Tuesdays with Naqvi--Herceptin #26

It was harvest time, and pumpkins were ready to be picked.  All around town, pumpkins were being placed by front doors as symbols of the season.  One family was having a difficult time and had not been able to pick out their pumpkins, but even the children noticed that something was missing from their holiday celebrations.  

One night, the family returned home to find a small pumpkin on their once empty front porch.  The next day, more pumpkins appeared, and more followed a few days after that.  A small miracle had taken place, and the children were excited to have their very own pumpkins.  

The excitement didn't stop there.  These pumpkins inspired the family to visit the pumpkin patch, to share the joy of the season, to put out even more holiday symbols.  They read books, did crafts, decorated the inside of the house, made treats, and planned ways to share their excitement with others.  

The gift of the pumpkins saved their season, sparked hope, and inspired a pattern of service.  Something as simple as sharing a pumpkin opened their eyes to the love and life outside of themselves.  Even in the darkest of times, light can come from small and simple things.  

Each of us has gifts to give and love to share.  Small and simple gifts like a smile, a prayer, holding open a door, making a meal, offering help, or just listening can make the difference in another's day.  We don't often know when our small acts of service become something more, but they can.  In my case, pumpkins became a symbol for more than just the season--it was time to start living again.  

We have received so much love and service this year and are so grateful.  I have been buoyed by both small and large gestures.  It is truly through the service of others that our needs are met, especially in times when we struggle to make the connections ourselves.  I am inspired to take that love and pass it on to others, knowin that when I am serving others, I am serving God--"And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." (New Testament, Matthew, Chapter 25:40)

Finally, in the spirit of the season and keeping with the pumpkin theme, I'll share a truly happy Halloween message I saw a few days ago:

You are like a pumpkin.  

God picks you from the patch, brings you in, and washes all the dirt off you may have gotten from your time in the field. When you open the door, He can see your heart and look into your soul.  He scoops out all the yucky stuff.  He removes the seeds of doubt, hate, impurity, and greed. Then He carves you a new smiling face and puts His light inside of you to shine for all the world to see.  When others see this light, they feel happy!  

"Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven." (New Testament, Matthew, Chapter 5:16)

P.S.  I'm HALFWAY DONE with Herceptin!!!!!

Tuesdays with Naqvi--Herceptin #25

I've had a perspective shift this week, thanks to some thought-provoking statements that came out of a visit with a friend and a conversation with my dad.

1} "If you can fix it with money, don't worry too much about it."

My friend shared with me a thought from a family she knew who lost a child to cancer.  After this tragedy, they began to say {and I'm paraphrasing} that any trial that could be solved with money was temporal and something to not worry so much about.  Even though I'm not sure my experience with cancer is the same as something more trivial, like cracking a phone, that can be quickly solved, I needed this shift in perspective.  My outlook is good.  Yes, when you boil it down, my problem can be solved with money.  And time.  There's a little pain, discomfort, emotional stress, loss of identity, etc., but I live in a time when I can pay for medicine and surgery that can heal me.  {On a side note, sometimes it takes LOTS of money.  I got the initial paperwork from my insurance about the claim for my reconstruction....JUST the reconstruction.  Think about your guess of the cost of that procedure, JUST the surgeon's portion.  And then double it.  At least.  Try not to have a panic attack when you see that he is "out of network," which means they are NOW saying they will only pay 60%, instead of the negotiated 80%, and the amount "you may owe" your doctor could buy a new Mercedes.  My doctor's office assured me that my panic attack was premature, as they are still in negotiations.  I'll most likely only be responsible for my deductible in the end.}  Even though this cancer stuff is a long process and not exactly easy, it can be solved.  I'll just tell myself over and over that money is temporal.  Any problem that can be solved with money is something to not worry too much about, and my cancer will be gone long before the bills are paid.        

2}  The "Good Old Days" were once "These Trying Times."

I was complaining to my dad about how hard things are and how it's been such a tough year.  It's been 9 months since my diagnosis, and I still have many more months to go.  It feels like a marathon, and it's hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel.  But, the worst of my cancer struggle is probably behind me, and now comes the enduring to the end part.  Before I know it, May 2014 will be here, and they'll be pulling my port out.  I can then get on to the next challenge in life.  That's when Dad told me that "The 'good old days' were once called 'these trying times.'"  When I'm busy dealing with future challenges, I might even look back and see all the good from this point in my life, all the simple things about young children and even call them "the good old days," despite living through hell and back with cancer at the same time.  This got me thinking.  Why not focus on the good from any 'Old Day' of the week?  There are good things we can do, even while in the midst of trying times.  We tend to remember with fondness all the blessings and beautiful parts of life, letting the terrible things fade away.  If everyday is a good day, are there really "Good Old Days" or just happy memories pulled from past trials? 

I liked this quote:     

In every age 'the good old days' were a myth. No one ever thought they were good at the time. For every age has consisted of crises that seemed intolerable to the people who lived through them."

Brooks Atkinson

I could focus on how hard everything is, complain about my lot in life, stay down in the dumps, and feel sorry for myself.  Or, I could do something everyday to see the good in THAT day.  There will always be trying times along with miracles.  It's what we remember that makes the difference.  

Tuesdays with Naqvi--Herceptin #24

I'm starting to come out of the fog.  As it usually is with me, I'm pretty good at carrying heavy loads.  Then, one tiny thing more {or maybe two or three} comes into play and my entire balance is thrown off.  I think that explains a lot of my recent struggles.  This post-surgery stuff hit me harder than I expected, and it's taken a lot more out of me than breast tissue.  

Mental illness is not easy to talk about.  It seems to still be something that is better kept private, something taboo, something many people still believe a person should just "get over."  Depression and dark times are as real a condition as breast cancer or heart disease, and it needs to be just as easy to discuss without fear of judgement or condmenation.  

I was deeply touched by a message shared in my church's recent General Conference on the issue of mental illness, "Like a Broken Vessel" by Jeffrey R. Holland.  He shared a personal account of his own difficulties with depression and explained that it can feel like, "a crater in the mind so deep that no one can responsibly suggest it would surely go away if those victims would just square their shoulders and think more positively—though I am a vigorous advocate of square shoulders and positive thinking!" Holland also addressed how to react if you, or someone you love, is in the crater.  Some of his counsel includes: 1) "Never lose faith in your Father in Heaven, who loves you more than you can comprehend. As President Monson said...last Saturday evening: 'That love never changes. … It is there for you when you are sad or happy, discouraged or hopeful. God’s love is there for you whether or not you feel you deserve [it]. It is simply always there.'"  2) Believe in miracles.  3) If those miracles do not come soon or fully or seemingly at all, remember the Savior’s own anguished example: if the bitter cup does not pass, drink it and be strong, trusting in happier days ahead.  4) Slow down, rest up, replenish, and refill. Physicians promise us that if we do not take time to be well, we most assuredly will take time later on to be ill.  5) Don’t assume you can fix everything, but fix what you can. 6)  Remember that through any illness or difficult challenge, there is still much in life to be hopeful about and grateful for.  To sum up: Have faith, trust God, do all that you can to rest and replenish, fix what you can, and sometimes just hold on to the good things in life while waiting for happier days ahead.  

The part of his address that was most touching to me was follows: "Trust in God. Hold on in His love. Know that one day the dawn will break brightly and all shadows of mortality will flee. Though we may feel we are “like a broken vessel,” as the Psalmist says, we must remember, that vessel is in the hands of the divine potter. Broken minds can be healed just the way broken bones and broken hearts are healed. While God is at work making those repairs, the rest of us can help by being merciful, nonjudgmental, and kind."

Part of what someone dealing with a difficult time needs is to search within to find the strength, courage, and hope to carry on.  Sometimes there is a prescribed formula for assisting in the process.  Sometimes certain areas can be healed and fixed and forgotten.  However, in other cases, scars--both emotional and physical--will ALWAYS remain.  Another element to the healing process is in trusting in others.  Beyond the real physical help sometimes required during the healing process, sometimes what is needed is unconditional, nonjudgmental love.  What someone facing the crater does NOT need is to try to fix everything at once, being told to "get over it" or "it's not so bad," or "a one-upper"--someone using their own difficulties to compare in a way that seems to diminish an individual's struggles.  Not one of us is the same for a reason, and nothing good can come from comparing in a way that leads to envy or even more guilt.  

I have been blessed with an amazing support system in this journey.  Through love, prayers, and service of so many wonderful warriors in my life, I'm going to make it through to happier days.  I am humbled and so touched by the love and selfless service I've received, especially from people who have known me such a short time.  Between my own family, my church familly, and my neighbors, the love and support brings me to tears.  After last week's post, I was uplifted by the encouragement and concern from others.  I was touched by the hugs and smiles.  And, I was overcome with emotion by the many random acts of kindness.  There was the WINNING Pine Wood Derby car, made in my honor.   My neighbors dedicated their stand against breast cancer to me.  Then came the anonymous decorating of my front porch.  First one pumpkin, then two, then a wreath and mums appeared.  I'm deeply appreciative of those amazing neighbors who observed a need and simply served me in a loving and charitable way.  It was just what I needed to start getting back on track.   I am inspired to think beyond myself and try to pass on that love and charity to others.  

         

My journey with breast cancer might seem temporary, but I have feeling that it is a lifelong experience.    I will never simply be done and be able to return to normal.  Through my own experiences, I am learning to have compassion on others as they deal with their own trials.  No one knows entirely what me and my family struggle with in our journey, as I can't know the magnitude of another's experiences.  I'm just hoping to be able to pay some of the love and service we've received forward and hope to play  a part in bringing sunshine to someone else's fog.  

  

Tuesdays with Naqvi--Herceptin #23

I'm no doctor, but I think I might be suffering from some kind of post-reconstruction depression.  That's a thing--I'm sure of it.  {Post-operative depression is a real thing, anyway, and I'm labeling my current feelings into the specific category of my surgery.}  The culmination of emotions--sadness, fatigue, no motivation--hit me this weekend, like a major wave of depression and grief.  

So many layers of this process don't get discussed, and it's hard to talk about these feelings.  My purpose in sharing this is not to fish for sympathy, but to be real about the effects of this process on me and my family.  Maybe in sharing, others will be better prepared for the possible difficulties of the process than I was.  I wish I had known more about the layers, upon layers, of emotion and stress ahead-of-time, rather than simply have it hit me head-on.  In addition to just trying to fight everyday to say alive and keep my children alive, I have constantly faced fear, anger, and questions of why it's all happening and frustration about not really knowing how long the whole process will take.  Then, there's the very real pain, sickness, fatigue, and helplessness felt during the grueling process of saving my life by making me mostly dead from the inside out.  {This is the ONE part of the process that was explained pretty well.  It's easy for an oncologist to discuss physical side-effects and to lay out the step-by-step process of treating cancer.  Getting into the psychological and emotional is something completely different.}  I wish someone had prepared me a little better for this being somewhat of a grieving process.  It's like a part of the Me I've always been is gone, and I can't ever have it back.  I have to learn how to live and make the most of things with the new Me, the changed Me, all while trying to be a little better AND hold on to the good parts of the person I've always been.  And, all of this has to be done while being, at times, completely helpless, unable to care for myself, my children, my home, or my life.  The vulnerability and humility needed to rely totally on others can be frustrating.  On top of all of that, then there is an overwhelming sense of guilt in not being able to do all the things I think I should do.  AND, the guilt continues in feeling frustrated and angry, especially when people are just trying to help.  I also feel guilt for feeling upset, sad, or at a loss over my circumstances, especially when there are people dying or losing children or facing a long list of struggles that could be labeled worse than mine.  Who am I to complain, when I'm alive, my children are healthy, and my treatments are working? The cycle of guilt alone can be debilitating.  

My surgical options were basically the lesser of two evils.  I didn't REALLY want to lose my breasts and have my entire body cut apart and sewn back together.  But, radiation would've been worse, especially after the lumpectomy left 1/3 of one of my breasts just gone.  I'm dealing now with relief that I'm healing and starting to return back to my normal level of activity, but feel sadness at the changes, low self-esteem from my current body image, and the realization that I will never be "the same," whatever that means.  Cancer stole away some major parts of my body, and it pisses me off a little.  I don't feel especially attractive.  But, at the same time, I have to remind myself that 1}I'm not fully healed and 2}there's still TWO more procedures to be done before the look is complete.  It's weird that half my body constantly feels like it's "asleep," that tingling sensation you get that you wait to pass.  Well, my entire abdomen and chest feels like that all the time.  I miss the normal nerve-endings I once had.  And, again, the guilt arises for feeling this way, like some selfish brat, complaining when I should be rejoicing in life and the miracle of modern medicine that allows me to have breasts at all instead of flat skin and scars.   

On top of that guilt, I'm sure part of my current emotional health is inluenced by the estrogen-blocking drug I'm currently taking AND the effects of coming off of narcotics after a full 6-weeks of use.  Withdrawls are real.  Messing with hormones is real.  I'm not supposed to be going into early menopause, hormonally, yet still having periods!  It's messed up!  There are real emotional stresses going on right now, combined with the physiological processes of changes in hormone levels and my reaction to dealing with pain "naturally," versus medically, and it's exhausting.  I feel tired all the time, but can't seem to get the restorative sleep I'm desperately seeking, between discomfort and probably stress.  Not sleeping contributes to the feelings of frustration, having a short fuse, not feeling like myself, and then--you guessed it--the guilt from THOSE actions arises.  

I haven't even mentioned the suffocating stress surrounding the financial burden.  We are doing everything we can to stay afloat, but the bills are real.  And, we have other financial obligations that are made MORE stressful by these unexpected medical bills.  It's hard to deal with the practical when you're simply trying to survive cancer.

We've had so many wonderful people helping us, but that can be exhausting, too.  When you feel like your house is not your house because you're living under a microscope of houseguets for 2 months, that can also feel suffocating.  And, of course, you feel guilty for feeling annoyed and frustrated and just wanting your own life and your own way of doing things and to walk around the house in your underwear if you want back.  Like I said, I'm ETERNALLY grateful for all the help, but there comes a point when you just need your own life back!  

One of the hardest things in this is having to let go of so many things I WANT to do, but just CAN'T.  And now I think I might have let go of so many things that I may have lost my desire to do anything in the process.  My house isn't decorated for fall, let alone Halloween.  And I have no desire to do it.  We won't be having our annual toga party this year, and part of me is relieved.  Me!?!  Excited about NOT having a party!?!  If I hadn't already promised the boys their Halloween costumes, I might just forget about the whole thing.  Again....who IS this person?!?  I know Evan's birthday is right around the corner, and I am not.at.all.motivated to do a thing for it.  I think I'm stuck in limbo between having to do less and be okay with it or just not doing anything at all--because doing what I WANT to do at this point is out of the question.  And, there's guilt involved in that.  If I don't make holidays and birthdays special for my kids, who will?  If I don't get excited about doing things, they certainly aren't going to.  And, the guilt extends beyond just our home life and holidays.  I haven't *really* been able to do much in my calling at church in the Young Women organization.  They'd be better off without me, because they're having to do "my jobs" anyway.  Why give me the title when I'm not doing it?  I know I'd be more frustrated at having someone in there who's NOT doing anything than not having someone at all.  And, I feel guilty about that.  

I guess I just need to come to a point where I can give myself a break.  I need to realize that these feelings are real and many of them are probably justified.  I'm sure I give myself a MUCH harder time than anyone else is going to, so I need to let go of a lot of the guilt I feel.  And, then, I just need to get up and try everyday to do a little more and be a little better and get closer to becoming the person I want to be.  Isn't that pretty much a description of how everyone should be living life?  Maybe I should start by putting out a pumpkin or two.  And being okay if that's all that comes out before the Christmas tree.          

     

Six Weeks Post Op

It's been six weeks since my mastectomy/reconstruction, so, technically, I'm healed!  

I was told over and OVER that this recovery process would take ALL of 6-8 weeks, and that was no joke.  I've tried to take it easy and rest, letting people help me.  I've turned down fun things and said, "no" much more often than I like, all in the name of healing.  

It's gone smoothly, for the most part, other than those few sutures popping open, leaving 3 holes that creep me out everytime I look at myself in the mirror.  I was worried at first by the sound and the pus, but the pain subsided, and it wasn't showing signs of infection.  Then, I was worried that the holes weren't closing up and a piece of a stitch was poking out of that hole and ended up coming all the way out.   Luckily, I was able to get in to see my plastic surgeon yesterday.  They ended up just letting that appointment take the place of my scheduled 8-week after appointment, and seemed pleased with my healing process.  The little holes are "normal," areas where the fat tissue didn't quite connect, died, and bascially popped open like a big pimple.  I just have to wait for my body to catch up.  I commented that the holes creeped me out, making me feel like I was just to split all the way open.  The PA assured me that would not happen, "unless you sneeze or fart."  Lovely.  

Whether I'm really "healed" or not, it's time to get there mentally.  My baby is coming home in a few days, and my days of rest are shortly coming to an end.  

Now I need to schedule the "fine tuning" surgery.  That involves taking the breast tissue Dr. B was able to harvest and cleaning it up, making it all lifted and evened out.  It also involves creating me new nipples by cutting and suturing skin, taking a piece of cartilage from inside my ear, and using it as the inner support.  Three months after THAT, I'll be getting tatooed to finish the look.  I was told that Dr. B likes to take good care of his cancer patients and give a good deal on any added lipo to finish up the look, so I asked about quotes for that, too.  Apparently, his idea of a "good deal" and mine are WAAAAAAY off, so that's off the table now.  I guess I'll just have to get what he calls the "coke bottle" look to complete the official tummy tuck the old-fashioned way.  

I'm starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel.  Then I hear about a friend who had her mastectomy A YEAR AGO and is JUST now finishing up and getting her port out, and it seems so overwhelming.  Will I still have to wait nearly a YEAR to really celebrate crossing the finish line?  I guess you'll have to put up with me for longer than you might have thought!     

Tuesdays with Naqvi--Herceptin # 22

I've been a supporter of breast cancer awareness for years now, but mainly for the pink.  My home is filled with practically the entire Kitchenaid Cook for the Cure line---not because I was passionate about a portion of my purchases being donated to breast cancer research, but because I liked pink and wanted pink in my kitchen.  This year, for the first time, Breast Cancer Awareness Month hits closer to home and digs a little deeper than a room's color scheme in my home.

I truly am grateful for Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  My sister--a cynic genetically--always used to scoff a little at the commercialism of it all--pink pens, pink mixers, pink shovels, pink ribbons on beef jerky packages, pink ribbons on anything to tug at the heart strings of anyone with any connections to breast cancer {or anyone drawn to pink stuff} to make a few extra bucks during the month of October.  Then, I was diagnosed, and she suddenly became one of those people whose heart strings will now be pulled a little tighter, even if it means getting sucked into spending the extra dollar purchasing the package of toilet paper with the pink ribbons and thinking of me.  I'll admit it--it's clever marketing.  That pink ribbon has made a name for herself, and for that I'm thankful.  Without all that marketing and tugging at heart strings, the advances in medicine and surgical procedures that have benefitted me and made my healing a reality might not have been possible.  

So, this month, even if it means getting a little sucked into the hype, think pink.  Look for that pink ribbon, and support those companies that support research and funding for care.  {The more money going to research breast cancer will only help trigger the research and advancements for other cancers, too.  Win/Win!}  Save the ta-tas!  Hug some jugs!  Fight like a girl.  Save motor boating, don't let cancer steal second base, and be a real man--wear pink.  Check your bumps for lumps.  Walk your buns off for boobs.  Save a life--grope your wife!  Or just buy the stinkin' beef jerky with the pink ribbon, and pat yourelf on the back for helping the cause.  You all know me and probably many others who have had or are on similar journeys.  We can all benefit from getting closer to whatever helps to make the journey a little easier.  I'm grateful for the advances in medicine that have made my new breasts possible, but I miss my "real" ones.  And, if a couple of extra dollars helps to save even one pair of boobies, it was worth it.  

P.S.  I'm starting off the month with my NEW hair!  Say hello to BLONDIE: