When something doesn't fit.

What do you do when something doesn't fit?

When my pants don't button, I tend to eat healthy and workout...or buy new pants;)

That's a pretty easy solution.

When I was diagnosed 10 months ago (wow, it seems like so much longer), there was a time period where I felt that I didn't fit. This was a new concept/feeling to me.  I have always "fit".  Honestly, I normally feel like I fit in with pretty much any crowd.

Please don't take this the wrong way, my friends and family didn't treat me any different.  They weren't mean.  They were sensitive to my needs and wishes.  They were not the problem.

First, it started with my lack of energy.  I couldn't keep up with the workouts I was used to completing.  I was used to working out with friends and that was three-five hours of girlfriend time.  When I could no longer complete a workout, I was missing out on this time. It was usually replaced by spending alone time laying down. *My friends ALWAYS offered to walk/modify the workout, but I didn't want to hold them up/slow them down.*


Then, I noticed myself staring off thinking about God-knows-what instead of conversing when I was with my friends or family.  I really had to concentrate to have a normal conversation about anything other than cancer.

Next, the part that was frightening to me, I thought maybe I no longer "fit".  At home, I would probe my bearded man with questions like:

Is it normal to want to stay home all the time when my whole life I have wanted action? 

Do you think I've changed?  Have my friends changed?  Why don't I want to go to X, Y, or Z?

Maybe I'm better off staying home.  If they want to stop by, they can.

Is it because I don't care about the little things anymore?  It's not exciting to go shopping for new clothes, they're just clothes.  I have no desire to talk about the weather or plans for next week or month because I don't know how I'll feel. I really don't care what my/anyone elses hair looks like at this point, but I know I'm supposed to notice and care that someone got highlights or a new do.

I'm nervous to go to this/that party.  I might have to talk to someone I don't know/want to talk to.

I thought they (my friends, most of whom I've known my ENTIRE life) were so different from me now. It was hard to have a good time when I did decide to go.  I was tired and distant and different.  I didn't fit.

And I REALLY struggled with it.  Why don't I fit in?! What is wrong with me?!

Now that I'm feeling better.  I'm back to working regular work hours.  I'm working out a few times a week.  I have a little more energy. My pants are much closer to buttoning again.

Now, I get it.

Depression.  I didn't know what depression was before my diagnosis. (No, that's a lie.  I've been depressed before, but I was aware that I was depressed...I mean, I sat in a room and watched a blank television screen for goodness sake.  This was different.  This time, I thought I just stopped fitting in and didn't understand what was wrong with me.)

I have witnessed depression.  The bearded man gets a small case of it every winter.  I have family and friends that deal with it.  But, I had never personally struggled with it over a long period of time.  The bearded man did say a couple times, "Maybe you should try the antidepressants".  (I shot laser beams out of my eyes into his skull each time he made that recommendation.)

Looking back, I am so very thankful that I had the monsters to keep me up and alive, forcing me to get off my *ever growing dumper and live.

When something doesn't fit, what do you do?

Just like pants, I guess you can work to make it fit or buy new.  I bought new. I worked to make the new life that consisted of more time at home and less running around fit.  I found great reward in cuddling more, reading more books, playing dumb board games (I hate board games...even before I was Dori I had an awful memory, now it's SHOT!), and drinking my tea while watching the kids fight over an ipod or book or one red crayon when we have 15 red crayons.

My old life of running around from one place to the next fit well before, but I don't want to return to it. I guess it's just always going to feel a little too tight to button comfortably.  

My goal is to end somewhere in the middle.  I think that place in the middle for me is called content and happy.   I'm really close right now.  I'm content at home and I feel confident and comfortable in social situations again.

Depression is most often a silent fight.  Like most of our battles, we usually fight them alone in the dark, behind closed doors.  But that doesn't make them any less real.

Hopefully, my friends and family are happy that I've returned from la-la land and can actually have a conversation without tuning out. Some of them might prefer that I stay there...I give my opinion A LOT less when I'm in la-la land;)

*SDD description of her @$$ when she was prego, but I think it accurately describes my @$$ over the course of this year.  It continued to grow and grow until very recently when I decided it was not healthy to let it continue to grow.

Keep fighting to make it fit,

This picture really has no reason to be on this post, but I love it, so I'm sharing with you.  If you're fighting, pray.  It's the best way to make things fit.

I can't breathe again...

I'm trying REALLY hard not to let Satan blow it out this week.

But.  I can't breathe.

I'm sore and tired and weak.  Barely strong enough to hold it together right now.  I was thinking hoping praying that I would start gaining strength each day.  Begging for less aches each night during the first week.  I didn't want to get used to them, I wanted them gone.

Week two and already I realize that's simply not in the cards.  I just need to get used to this 'new normal' that fellow survivors have told me about.

Well, new normal blows.  I will gain some strength back and I did get to play volleyball for two hours this weekend.  But the aches aren't going anywhere.

So, I'm coping with this realization.  I know that it will get easier as my body adjusts to the new normal.  Already, I know that I need to give my body time to wake up a bit before I hop out of bed...I USED to be one of those annoying people that popped right out of bed, showered and started the day with an annoying spring in my step.  Now, I stretch my arms and legs before I crawl to the sitting position and then stretch a little more before I stand up.  (Part of this could be because I'm an old 32 years of age now;))

Anyways, I'm coping with this the best way I know how: patience and rest.  I've started to work out a little bit and hopefully that will help...but that's not what has taken my breath away!

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"In my sexy mamo gown in honor of you!!" complete with a smiling photo.

Good girl!! Sexy;)

A few days pass...

Got the call...have to go back for another Mamo and appointment with the radiologists:/ 

Well fuck!!!! When are you going and where?  I'll come and keep you company if I can.

It's fine.  If I have to go for a biopsy or some other tests, you can come.  I can get another squish by myself.  Change from my mam last year..."Ill defined mass."

And our conversation continued like this the rest of the week.  I'm worrying for her.  She is convinced she just needs another squish.  Everything is fine.

But me, well, I wish I were that optimistic.  Instead, I think thoughts like:

There were 15 people at bunco...one in 8.

I can't watch one of my best friends go through this right now. 

I'm not strong enough to help her right now.  

I'm not brave enough to look at her babies and understand first hand what hell their mommy is going to have to endure and how their life is going to be flipped the fuck upside down.

And I start researching again.  And it makes that can't breathe feeling come back again.  And I'm distant and scared again.

There are hundreds of sites like this one:  http://www.breast-cancer.ca/screening/mammographic-mass-characteristics.htm ILL DEFINED MASS

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Last week another one of my close friends came over and told me that his mother has it. I couldn't breathe.  I told him EXACTLY what I DESPISED hearing: She's going to be fine.  They don't even know what they're dealing with yet and it may NOT be fine.  Yet, it just rolled right off of my tongue.
 There isn't anything that can be said when you hear the news.

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I wonder if it will get easier for me to hear?  I hate hearing that someone else has to endure treatments.  HATE it.  Like instantly it makes me want to vomit.

And it takes breathe away.  This week is moving at ultimate turtle speed.  What if my beautiful friend has it?

I can't breathe again.  I can't stop thinking about her and what if.  I know that worry does not help/change anything, but I'm begging and pleading with God in her name while this week slowly moves to the retest date.

I wish I could get off of the roller coaster ride.  Actually, I think it might be more difficult to stop my head from spinning now that the ride has slowed down?!

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Deep breath.  After lots of photos, squishes and an ultrasound, my friend received the clear!! Lots of prayer this week.  Big, loud, noisy prayers.

Dodged a great big bullet today.

With a great big sigh of relief for my friend, but continued prayer focus on healing for Rod's momma,


Laura

Happy Valentine's Day!

 I helped Cam make her box for Valentines day.  I told Keegs to ask Dad for help so they could make it more rough and tough, more boyish.

 Amused, loving, awesome, supportive wife: Ummmm, honey, you need to make the hole bigger!  Do you need me to help you make the hole bigger?

Bearded Man (with eye roll): Why? It's just for valentines, right?  How big does it need to be??

Cami: It needs to be longer AND wider, daddy.  People send treats and stuff, too.

(I must admit, I was laying on the couch doing NOTHING other than read on this particular night, so the BM was probably highly irritated with my lack of motivation and ready to strangle me at any minute.)

Amused, loving, awesome, supportive wife: You need to do more than just make the top white, sweetheart.  Draw the batman signal or something!

Bearded Man: I thought this was Keegan's project?

Amused, loving, awesome, supportive wife: Keegan's FAMILY project.  I do most of his FAMILY projects for with him.  You got this.  You can do it, honey.

Bearded Man: This is stupid.  I don't even believe in celebrating Valentine's Day!!

Amused, loving, awesome, supportive wife: You have three living creatures that would suggest otherwise!

BAHAHAHA.  I love Valentine's day!! Even more now that there is zero chance of an additional monster;)  (March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, NOVEMBER=9...Three monsters born in November;))

Disease free, but not free of disease...

When I started this blog, it was my release.  My own space to bitch and complain if that's what I wanted to do. Now that it has followers, I rarely use it as a release these days. 

I hope this doesn't turn into a complaining post, but I want to be honest as I continue on this survivor journey. I want to talk about how I feel like I'm cancer free, but I'm not free of cancer.

FATIGUE.  So you hear about fatigue as a side effect, but you think to yourself, yeah, I've been tired before too. FOR ME (maybe some people actually feel fatigue without a disease) I had never experienced fatigue.  Tired? Yes.  Multiple sleepless nights with children, caregiver to a cancer patient, up too late with too many drinks?  You bet ya.  Fatigue is a completely different ball game.

I can handle the joint pain.  It's more annoying than painful. A little reminder when I stand up too fast that my body went through hell this year and fought cancer.  Pain, I can handle.  Shooting, phantom pains in my armpits where the nerves are trying to send signals to the boobs, but my foobs don't have nerve endings to shoot to-yeah, I can handle those, too. The constant dull headache I have had since I started this maintenance drug, I'm sure I'll get used to that, too. Even the night sweats and hot flashes are manageable.

BUT THIS FATIGUE. Well plainly stated, it sucks. I just want to have energy again and not feel tired all of the time.  SO, even though it is the VERY.LAST.THING that I want to do tonight, I'm going to start working out with the hopes that I can combat this fatigue with endorphins.  I'm going to start slow with a yoga video and some lifting tonight.

Hopefully in a week/two I can report that I feel a little more free of disease!  For those of you that will worry that I'm still tired.  My oncologist and radiologist said that it is TOTALLY normal to suffer from fatigue for a year.  It is not uncommon to battle fatigue FoReVeR after cancer treatment.

Cancer Sucks, Post 123205982309670948365-09831249873209874

Disease free, but not free of disease.

Still energy enough for lots of love,

Put your Faith in Big Hands

 For the nonfacebook crew: Ovaries and stomach fluid tested was clear and cancer free! Strict medical instructions: Get busy living!! Thank you all from the very bottom of my heart for all the love and prayers this year.

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One of the reasons that I LOVE my oncologist is because over and over and over again she tells me: "We are in this to cure you!"  Her hands are not that big, but the hands of her Creator are.

I feel like He put her in my journey because He knew that I needed her.  See, when Mary Jo pulled some strings to get us in with a world renowned surgeon, we really had no plans of making the Clinic the place for all of my treatment.  I agreed (reluctantly and with my normal itchy-bay attitude) to meet with a specialist in each area that I would need treatment.  I would listen to their opinion, but I had every intention of coming back to Toledo and having treatment at UTMC.

But then we met Holly and it was love at first sight. When I told her that I was going to check my options back home and get back to her, she offered to assist in any way she could if we decided on a different oncologist.  When I told her we decided that she was worth the drive, she hugged me and told me she will fight right alongside me every step of the way.  When I wasn't 100% sold on the surgeon or his recommended course of action, my oncologist said to keep researching and find the one that I liked best.

When I had the double mastectomy she stalked my charts waiting for the reports.  She was prepared for each of my questions. (Once again, for anyone that is or may be diagnosed, I can't stress enough how important it is to advocate for yourself.  Understand how things work and ask questions! They will work with you to find the best plan of action if you communicate with them.  If I would have just went with the flow, my plan would have been wait a few weeks/month so that they could schedule a surgeon and plastics team.  Most likely they would have only chopped off one boob immediately and I would have had to have the other chopped off later. My genetics testing wouldn't have been confirmed and the first surgeon did not want to unnecessarily remove a healthy boobie.  Because I was not confident with the surgeon and I knew immediately that I want BOTH boobies chopped off, I was firm and decisive when I told them what I wanted.  We were able to come up with a plan that everyone was comfortable with.  Chemo first, confirm genetic results, surgery and then radiation. Ok, done ranting about patient advocating now;))

After my ovary removal surgery, she couldn't wait to tell me the good pathology report.  She provided information on the new drug that I started and will continue to take for at least five years.  Studies are in progress that will most likely prove the benefit of taking them for ten plus years.  I asked her about side effects and how to manage them.  She patiently answered, but more importantly reassured me that she was not abandoning me and I should call anytime that I have questions.  Rarely do admit that I need support from others, but I needed her during this journey.   It was like God sent her to me at the moment I was ready to break apart into a million pieces and she hugged them back together again.

This is totally not where I was planning to go with this post.  Back to the subject: Put you Faith in Big Hands.

As you can tell from my rambling, from the very beginning, I haven't been following MY plan.  I've been following HIS.  I've been listening with my heart.  Absorbing the thousands and thousands of prayers that have been shouted in my name. Putting all of my faith in big hands.  The only hands big enough to hold me when I'm so fragile.  His hands and heart.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you for everything.  For the prayers, cards, goodies, cleaning, donations, shoveling, tea parties, jewelry, tshirts, scarves, wishing well, beer, gift cards, turnpike pass, just everything.  I can never repay all of you for the endless love and support.

Even though I can never repay all of you personally, I can tell you that I'll give back what I can.  My love, prayers, and personal experience is where I'm starting.  I can tell you that my first attempt, the teeny tiny start to giving back...it felt amazing.  BOTH of my favorite nurses came to visit and said that they have never been broken up with before.  Hugs and smiles and "I can't wait to hear about the kids in three months!"   When I told Holly about the blanket and how I wanted her to pick the next young mother that lands in her office, she agreed.  She said that every day she sits down and tells AT LEAST one woman EVERY DAY that they have breast cancer. On her two days a week at the Breast Care Clinic that number increases significantly.  She will have no problem picking the right person, I'm sure.  She remembers our first appointment vividly (Heidi was there) so I'm guessing she will pick the next patient that is loud and obnoxious;)

 Doctors and nurses are such a HUGE part of your life during treatment.  I saw them more than most of my friends and family.  I know where they vacationed and which ones wife has fake boobs done by my plastic surgeon and which ones ride a motorcycle...I will miss them and they are appreciated.

 You're terrified.  Who beats this!? What should I expect? 

This is the gift I left for the next survivor. My oncologist will give it to her when she is thinking these emotions plus a million trillion more.  Complete with blog address and which date/title to start with.

I really never stopped living, but I don't plan to stop now, so I'll follow this medical order with pride.

Put your faith in big hands,

It's ok to be selfish

Sadly, I've been seeking out articles that are calling action against "the busy".  As if I need justification of/for my need to be still?  Last year I made a resolution to have a stay at home weekend each month.  Admittedly, I had to write, in my beautiful planner, "STAY AT HOME! DO NOT SCHEDULE!" each month to remind myself of the need to be still.  I have issues with "the busy" and I understand my need set boundaries or every second of every day will be full of activity.

Yet, I'm also a people pleaser.  Even when one of my best friends, that I talk to all the time and see frequently invites us over, I feel bad saying no.  I shouldn't.  I understand that I shouldn't, but I still do.  I feel like if they/their kids want to enjoy time together, I should make time.  But sometimes I'm too tired or there is too much work to do at home or I just don't want to be social...I know, the last part VERY rarely happens;)

Worse than feeling guilty that I turned down an invitation is when I do finally say no but then feel left out. We put the kids to bed and relax, but I check Facebook or Instagram. I yearned for this relaxing downtime, but when I see pictures of everyone having fun,  I feel a twinge of "missing out".

There is no winning the game inside of my head on some days. I've thought about how to maneuver and manipulate the game pieces.   One of the solutions is less social media time.  I'm not going to give it up for lent this year, but I am going to give up busy.  So that I don't feel left out, I'm going to limit my social media time to once a day for 15 minutes or less each day.

And do more of this:

My time is valuable and it's ok to be selfish sometimes.  Finding the new balance now that Aaron's on day shift will take some work, patience and time to adjust.

Family-church-friends-work-life balance: A constant struggle.

Find yours.  Be selfish.

XOXO,

Where is Your Happy Place!?

Sobbing, I beg them to answer me, "It's everywhere, isn't it? They found it all over when he put the scope in, didn't they!?"

The nurse that talked to me for A HOUR AND A HALF when the surgeon was "stuck in traffic", "Laura, honey, everything is fine."

Still sobbing, but starting to turn angry, "Where is my husband?  He won't lie to me.  He'll tell me the truth!"

"Laura, your stats are going crazy.  You need to relax and take deep breaths.  You're waking up from the anesthetic and it's playing tricks on you.  Everything is fine.  All of the tissue removed looked healthy and cancer free.  They have to run the labs, but the surgery went well.  Breathe."

My voice is still quivering, but I manage to grasp what she was saying, "Ok, I'm sorry. I'm ready to go to the recovery room." I fell back asleep and the next time I woke up, I was calm. The recovery nurse reassured me that the surgery went smoothly and my stats were all looking great.  They would release me as soon as I felt well enough.

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HAPPY THOUGHTS.   That's what people advise you to think about when you go under anesthetic.  Go to your happy place! The first surgery I must have been more successful at masking my biggest fear with happy thoughts of beaches and sunsets.  This surgery, well, not so much. 

The night before surgery I had to wake up at 3am to "clean out" for surgery.  The plows were running non-stop.  One of Aaron's co-workers called JUST after we had fallen asleep because he didn't remember that Aaron was off work that night. The drive in to the Clinic was nerve racking, dark and dangerous.

Two nights before surgery I had a sleep over with Camille.  Camille, my sweet, innocent protector, that always asks the hard questions.

Mommy, why do you have to have another surgery?  Is the cancer gone then?  How long will it hurt?  Will I still be able to cuddle you when you get home?  Will you sleep downstairs again?  Do you think I'm going to get cancer?  Are you going to die?

All valid questions.  All questions that I have prepared for in my head.  Most of them I have answered for her MANY time before.  But it doesn't make it any easier.

Maybe if the surgery would have started timely I would have been able to think of the beaches or sunsets?  Maybe if I would have been more rested, I would have woke up in the recovery room calm and collected?  Maybe I wasn't thinking of my favorite happy place!?

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This morning though, I found it.  Next time, I will remember it when they knock me out.  Hopefully, I remember it always and forever.

"Mommy, I had a bad dream!" As he cracks the door open.  "Is Daddy gone?"

"Yes, Bud, he's gone, come on in."

"Can I come in, too?! I didn't have a bad dream, but I heard Keegan in the hall."  As Cami climbs into bed.

"Well, we're only missing one now, but let's let her sleep in.  I'll give her some cuddles tonight!"

And we cuddled and kissed and tickled and all was well in my world.  Morning cuddles are my happy place.


When I get stuck in "Worry" or "What if!?" or "IT'S EVERYWHERE, ISN'T IT!?!", I can always go back to my happy place.  Crack open the door and wait for them to tiptoe in.  Even as I think of it, I can feel their soft skin as they scooch closer to the warmth of my body. I can smell the conditioner in their hair as it brushes my cheek. Instantly, I am happy, at peace.  I want to remember these moments always.

Take time to breathe them in so that you can remember your happy place always.

XOXO,