce. It is the most satisfying meal in the world, and my lovely friend, Kait, brought us some.
Then, she took my daughter outside and played with her for a solid hour so I could get some rest and Kevin could get some yardwork done.  Do you know how great that is?
So much to be thankful for.  I struggle with these side effects.  I hate them.  But I’m always much more overwhelmed by the kindness people show us. Nausea is overcome by a healing meal.  The shakes subside with a long hug.  The body relaxes when a stressful problem is solved by a helping hand.
I’m so grateful to be the recipient of such care.  I’m full of thanksgiving, now.  Eucharisteo.  The miracle is always preceded by thanksgiving.  Gratitude changes everything.  It melts a hard heart.  It makes “I was wrong” possible.  It shines warm and bright through cold and dark.  Thanksgiving compels us to consider our circumstances in their proper context.  And even when those circumstances are admittedly bad, like mine – against the odds – that willingness toward gratitude…it makes a way.  A way for hope.  And it becomes a useful weapon against fear.  
 
Sometimes, you just have to put on that red lipstick, say a prayer of deep thanksgiving, and wait for the miracle to propel you forward.  In my experience, it always does.  God is close.  He’s always waiting for us to grab his big, strong hand.  
 

 

 

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Check it. Part 2.

When I was growing up, my parents had this huge group of friends.  We would all go to the beach together.  The children would play in the ocean and the adults would do adult things that involved drinking beer, dancing and a theme that included costumes and songs and choreographed routines.  It was a lot of fun, and I miss those days.  One of the wonderful people who was a part of my life back then is Mary.  Through the glories of social media, we’ve reconnected, and I was dismayed to hear about her battle with cancer.  Until I, myself, was diagnosed at 35.  While I was still troubled by her illness, I found an encourager, a friend and fellow warrior in Mary.

I am profiling people in my life who have been diagnosed with cancer in an effort to remind all of my friends and family and anyone else reading this that cancer can hit anyone at anytime.  You don’t have to be afraid of that – because so many cancers are so treatable if you would just check out anything unusual and advocate for yourself so these cases can be caught early.

Here, Mary, who discovered her cancer through PAYING ATTENTION TO HER BODY and CHECKING IT shares her story in her own words:

My cancer was found by accident. In August of 2011, I went to MedExpress for some discomfort in my upper rib cage that I assumed was my gallbladder. I was 48 at the time and I just assumed body parts would start to give me trouble.  They sent me for some blood work and a scan of my gallbladder, liver and pancreas. That, my friends, is how it began. My liver enzymes were high and the scan of my liver showed something very bad.  After seeing a liver specialist, a battery of tests ensued in the next few weeks including a liver biopsy where it was determined I had breast cancer that spread to my liver. Now to find it in my breast, I kept feeling for lumps, pressing, pushing, nothing. I went for yearly mammograms and was about 3 months late in getting my annual exam. How could this be?  Soon thereafter, I met with my Oncologist, Dr. Lembersky at UPMC. he wasn’t convinced it was breast cancer since we couldn’t feel the lump so he sent me for a mammogram. Upon having my mammogram, they scanned and saw nothing, I showed the technician what I thought may be something – it was a thickening on my breast, sort of like having a hive. It wasn’t very hard, it wasn’t a lump, but a thickening.  Sure enough, a biopsy determined that was it. He confirmed that I had Stage IV metastatic  breast cancer that spread to my liver.  I was Her2 positive which is an aggressive type of breast cancer that tends to grow faster and is more likely to spread and come back. It’s also fueled by hormones so they threw me into Menopause to shut it down.  Dr. Lembersky was stern, said there’d be no surgery, just chemo and that they’d hit me hard. I said “listen, I have a 16 year old who needs me and a 401K that I want to spend. You do whatever you need to to make sure I stay here.” He said he’d do his best, but I could tell, he was very concerned as we were too. 


So the chemo began every 3 weeks for 6 months. My body was in shock, I never get sick, not a cold, the flu anything and my body was feeling the ill effects of chemo pretty quickly.  After my 2nd treatment, I ended up in Shadyside Hospital as my white blood cells were dangerously low. I became Neutropenic and they thought I had an infection. No infection, but the chemo was wracking my body. They brought me back after 3 days in the hospital. Along the way, I lost my hair, and had terrible side effects from the chemo that got worse with each treatment. By the time I was done, I was cooked and I’m not sure I could have gone on any longer. But with the presence of family and friends, I was able to push through.


Luckily for me, the chemo worked beautifully. It was squashing the cancer and my Oncologist was thrilled. I continue my cancer fight with an IV infused drug of Herceptin every 3 weeks and a pill called Tamoxifin daily.  This will continue for the rest of my life or until we need to do something differently. I began post-chemo scans every 3 months and now I’m out to every 6 months. It’s been 4 years since my diagnosis, I’m in remission and to this day, Dr. Lembersky calls me his “miracle patient.” I don’t consider myself a miracle, just lucky this time around.


In the beginning, I felt that cancer was controlling my life and would do so forever.  And in a sense it is a bit controlling, which I absolutely hate. As I continue treatments, there’s a constant reminder when I visit the Hillman Cancer Center and see so many people young and old suffering at different stages of this awful disease. There’s times I “room” with another patient and try to be their cheerleader, giving them my bleak story and telling them there’s a chance, to fight hard, to stay strong and that makes me happy.  Then there’s times that I break down because it’s so scary that I’m not in control and I hate to see people suffering. I’m truly traumatized by the whole event and when I talk about my chemo days, often times I break down because it brings back so many memories of pain and suffering.  But the one thing I can say is a cancer diagnosis to me meant that I needed to make some lifestyle changes. This was where I was going to be a little more in control.  After reading some books and educating myself on the disease, I truly believe cancer can be fueled by what we eat. I am trying to do everything I can so that my cancer does not return. I work with a nutritionist, try to eat clean, have an Integrative Medicine doctor that I see for the lasting side affects of chemo and continue follow-ups with my Oncologist. I had genetic testing done for my family (yes, even though I have a son, it matters) and I don’t carry the gene, nor can they find a genetic reason for the history of cancer in my family. My mom has ovarian cancer for the 2nd time (does not carry the gene) and her sister passed from the same disease. There’s something there, they just haven’t discovered it yet.  


I do look at life differently since my diagnosis in both good ways and bad. Unfortunately, I don’t have much sympathy when someone is sick with a cold or something minor and whines about it – now that’s bad. But then there’s the good – this has opened my eyes to how strong I actually am, to all the blessings in my life – my husband and son, my family and friends and the simple things in life. I pay it forward however and whenever I can. I don’t sweat the small stuff and try to put things into perspective.  I think Jim Valvano captured it when he said “”Cancer can take away all of my physical abilities. It cannot touch my mind, it cannot touch my heart, and it cannot touch my soul.”  I think that sums it up.  


Mary’s story has encouraged me greatly.  She fought hard and continues to fight to keep that pesky cancer at bay.  And she’s making it.  She looks great, travels for fun, and recently married her sweetheart, Harry.  Mary has been an example to me of a fighter and a person who has figured out how to enjoy life even when it’s really hard.

In addition to encouraging me, she introduced me to Chef Colombe.  Chef is part nutritionist, part life coach.  She had cancer, herself, 20 years ago, and though she went through treatment, she also believes in our ability to help heal ourselves through healthy foods, clean eating and other lifestyle changes.  Mary has been working with her for a while, and I started as well.  Though I have studied and researched a lot that is out there, regarding different opinions on what foods contribute to cancer and what foods fight cancer, Chef Colombe has significantly deeper knowledge.  And my favorite part of her approach is that she knows there are no one-size-fits-all answers.  Every body is different.  Every cancer is different.  Every chemo protocol hits each person differently.  She asks a lot of very good questions and takes your entire health situation into consideration.  She works with people facing all kinds of issues from cancer to celiac’s disease to general low energy.  She can be found at www.lifemadeedible.com

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God shows up.

Sometimes, I look up to the sky and wonder if all that I believe about who God is is true. Some days He feels far away. Some days, I think how much I operate from the foundation of my faith and how crazy it would be if none of it was true.  Almost like a mental illness. Like if I lived my life believing I could fly if I wanted to. Or that I could see things that other people didn’t see. I am sure that atheists think this about we crazy Christians. If I wasn’t a Christian, I would definitely think the Christians were crazy.  Well, actually there are plenty of people who call themselves Christians who are certifiably crazy. 

But sometimes, God shows up in such undeniable ways, it makes me sure. Like totally 100% sure. Let me share two things with you.

Early this morning I got an email from a lifelong friend. A woman who I’ve known my entire life. She shared a recent email I wrote with people from her church.  The email was an update about my situation and some general thoughts about how I am grateful and confident in God.  She had gotten a response to the email from someone active in youth ministry. Apparently the topic of cancer had come up recently and she was struggling to talk to young teenagers about cancer through the lens of faith.  My email really touched her heart and gave her a new place to start the conversation from. It was just what she needed to read and she wondered if she could share it.  

That energizes me so much and makes me really excited for how God is using this terrible situation to encourage and comfort others.

That was a great way to start the day. But it gets even better.

Later this morning I saw a lovely woman at Cassidy’s soccer game who has a shaved head. 


It seemed fairly clear to me that she probably was in cancer treatment. However, you don’t want to assume. And you also don’t want to invade someone’s privacy. But although I’ve seen her twice before, I could not shake the feeling that I should talk to her today.  What a weird thing to do, but I knew I had to.  

I walked up to her and I said “hi. Sorry if this is weird, but I have cancer. I’m starting to lose my hair and may have to shave it.  I noticed that you are rocking that look really well so I thought I’d ask you about it.” 

She beamed a gorgeous, friendly smile at me (whew!) and told me she had breast cancer.  We started chatting.  

After a few minutes she asked my name and said “I just read this blog post that reminds me of this…”

I told her that I have a blog. She asked me if I knew someone named Katy Ursta. (I just blogged about my friend, Katy.)  I started laughing and said “I’m lemonscarlet.”

She got tears in her eyes and said “I have chills.” She told me that she had just had three different people send her a link to my blog and she finally read it last night. She said she was too tired to do it then, but that she had planned to message both me and Katy on Facebook because she was so inspired by it.  She couldn’t believe that I just walked right up to her that morning.

I mean, what are the chances?!  We both felt like it was from God.  I know I was incredibly encouraged by this.  I hope to continue to get to know her.  As you pray for me, pray for Jennifer, too.  She’s almost done with chemo and has four active kiddos to chase around the soccer fields.  

God is good, my friends.  


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Young Women Get Cancer

I mentioned casually to a friend recently that I have several
friends who are either currently fighting cancer, in remission or have passed
away from cancer.  She looked at me,
shocked.  She wanted to know how many
people we were talking about.  2?  4?  I
thought about it and realized that I have way more than that.  She acted as though this was quite surprising.  I don’t think it is anymore.  Young women get cancer. 
My cancer was discovered much later than it should have
been.  My presenting symptom (TMI ahead!)
was blood in my stool.  But I had seen three
doctors about it over ten years (TEN YEARS!!) and until I was diagnosed, was
basically told to eat more fiber.  I knew
something was wronger than that, and I honestly put off pushing for diagnosis out
of fear and embarassment.  (You haven’t
lived until a doctor is closely inspecting that area of your anatomy – bucket list
alert!)  I don’t live in the space of
blame, but I deeply regret not advocating more for myself, and wish I hadn’t
been so embarrassed to discuss a little blood in my poop. 
That regret and deep desire to help others avoid my mistakes,
I believe, is part of the significance of my adventure with cancer.  Those feelings are difficult to live with,
but I feel propelled by them in a positive way. I think I can make a difference
by broadening the scope of topics that are ok to discuss.  Think of it this way.  20 years ago the term “breast cancer” was
whispered shamefully.  We didn’t talk
about diseases that kill us and we didn’t talk about our boobs!  Now, you have NFL players sporting pink shoes
and there is a line of products with the phrase FEEL YOUR BOOBIES splashed
across them.  It’s ok to talk about
breast cancer.  Say what you want about
Susan G. Komen (many survivors do not love this organization) but they nailed
it in terms of social marketing.  They changed
the game. 
I want to change the game, too.  I want to help people do three things:
1.      Be more aware of your body – are you having
symptoms?  What are they?  Where are they?  How long do they last?  I want to end this mentality of “If I ignore
it, it will go away.”  That’s how people
die.  Early detection is KEY.  Cancer treatment is changing.  Sooner is better.  Waiting gets you a big fat NOTHING. So…CHECK IT.  
2.      Get over the fear of bad news.  Look.  “Bad
news” is a DIAGNOSIS.  A diagnosis is
GOOD.  Does anyone want to hear they have
cancer?  Nope!  But right now, if I could go backwards in
time to 2005 and get a Stage 1 cancer diagnosis instead of what has become a
Stage 4 diagnosis, I would be thrilled to be told I have early stage
cancer.  Overjoyed.  You can’t fight what you don’t know.  So…CHECK IT.  

3.   Get thee to thy doctor!  Scared of your doctor?  Find a new one.  I went through many crappy doctors before I found
my guy.  Dr. Martin Seltman at Metro
Family Health Center in Edgewood/Regeant Sq. 
He treats me with respect and dignity and as a partner in my care.  If it wasn’t for him, my PCP, I would never
have gotten to a specialist who diagnosed me. 
He’s my hero because he was a safe enough person during routine sinus
infection visits for me to finally whisper my terrible secret.  I recently wrote him a note because I thought
I should tell him how much his kindness and professionalism have impacted my
life. So…get a good doc NOW and CHECK IT.  

Check your boobs.  Check your butt.  That weird bump?  Check it.  Checkity check check check.

I’m featuring some friends in coming blog entries who are
fellow cancer fighters.  Warriors.  Bad Asses.  Diligent checkers.  First up is Katy Ursta.  
Katy is a
mom of two, wife of a great guy (who I happened to babysit many moons ago!) and
a top notch Beach Body coach.  She has
created a business that allows her to share her passion for fitness, transformation
and helping others, and allows her to work from home.  Katy was in great shape, active, happy and
enjoying a busy, productive life when she noticed a couple of odd
symptoms.  Her lymph nodes were enlarged
and her legs were dry and itchy.  She was also weaning her son and had some issues that presented as mastitis in her breast.  Smart
lady that she is, she went to her doctor and it was quickly discovered that she
had Stage 4 Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, a blood cancer that causes tumors throughout
the body.

Katy wasn’t about to take this lying down.  She went straight into chemo and continued
working out daily, dedicating her workouts to fellow fighters.  Example: 
“Today, we’re sweating for Jessi.” 
What an inspiration!  I know that
while we were in the chemo trenches together, she would spur me on to get
active even when I felt my worst.  Katy
has used her unique position and experience to develop a platform for speaking
and helping others get in shape.  She is
partnering with me in raising awareness among young people to not ignore those
symptoms, not fear diagnosis and get to the doctor.  Katy is a beautiful spirit who I am proud to
know.  She is generous, fun, friendly and
full of energy.  If she doesn’t inspire
you, no one will.  I encourage you to
check out her blog.  If you are looking
for a compassionate, supportive person to guide you in an effort toward better
health, she’s your girl.  Check it:    www.onefitfighter.com

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Next up: round 4

Let’s talk about chemo. 

I get a lot of questions about how my chemo works, and since I just completed my 3rd cycle, and tomorrow begin my 4th, I thought I would explain how my customized protocol happens.  I say this out loud as an answer to a question about 5 times a day.  So, if you ask me, I’ll know you don’t read my blog, or that you stink at reading comprehension.  Just kidding.  I know, I can barely keep track of it all myself and I’m the one doing it, so if you forget, it’s ok.  I don’t mind. 

The cycle starts on Monday.  Kevin and I go to the UPMC Cancer Center in Monroeville.  We meet with my oncologist, Dr. Mehta.  He is on the young side, and the right mix of serious, funny and hopeful.  I trust him and look forward to seeing him.  He asks how I’m doing, we go over any new side effects.  This time, at tomorrow’s visit we will be having a major discussion about my nausea from last time.  I have a folder’s worth of research in my head and my expectation is that he will be very responsive and helpful.  We need to get this nausea under control. 

After we meet with him, they draw blood to make sure my levels are high enough to withstand chemo.  This is my 12th round of chemo in my life (8 last time plus the three I’ve had) and I have always been ok.  However, I closely review my own blood work and I notice a few levels that are concerningly low. We have discussed this and Dr. Mehta has a close eye on them.  After they take my blood, I go back to the room and pick a chair.  The room is open, with waist high walls and partitions.  I try to get a chair in a sectioned off area – depending on who my companion is, we can be a bit rowdy, and many chemo patients nod off to sleep during treatment.  Kevin stays with me until I get hooked up to my pre-meds and then he goes off to work.  Usually my mom comes, but if she is otherwise engaged, like watching Cass if she has the day off school, different friends fill in as chemo companion and chauffeur. 

The pre meds are dispensed via IV.  They include fluids for hydration, (basically everyone in chemo is dehydrated.  Want to be a pal?  Offer me hydrating beverages whenever you see me) steroids, (they help your body deal with the side effects) and anti-nausea medication.  This takes about an hour. 

Then, they change the bags and bring out the chemo drugs.  Oxaliplatin is the main drug for my type of cancer.  It’s side effects are primarily nausea, fatigue, hair loss and cold sensitivity and neuropathy.  This means that for a few days I can’t touch or drink cold things – it causes a seriously unpleasant sensation.  To the point that even when that effect has worn off, I get anxious, worrying that touching or drinking something cool/cold will hurt me.  I seem to be experiencing some hair loss this time.  I am losing quite a bit in the shower when I wash my hair.  I am thankful that I have a lot of hair, because it will hopefully be a while before it’s showing and I feel like I have to do something about it.  (Head shaving party?!)  It’s possible it will just thin some, so I’m not jumping the gun on this one.  But I’m watching vigilantly, lest I be that in denial cancer patient, walking around with patchy mange.  Also?  Why my head hair??  I notice my leg hair hasn’t exactly taken a vacation.  Whatever, body. 

Vectibix is another chemo drug administered via IV.  This drug causes a terrible rash.  I seem to be getting it mildly on my face and chest, but it’s primarily on my scalp.  It itches and is a bit painful.  So far, not anything I can’t ignore, but I wonder how much worse it will get.  It will be really awesome when I have to shave my head and we can then see it’s covered in a horrible rash.   Someone, please start scoping out wigs.  Something with bangs, perhaps?

Finally, we have good old 5-FU.  I hate this drug.  FU indeed.  They give me a bolus which is a syringe of it, so it comes on hard and fast, and then they hook me up to the Wonder Woman fanny pack.  I cart this large and in charge pack around everywhere I go for 46 hours following hook-up.  It’s cumbersome and makes a clicking noise about every 30 seconds.  It is always a welcome relief to get it disconnected.  But on Wednesday, when I’m disconnected, that is when the side effects really start getting bad.  Nausea, fatigue, digestive issues, heartburn.  It’s not usually all of those, but those are the ones that have given me the most trouble.  They last well into the weekend.  Sunday is usually the day that things start looking up. 

This past time was pretty rough.  The nausea really gave me a hard time.  I have a game plan for dealing with it this time, so hopefully we can get in front of it and head it off for at least a while.  If I could get one or two more days of feeling ok before the really difficult days set in, I would be very grateful. 

Generally, with chemo, the drugs have a compound effect, meaning the side effects they cause get worse each time.  But sometimes, certain effects, your body has a way of adjusting to them and they get better.  I’m hoping and praying that we don’t have all of these side effects in increasing levels each time.  But I also know that whatever comes, I am capable of dealing with it.  Prayer, thankfulness, attentive medical staff, and unflagging support, assistance and encouragement from #teamjessi is all critical and effective.  These are the tools by which cancer and chemo are overcome.   

My attitude is currently ok.  I’m having a little anxiety and discouragement facing tomorrow.  I have some prayer and some other attitude adjustment activities on the schedule for today.  Each time, so far, I have been able to rally, able to see the hope, see the need to hold my head up high, and face it square on, get down to business and get it done.  Sometimes, it takes more effort.  Or more God. 

Knowing how much people care has this magical effect on me, too.  When it is clear that someone has thought about my current situation and reaches out and does something in an effort to help, it’s truly incredible and I have moments where I think that maybe one of the reasons I am going through this really difficult time is that I never would have understood the depths of care some of the people in my life have for me.  My mom, cooking up a storm two weeks ago so that I would have organic, healthy, but comforting meals all ready to go when I didn’t feel like cooking.  A friend continually asking me what I need and figuring out that a massage gift card was the sweetest gift I could have received.  Another friend who fights hellish traffic every Tuesday to bring my family a gourmet meal from another friend who has agreed to provide it each week as long as we need it.  A friend so kind, she supplied me with many needed facial products to combat the acne/rash.  A group of friends, most of whom I have never met in real life, chose Pittsburgh for their annual gathering – I assume partly because they are dying to see America’s Most Livable City!  But also partly because I’m here.  I can’t wait to see these ladies!  Friends checking in, praying daily, offering help with Cass – heartwarming, life giving.  

It doesn’t change anything about how tough it is to get through this.  But it makes all the difference.  It balances out the pain and the fear and the anxiety with love.  LOVE is bigger.       

 

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Eucharisteo

So I’m reading this book on being thankful.  I was led down this path two ways.  One is that the magnificent Tim Keller mentions being thankful as part of the way you respond to adversity in an effective, Christ-like way. Ever since I read that in his book Walking with God through Pain and Suffering, it has stuck with me. Thanking God even when things are not going well. Being thankful in the midst of scary and painful circumstances. How can this be what He expects of us?

Then, Lisa Slayton, my trusty mentor, gave me a very interesting book – it is called One Thousand Gifts.
The author is an interesting person. She writes with peculiar cadence and word choices. She is a farmer, or maybe more accurately a farmer’s wife and mother of six kiddos, and writes like she has at least a PhD. Maybe she does. But her simple life and complex thoughts are unexpectedly divine.  I’ve seen a clip of her speaking, and she dresses and talks like an NYC poet. Such an interesting woman!  Ann Voskamp.
Early in life, she and her family experience the most horrific of tragedies. Her young sister was very accidentally killed by an oncoming delivery truck driver. They all saw it happen. Devastating. Tragic. Gruesome.
When you go through something like that, you pretty much either shut down, cross your arms and turn away from God. Or you run toward him desperately, knowing that He is the only possible thing that could ever make you in anyway OK again.
She initially chose the former, quietly, humbly.  Confused, desperately disappointed.  She continued church going but closed off part of herself.  She settled into a longtime depression of sorts.  She didn’t become an atheist or anything – she just stopped trusting God and stopped being engaged with Him.
The book talks about how she came across this idea of Eucharisteo, the table of Thanksgiving.  As long as there is grace, thanks is possible, and so joy is possible.  She met someone who was thankful IN ALL CIRCUMSTANCES (and he’d been through some doozies.)
She knows how Jesus thanks God before he asks him to do stuff. She notes that thanksgiving always precedes the miracle.
She thinks hard on this Eucharisteo.    She considers how even our saving by Christ must include gratitude.  How else could we accept the gift of salvation but with gratitude? Gratitude is the evidence and manifestation of our acceptance of his extended grace.
So she begins the list. A list of things she is thankful for. Little things, big things. God’s grace and the beauty of morning sunlight.  Her husband’s embrace.  Her children’s bare feet.  Apparently there is a workbook that goes along with this book. I don’t have it. But I got the idea that I should probably start making a list, too. The title of the book is One Thousand Gifts. So I guess that is what we’re shooting for, here. So far, I’m up to about 200. I forget things that should be obvious. I think I’ve written down some already, and realize I haven’t. I’ve written some things twice, I think. But here is the list I have so far. Many of you reading this will find your names on it. And if you don’t, it’s probably because my brain is addled from chemo and pain medication.  it’s far from complete, so your name may well be popping up soon.
I’m only about a third of the way through the book. And I have not magically transformed into a naturally thankful person. But I do find myself taking note of blessings that I took for granted before. Little things that people do or that spring up before me, source unknown.  I’m more aware, and more willing to give thanks even if I am not feeling especially thankful. Sometimes, the very act of thanking prompts those feelings of gratitude. There is some special magic in that. I don’t have it all figured it out. But I think I’m on the right track.
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Surgery 2.0: The play by play

Cancer is an adventure and one part of that adventure for many cancer patients is surgery.  Would you like a long, detailed update about my life since August 31st?  Ok!  Here we go.

Well, it’s been two weeks since I had surgery to remove half my liver (which, I’m told is almost totally grown back already!) and my entire gall bladder. Forgive me for the delay, but between the anesthesia, the pain and the side effects of the pain medication, it would have been a bad idea.  For example, a few days ago, I went to text a friend (Kelly Cooke) and realized that I had texted her in the middle of the night from the hospital “These pain meds are awesome.”  I’m not sure if it’s funnier that I wrote that or that she totally ignored it.

Surgery was…surgery.  I’ll give you some details because sometimes people get sent to my page because they have a similar diagnosis and they Google what to expect.

We arrived at the hospital at 4:45am.  It is always interesting to see the groupings of people there for early morning procedures.  Some people come with just one other person and are pretty quiet and grim-faced.  Others are calm or upbeat (probably the lucky laproscopic patients!)  I’ve noticed that Latino people with an older relative going in for surgery come out in droves – the whole family – and are pretty lively.  I’m happy to report I’ve never seen anyone in the early morning surgery waiting area alone.  That would break my heart.

My trusty driver and husband had his coffee, his newspaper and his laptop at the ready.  Shortly after we arrived, my lovely, loyal, generous friend, Jennifer showed up.  You really love someone if you wake up at 4am for them.  That’s an official friendship measurement unit of some kind.  We only got to visit a moment before they took me back, had me undress and stuck me with a bunch of needles attached to little tubes.  Kevin was allowed to come back and sit with me.  They started giving me the good stuff – the medicines that cause me to make every observation out loud and discuss such obscure topics as Fraggle Rock.  I get a little paranoid “Is that guy REALLY a doctor?” and a little silly “I can see that lady’s butt!”  And then they put the nerve blocks in and I get grouchy because that hurts, dude.  But then it doesn’t.  And things get dreamy, and off I go to surgeryland.  I have no memory between that and arriving on my room floor to see the friendly faces of Kevin, Jennifer, my mother-in-law and Kait.  Apparently my surgery and post-op recovery took about twice as long as expected, so everyone had been riding an emotional roller coaster.  That is the one time that being the patient is actually totally, inarguably easier than being the loved one.  Not that being the loved one in these situations is a piece of cake by any means.  Your friends and relatives take this journey with you, They drive you places, they help you organize your medication, they watch the needles go in, they hear you barf through the bathroom door, they hold your hand while you fight a battle of heartburn or nausea or aches and pains silently while your 6 year old tells you some rambling tale from the playground.  They are definitely in it with you and I would never say it’s easy or less scary than experiencing it yourself.  Love is like that – you sometimes fully care MORE about someone else than you do yourself.  But no one else actually feels the physical pain or ponders their own mortality in the immediate way life threatening illnesses and treatments cause one to, or puts pressure on themselves for every factor that might make a difference – take this supplement, don’t eat that pesticide-laden nectarine, get 5,000 units of turmeric into your body today or else!!  Being the patient is a solitary endeavor at times, even in the most supportive of circles.

But on surgery day, you, the patient, are in lala land and the fear, the waiting, the not knowing…it’s all placed squarely on them.  Them.  Your loved ones.  They walk with you, carry you, comfort you, spur you on, buy you nice stuff, feed you good food, clean around you, make you laugh, and run ahead of you on the path, clearing the way of everything but the largest, immovable boulders – they are in it with you.  But when you get wheeled down the hall on that gurney and you fade into unconsciousness, it is they who are left alone.

So, after hours of waiting and praying and hand-wringing, I am wheeled to my room. My crew awaits.  I make a few comments about how between Kevin’s beard and Jennifer’s stylish hat, they look like an Amish version of American Gothic, and I manage to wrestle my phone from Kevin and take a few pictures.

 

That day and the next are mostly a blur.  I remember two very good nurses, Alisha and Justin, who took excellent care of me.  Justin and I became very close because our first two experiences together were removing my catheter (is there much out there that is more personal?) and the tape holding it tightly to my thigh.  After about five minutes of his gently prying off that damned tape I looked at him and said “It’s like the world’s slowest Brazilian wax.”  He roared with laughter and we were best friends after that.  Even when he wasn’t assigned to me, he came by to check on me.  Good nurses are seriously the greatest people.  I didn’t have any bad nurses, per se, but the ones that clearly care and try to get what you need as quickly as possible, and treat you well are just so great.  It took everything I had to not ask Alisha and Justin to friend me on Facebook.  I know I’m just another patient, but I felt special because they made me feel special. Well, that’s not entirely true – I kind of always feel a little bit special.  🙂  But they made me feel like we had a connection, which is probably just them doing their jobs very well.

The first two days, I was on a liquid diet.  That is fine – I have no problem with those kind of restrictions.  They exist so you don’t send a pork chop barreling down your tender, healing insides.  Here is what I have a problem with, though.  You have just had surgery. You haven’t eaten real food in days and what do they bring you?  Processed junk.  Off brand Jello, which is simply corn syrup, which actual Jello also is, only in the case of the Yum Yum Jel Jel or whatever it’s called, the corn syrup is…syrupyer?  Beef broth (blech!) made out of a boxed powder – more sodium than you can shake a stick at.  Pudding (ok, I’ll admit, vanilla pudding, junk filled as it is, is a treat I let myself have about once a year.)  But still!  Sugar, and a list of at least 12 unpronounceable fake chemical ingredients.  Does it really seem like this is what our bodies need then?  Don’t we need nourishment?  Vitamins?  Minerals?  Nutritional TLC?  I barely ate anything because I just couldn’t imagine how it could possibly be any good for me.  (Hey-ay – guess who is down a dress size?!  Not the best way to lose a few, but I’ll take it.) We moved on to “soft foods” which included mashed potatoes and an egg sandwich.  That is what I ate for two days because they seemed the closest to actual food out of my options.  Let’s look the other way on the probability that the taters came out of a box.

I think it would be awesome to really revamp what hospitals are doing with food for patients.  To really think through what is appropriate, nutrient-rich and promotes healing.  What a cool job that would be.  Ahem, Natalie Ilkin Coale.  Just sayin’.

Visitors were probably the highlight of my experience besides, of course, doctor-ordered pain medication that makes you just not care about anything at all – my blood pressure never ventured past 120/80 during my entire visit.  I had a few visitors.  More like, a bunch.  It was so nice to see those who came by.  I fell asleep during half of the visits and have fuzzy memories of others.  Some visits were planned, some pleasant surprises – Jim Lokay gets the award for “furthest travels” and we will just pretend he didn’t come home for some fancy event, and not solely to see his ailing high school musical partner in crime.

I got to be a guinea pig for some nursing students.  And let me tell you, being a student’s first ever laxative suppository patient is a wild ride.  A ride you wish you weren’t tall enough for, where a balding, grumpy, middle aged instructor stands by and utters the phrase “Insert, insert, insert…and…stop!” to a trembling, stuttering blonde girl who probably wished she could click her heels and head back to Kansas where no one needs suppositories because of all that corn they eat.  That was a glamorous moment.  Believe me.

My abdomen has never been particularly attractive.  I carry my weight there and have always been kind of puffy around the middle.  Even as a teenager, when your body is about as good as it’s going to get, I never donned a bikini.  Well, even if they invent the actual magic bullet of weight loss and I get tight like Jillian Michaels, there will still not be a bikini in my future.  You guys, I kind of look like a shark bit me!  I have this incision that will eventually be a scar from my sternum, heading down a few inches, and then sweeping out to almost my hip on my right side.  The bruising and swelling make it look like I’ve been a victim of a mob beating.  It’s currently turning from that deep blue/black and purple to a sickly yellow with some spotty red like I have a bunch of hickeys on my belly.  I assure you, I do not.  When the bruises fade away, I’ll have a deep red scar that will probably change to white, and one day, when this is all behind us, make a very good story.  Ready for pics???

 

The only other noteworthy thing that happened at the hospital is this:  I had a drainage container that they call “the grenade” that is a clear tube inserted in your side, going deep into your belly where all the oozy, bloody junk gathers.  The grenade sucks it out.  Oof.  That thing was gross.  A clear grenade shaped ball dangling from a hole they made in your side.  They were nice enough to pin it to my gown so it didn’t drag on the floor when I went to the bathroom.  The nurse would drain it every few hours and it changed eventually from a dark red to a light red.  The disturbing thing is that they would drain it into a plastic cup like out of which you might drink, say, a spiked punch or cheap red wine at a picnic.  And then they would stand there and talk to me, holding it casually.  I almost vomited each time, because I worried that they would forget what they were doing and take a swig.  Arghghghgh!!!

Finally, the day of my discharge, the docs came through and said it was time to take out the grenade.  I had been briefed on this by a kind surgeon and he strongly recommended I up my pain meds before removal because it is “quite painful.”  The docs came through early that day and I had requested my first pain meds of the day, but they had not yet been administered.  The nice surgeon said “We’ll come back in a half hour, ok?”  I smiled gratefully and was about to thank him when the obnoxious PA with him ROLLED HER EYES and said “It doesn’t hurt that much.”

Look, Britney.  First of all, Britney?  Lovely name, but I just can’t handle the idea of someone young enough to have that name involved in life or death decisions about me.  Maybe the life or death decisions of a hamster or reptile no one cares about.  But Britneys may not operate yet.  See me in 2020 and we’ll see how it sounds then.  Secondly, SHUT UP.  I just had my whole body forcibly ripped open.  I have not complained one single time, unlike my neighbor down the hall who screams all day and calls all of the nurses “jackasses.”  I am a pretty docile patient.  Third, when A SURGEON tells you something will be QUITE PAINFUL, you freaking listen.  So shush.  And come back later, after I get my pain meds and I am less likely to smack you when this thing comes out.  I narrowed my eyes and said “That’s not what I heard from the doctor.”  He smiled and said it was no problem and they would be back.  So, of course, a half hour later, my door opens and here is Britney, by herself.  Sigh.  So I endured what probably could have been a kinder, gentler procedure by a physician’s assistant that I just annoyed.  So, new levels of pain were experienced for about 45 seconds.  Oh well.  I’ll consider it a teachable moment (be nice to the PAs even if they are little brats) and a character building exercise, which is the only benefit of physical pain.

I have enjoyed convalescing at home, receiving visitors, incredibly thoughtful packages and cards and catching up on reading and phone calls and napping.  You really can’t rush your liver healing, so I’ve had to go against my instincts to “bounce back” and just lean into the healing and rest.

Today was my first doctor’s appointment.  It was great to see my oncologist.  He has just the right mix of cautious optimism, humor, hope and diligence.  He talks about me to other doctors with pride.  He believes in me, my strong spirit and iron will.  He says I’m tough and laughs when I joke.  I like it that he gets me.  It is so important to like your oncologist.

He says we start chemo in two weeks.  I plan on fully enjoying the rest of my chemo hiatus.  Thanks for reading.  Until next time…