Thursday, December 29, 2011: Big surprise--Dean's work is changing insurance for next year. I am NOT a happy camper. I'm petrified that my favorite doctors and clinics will be "off limits" and that my "team" will be disbanded. I can't let this happen. No wonder I feel stressed and grumpy. This morning, I asked Dean to find out when our new ID cards would be ready. He called me later from work and said they weren't even close to being ready to mail out. Ouch, that hurts, especially when I have an appointment January 3rd. On the phone I go to talk, first, to the guy who handles insurance at Rocky Mountain Fab, and I can tell right away that he'd rather not deal with me. Too bad. I explain my situation and hope for a teensy bit of empathy, but no. He says I'll have to call the insurance liaison directly and ask what she suggests. He does offer to make a paper copy of the "temporary identification" and give it to Dean, so that helped a bit. I called Shara, the go-between, and she is less than thrilled to be talking to me, as well. I'm sorry, people, but when you work in insurance, don't you naturally psych yourself up for the big changeover January 1st brings? Good grief, I'm sure I'm not the only one asking these questions. She is finally helpful, in that she gets my email address to send me the "temporary ID" copy and assures me that if there is anything else I need to do, she will call me in the morning (the person SHE needed to talk to was out of the office today). At the end of the call, she said, "Good luck with your procedure," and with those few words, she became an ally. There's a bright spot. Our only worry now is if the mumbo-jumbo about pre-authorizations is going to apply to this, since it is a part of my ongoing treatment. I'm sorry they are entering this play in the middle of the first act, but that's not my fault, is it? As Eeyore says, "Oh, bother..."
I keep thinking about something that Dr. Grossmann said as he studied the written results of my PET scan. Along with the confusing medical jargon, he translated parts to read, "There is some degeneration in both knees," to which I nodded my head and agreed, "YES!"; and "there is degeneration in number ?? disc of the vertebrae, which is probably causing you some lower back pain," to which I again replied, "YES!" Amazing that when the troublesome things we just deal with every day are recognized as real and put down in words, they become legitimate. Now someone besides myself knows that my knees hurt and when I sit or lay wrong, my back hurts! Alright! Transitions are never easy, whether it's insurance or the process of growing old(er)...
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Mixed Bag
Wednesday, December 28, 2011: This post will be a mixed bag of thoughts and happenings and test results. I love telling about the thoughts and happenings...not so thrilled about the test results. So, if anyone asks me in person about it, I'm telling them that the results are not in yet, which is not really a fib because they aren't. But, I'll tell more in this one post and nowhere else. I'm tired of it already and I just found out yesterday. So, there you have it.
Christmas warmed my heart and soul. I am grateful for my family and the love they bring to my life. I had all six little grands and all five of my children in one spot several times over the past few days, and I was blown away by the wonder of it all. I love them all dearly. I love the hugs, the kisses, the whispered secrets in my ear, the smiles and uplifted arms when they see me, the spontaneous squeezes and giggles. I love when we're so happy, we cry. I loved going to church on Christmas Day--all 13 of us--and singing of Christ, speaking of Christ, and worshipping Him. It was the best Christmas gift ever.
Yesterday was my visit with Dr. Grossmann to get the results of the PET scan. The appointment was at 3:30 PM and after a fun few hours wandering the mall and buying some yummy smelly stuff and eating in the food court, it was a total downer to have to stop "playing" and go to the doctor. Ugh. Chelsea and Lindsey were my supporters and pillars of strength, and I am grateful that they were there with me...because the news was not great. It wasn't the worst, but it was not what I wanted to hear. On a positive note, the two areas of initial concern were no longer an issue--the bump below my shoulder blade didn't show up and the spots in my neck didn't show up. That was good. What was bad--and Dr. Grossmann admitted he hates doing these extensive PET scans because they usually always show something ELSE to worry about--was that there was a spot in my "duodenum", which is (I had to look it up on Google): "The duodenum is a short part of the small intestine that connects to the stomach." Dr. G showed us the PET scan images (which, again, are very cool to see) and indeed, there was a bright red/yellow spot just below my stomach. So weird. He doesn't know what it is and that's why we do scans every three months - to catch what is unknown and unseen. I have to have an endoscopy (which sounds delightful, doesn't it?) and then, we'll go from there. My notes from Dr. G state that if it is nothing, we go back on the "careful observation" of 3-month scans. If melanoma shows up, it may require surgery to remove it (which is extensive and risky) OR radiation and/or chemo. If by any chance it turns out to be another type of cancer (heaven forbid), another specialist would be called in to deal with it, whether by surgery and/or treatments. The endoscopy is not yet scheduled (as of the time of this writing, which is 12 noon on Wednesday--why haven't they called yet???), so I'm in limbo once again. I did make a follow-up appointment with Dr. G for January 10 at 3:30 (labs at 3:00), so that's in place. It's just the not knowing that wears me down. Today, I haven't even combed my hair or put on makeup yet. I might have to boo-hoo a bit before that happens.
But, through it all, I know I will be blessed. Whatever this is, we can fight it. If it turns out to be an inflammation, we can medicate and fix it. If it turns out to be melanoma in a new spot, we can remove it and zap it. If it turns out to be a new cancer, we can fight that one, too. I say "we" because I am never alone in this thing. Of that, I am certain.
Christmas warmed my heart and soul. I am grateful for my family and the love they bring to my life. I had all six little grands and all five of my children in one spot several times over the past few days, and I was blown away by the wonder of it all. I love them all dearly. I love the hugs, the kisses, the whispered secrets in my ear, the smiles and uplifted arms when they see me, the spontaneous squeezes and giggles. I love when we're so happy, we cry. I loved going to church on Christmas Day--all 13 of us--and singing of Christ, speaking of Christ, and worshipping Him. It was the best Christmas gift ever.
Yesterday was my visit with Dr. Grossmann to get the results of the PET scan. The appointment was at 3:30 PM and after a fun few hours wandering the mall and buying some yummy smelly stuff and eating in the food court, it was a total downer to have to stop "playing" and go to the doctor. Ugh. Chelsea and Lindsey were my supporters and pillars of strength, and I am grateful that they were there with me...because the news was not great. It wasn't the worst, but it was not what I wanted to hear. On a positive note, the two areas of initial concern were no longer an issue--the bump below my shoulder blade didn't show up and the spots in my neck didn't show up. That was good. What was bad--and Dr. Grossmann admitted he hates doing these extensive PET scans because they usually always show something ELSE to worry about--was that there was a spot in my "duodenum", which is (I had to look it up on Google): "The duodenum is a short part of the small intestine that connects to the stomach." Dr. G showed us the PET scan images (which, again, are very cool to see) and indeed, there was a bright red/yellow spot just below my stomach. So weird. He doesn't know what it is and that's why we do scans every three months - to catch what is unknown and unseen. I have to have an endoscopy (which sounds delightful, doesn't it?) and then, we'll go from there. My notes from Dr. G state that if it is nothing, we go back on the "careful observation" of 3-month scans. If melanoma shows up, it may require surgery to remove it (which is extensive and risky) OR radiation and/or chemo. If by any chance it turns out to be another type of cancer (heaven forbid), another specialist would be called in to deal with it, whether by surgery and/or treatments. The endoscopy is not yet scheduled (as of the time of this writing, which is 12 noon on Wednesday--why haven't they called yet???), so I'm in limbo once again. I did make a follow-up appointment with Dr. G for January 10 at 3:30 (labs at 3:00), so that's in place. It's just the not knowing that wears me down. Today, I haven't even combed my hair or put on makeup yet. I might have to boo-hoo a bit before that happens.
But, through it all, I know I will be blessed. Whatever this is, we can fight it. If it turns out to be an inflammation, we can medicate and fix it. If it turns out to be melanoma in a new spot, we can remove it and zap it. If it turns out to be a new cancer, we can fight that one, too. I say "we" because I am never alone in this thing. Of that, I am certain.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Forced Relaxation
Friday, December 23, 2011: First, a note about my big scan day yesterday. Later, a note about the funeral of my friend, Marilee.
SCANS: Unfortunately, a big part of this new life of mine is the need for scans, both CT (also called "Cat" scans) and PET. "Cats" are shorter, less defined, and much more "easy" to fit into a busy schedule. "PETs" are essentially three-dimensional, in color, more detailed, and involve hours and hours of "forced relaxation" (as my optimistic daughter-in-law would say). When a doctor just wants to make a regular check of how things are going, they'll order a CT scan. That's the one I had last Monday, where I had to drink the nasty contrast and have the IV that shoots "warm" radiation through my body. It lasted about an hour from the time I arrived at the hospital. When a doctor has looked at a CT scan and sees something out of the ordinary or a "hot" spot, they usually want a PET scan done because it gives much more information than the regular CT. That's the one I had yesterday at the Huntsman Center (and that I've had several times in the past year). A few requirements of the test are that I am "forced" to sit in a quiet, semi-lit room (of course, I am comfortably sitting in a recliner with an oven-warmed blanket on me!) after being injected through an IV with the radioactive contrast for 75 minutes. This is before I'm even taken to the test room. 75 minutes is a L O N G time when it's three days before Christmas and the list sitting on your kitchen counter is longer than your arm. Ugh...it was almost tortuous. I will admit that I almost fell asleep a few times, only to jerk awake again as I realized where I was and what I was doing. I checked my watch about three times and I was just about to call for another warm blanket (why are these hospital test rooms and waiting rooms so dang cold??) when the technician returned to take me into the test room. PET scans are usually done from the tip of your head to the bottoms of your feet and require that the test be conducted in two segments--head to top of thighs...switch positions...thighs to feet. Each segment takes 20 minutes or longer. Plus, I was also required to have a separate 10 minute PET scan of my neck and head, since the questionable "spot" was in my left neck. So, for at least 45 minutes, I was on my back, staring at the underbelly of a scanner (which is very plain and non-interesting) and listening to my own heartbeat and trying hard not to fall asleep or make any movements that would influence the test. It's a HARD thing and I don't like it, especially yesterday when I thought of all I could be (and should be) doing at home to get ready for Christmas. And of course, I worried about Linds out in the waiting room, who also had an arm-length list of her own, plus three little girls to take care of. Oh boy, the patience this fight is making me practice! I won't know any results until my doctor's appointment on Tuesday with Dr. Grossmann, but at this point, I don't care. I just want to push it out of my mind for the next three days and celebrate Christmas with my family. No more hospitals, no more scans, no more needles stuck in the tired veins of my arms. No more...
MARILEE: Wednesday was the funeral of my chorus friend, Marilee. It was a beautiful winter day and the sun actually came out after weeks of gloom and gray--the "winter solstice" someone reminded us, the bringing back of the light. And light, indeed, came to me that day as I listened to the speakers and the music and reflected on Marilee's life, as well as my own. Marilee's bishop said it best, when he tried to describe Marilee in one-word epitaphs. The first he thought of was "childlike". "She was a little girl in a woman's body," he said. Suddenly the light clicked on for me. It was a perfect description of Marilee. She loved to dress up, she loved lots of makeup and big hair, she loved to sing and dance and perform. She also constantly needed reassurance and "help", whether it was for a ride because her car was broken or the need for a compliment when she lost all her hair to chemotherapy and had to wear a wig. She was always asking questions, sometimes asking the same question over and over. She sometimes looked at you with a question in her eyes and when she said, "okay," to something you had said, you realized that she didn't really mean it...it was not okay and she still did not understand. She was a lost soul in a grown-up world and didn't quite know how to manage that world. Her bishop said she had two constants in her life: one was her love for her two little granddaughters, Jane and Paisley; the other was her involvement in the Utah Symphony Chorus and Utah Opera. It was truly something to think about and ponder. Another speaker talked about the perfect love of our Heavenly Father. You and I are imperfect and we could not (nor should not) ever judge Marilee. But the Father, who is perfect in love and in judgment, will judge perfectly--he will know and see into Marilee's heart and he will be able to acknowledge her choices and decisions and actions perfectly. My own heart was full of compassion and gratitude. I am eternally grateful for a wise Heavenly Father who doesn't expect us to be perfect in this world and knows of our struggles. I know that when I see Marilee again, she will have the enlightenment of eternity upon her and she will know the answers to all her questions. What a glorious possibility lies before us, to know and be known, to love and be loved, by one who is Almighty and Perfect! I was greatly comforted that day.
Now, on to Christmas! My St. George kids should be here within the hour, we have big plans for tomorrow and Sunday, and I am putting on my happiest face. "God bless us, every one!"
SCANS: Unfortunately, a big part of this new life of mine is the need for scans, both CT (also called "Cat" scans) and PET. "Cats" are shorter, less defined, and much more "easy" to fit into a busy schedule. "PETs" are essentially three-dimensional, in color, more detailed, and involve hours and hours of "forced relaxation" (as my optimistic daughter-in-law would say). When a doctor just wants to make a regular check of how things are going, they'll order a CT scan. That's the one I had last Monday, where I had to drink the nasty contrast and have the IV that shoots "warm" radiation through my body. It lasted about an hour from the time I arrived at the hospital. When a doctor has looked at a CT scan and sees something out of the ordinary or a "hot" spot, they usually want a PET scan done because it gives much more information than the regular CT. That's the one I had yesterday at the Huntsman Center (and that I've had several times in the past year). A few requirements of the test are that I am "forced" to sit in a quiet, semi-lit room (of course, I am comfortably sitting in a recliner with an oven-warmed blanket on me!) after being injected through an IV with the radioactive contrast for 75 minutes. This is before I'm even taken to the test room. 75 minutes is a L O N G time when it's three days before Christmas and the list sitting on your kitchen counter is longer than your arm. Ugh...it was almost tortuous. I will admit that I almost fell asleep a few times, only to jerk awake again as I realized where I was and what I was doing. I checked my watch about three times and I was just about to call for another warm blanket (why are these hospital test rooms and waiting rooms so dang cold??) when the technician returned to take me into the test room. PET scans are usually done from the tip of your head to the bottoms of your feet and require that the test be conducted in two segments--head to top of thighs...switch positions...thighs to feet. Each segment takes 20 minutes or longer. Plus, I was also required to have a separate 10 minute PET scan of my neck and head, since the questionable "spot" was in my left neck. So, for at least 45 minutes, I was on my back, staring at the underbelly of a scanner (which is very plain and non-interesting) and listening to my own heartbeat and trying hard not to fall asleep or make any movements that would influence the test. It's a HARD thing and I don't like it, especially yesterday when I thought of all I could be (and should be) doing at home to get ready for Christmas. And of course, I worried about Linds out in the waiting room, who also had an arm-length list of her own, plus three little girls to take care of. Oh boy, the patience this fight is making me practice! I won't know any results until my doctor's appointment on Tuesday with Dr. Grossmann, but at this point, I don't care. I just want to push it out of my mind for the next three days and celebrate Christmas with my family. No more hospitals, no more scans, no more needles stuck in the tired veins of my arms. No more...
MARILEE: Wednesday was the funeral of my chorus friend, Marilee. It was a beautiful winter day and the sun actually came out after weeks of gloom and gray--the "winter solstice" someone reminded us, the bringing back of the light. And light, indeed, came to me that day as I listened to the speakers and the music and reflected on Marilee's life, as well as my own. Marilee's bishop said it best, when he tried to describe Marilee in one-word epitaphs. The first he thought of was "childlike". "She was a little girl in a woman's body," he said. Suddenly the light clicked on for me. It was a perfect description of Marilee. She loved to dress up, she loved lots of makeup and big hair, she loved to sing and dance and perform. She also constantly needed reassurance and "help", whether it was for a ride because her car was broken or the need for a compliment when she lost all her hair to chemotherapy and had to wear a wig. She was always asking questions, sometimes asking the same question over and over. She sometimes looked at you with a question in her eyes and when she said, "okay," to something you had said, you realized that she didn't really mean it...it was not okay and she still did not understand. She was a lost soul in a grown-up world and didn't quite know how to manage that world. Her bishop said she had two constants in her life: one was her love for her two little granddaughters, Jane and Paisley; the other was her involvement in the Utah Symphony Chorus and Utah Opera. It was truly something to think about and ponder. Another speaker talked about the perfect love of our Heavenly Father. You and I are imperfect and we could not (nor should not) ever judge Marilee. But the Father, who is perfect in love and in judgment, will judge perfectly--he will know and see into Marilee's heart and he will be able to acknowledge her choices and decisions and actions perfectly. My own heart was full of compassion and gratitude. I am eternally grateful for a wise Heavenly Father who doesn't expect us to be perfect in this world and knows of our struggles. I know that when I see Marilee again, she will have the enlightenment of eternity upon her and she will know the answers to all her questions. What a glorious possibility lies before us, to know and be known, to love and be loved, by one who is Almighty and Perfect! I was greatly comforted that day.
Now, on to Christmas! My St. George kids should be here within the hour, we have big plans for tomorrow and Sunday, and I am putting on my happiest face. "God bless us, every one!"
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
99% is still okay
Tuesday, December 20, 2011: Yesterday was scan day, scheduled oh-so-long-ago (3 mos.) when Christmas-time was just a dream away. Now, it's here on our doorsteps and I found myself, once again, drinking nasty contrast and lying in a tube, listening to an automated voice, saying, "Breathe in and hold," and "You may now breathe normally." So much the same and yet, so different, as this time, when the contrast injection began to flow through my bloodstream, the spreading warmth (that feels very weird) was present in my neck, my fingers, my forehead, and of course, my bladder. If you've never had it, it's a strange sensation. I was surprised that my cold fingers and forehead got warm. Hot flash?? I think not. Everything seemed to go very quickly, as the waiting room was not very busy and the technicians seemed relaxed and ultra-focused. Lindsey and I were amazed that we were in and out long before we expected.
This morning, off we drove again to the Huntsman Center to talk to Dr. Grossmann and get the results of the scans. The place seemed deserted, comparatively! The waiting room was empty (it's usually brimming with us cancer folks). I had my lab work done and then waited a brief five minutes before I was called back to an exam room. And then, it was only a minute or two before a little knock brought Dr. Grossmann into the room. Lindsey commented on his colorful bow tie - an orange-ish plaid today. He joked that she was "easily entertained," and we laughed. He dove right into the scans, pulling them up on his computer. The first thing he said was that they were "99% good", but that there was a "little something" that he wanted to check out. He tried to show me on the scan where there was a some type of a blip (honestly, I couldn't see what he was referring to, but you know how doctors can see what the human eye cannot!) on my left side by my rib cage, "probably about where your bra strap is." He asked if I had felt it and I said, no. He had me change into a gown and lie on my right side with my left arm above my head and then he proceeded to "look" and feel for this blip. Just as I felt a little pain, he said, "Oh, there it is, and there's a little bruising, too, which may indicate some type of 'trauma'." He had me reach around with my right arm and feel it, too. It felt quite a bit like the tiny cyst I had on my stomach - just a little "node" that kind of hurt to touch.
One great thing about being at the Huntsman Center is that all they deal with is cancer - diagnosis, treatment, studies, scans, etc. So, we shouldn't have been all that surprised when Dr. G announced that he would call a pathologist in to do a needle biopsy right there and then. Within 10 minutes, Dr. Lopez and Dr. Chadwick came in with their little cart of needles, testing equipment, and a microscope to do the procedure. I continued to lay on my side, and they took four fluid samples to test. What a blessing to know right away instead of having to wait - and what if I had had to wait over Christmas? The two doctors looked at all four samples and determined that NO melanoma was showing up immediately. Dr. G was very encouraged by this, as he said that melanoma cells tend to manifest right away and be very present, so to NOT see them in any of the four samples was great news. He still wanted to do a few other tests on the samples, but didn't seem overly concerned. I trust him. I'm trying not to be overly concerned, too.
Then, he told me that the scans were also showing two "suspect" lymph nodes in my left neck. My heart sunk. But, one thing I love about Dr. Grossmann is that he is not a "dramatic" doctor. As he read the radiologist's report on these nodes, he said that he wanted to call him up and say, "Really? You really think that's something to be concerned about?"... because obviously Dr. G was not. He explained that normal lymph nodes tend to look a little like Lima beans (now, why hasn't someone given me that visual before? I love it!) and that they are mostly made up of fat, which can, of course, grow and shrink from time to time. Nodes that are "hot" are ones that have lost some of the fat cells and can be a sign of trauma (such as recent surgery, scar tissue, etc.) or cancer or illness or whatever else. He thinks the trauma is what is happening with these nodes, but he wants to be sure, so he ordered a PET scan, the 3-D imaging (and super expensive) one. Again, my heart sunk because the other day Dean announced that his company's insurance is changing January 1. Who knows exactly what this new insurance will cover, which doctors it will cover, and just what is going to be happening with my future care? (Very worrisome...) Lindsey mentioned this to Dr. G and asked that, if at ALL possible, the scan could be scheduled before the end of the year. He was very understanding and said he would try to make that happen. When the receptionist at the front desk seemed less than convinced that we really did NEED that to happen before the end of the year, Lindsey asked if she would make a note in BIG, RED print. Obviously, the persistence worked because just a couple of hours after I got home, the radiology department called to set up an appointment for this coming Thursday. What a relief.
After the appointment, Lindsey asked how I felt. I don't think I am discouraged or even afraid, but I am disappointed. I just want a 3-month scan that comes back without any further complications. When I told this to Mom, she said something interesting: "Maybe you will never have a 'normal' 3-month scan because your good doctors will always be looking at every tiny little thing that doesn't quite fit." So true. I should be grateful for that, and I really am. I'm also grateful for doctors who use their professional expertise and their immense knowledge and don't jump to conclusions and start panicking at things like "nodes" and blips. I'm grateful that they've seen enough melanoma and know all the ins and outs to make positive assessments and order appropriate procedures. I'm grateful that I can trust their training and their wisdom. Above all, I'm grateful that I can leave the Center and still feel hopeful, knowing what I know and living with what I have to live with. Yep, these days I'll take 99%, gladly.
This morning, off we drove again to the Huntsman Center to talk to Dr. Grossmann and get the results of the scans. The place seemed deserted, comparatively! The waiting room was empty (it's usually brimming with us cancer folks). I had my lab work done and then waited a brief five minutes before I was called back to an exam room. And then, it was only a minute or two before a little knock brought Dr. Grossmann into the room. Lindsey commented on his colorful bow tie - an orange-ish plaid today. He joked that she was "easily entertained," and we laughed. He dove right into the scans, pulling them up on his computer. The first thing he said was that they were "99% good", but that there was a "little something" that he wanted to check out. He tried to show me on the scan where there was a some type of a blip (honestly, I couldn't see what he was referring to, but you know how doctors can see what the human eye cannot!) on my left side by my rib cage, "probably about where your bra strap is." He asked if I had felt it and I said, no. He had me change into a gown and lie on my right side with my left arm above my head and then he proceeded to "look" and feel for this blip. Just as I felt a little pain, he said, "Oh, there it is, and there's a little bruising, too, which may indicate some type of 'trauma'." He had me reach around with my right arm and feel it, too. It felt quite a bit like the tiny cyst I had on my stomach - just a little "node" that kind of hurt to touch.
One great thing about being at the Huntsman Center is that all they deal with is cancer - diagnosis, treatment, studies, scans, etc. So, we shouldn't have been all that surprised when Dr. G announced that he would call a pathologist in to do a needle biopsy right there and then. Within 10 minutes, Dr. Lopez and Dr. Chadwick came in with their little cart of needles, testing equipment, and a microscope to do the procedure. I continued to lay on my side, and they took four fluid samples to test. What a blessing to know right away instead of having to wait - and what if I had had to wait over Christmas? The two doctors looked at all four samples and determined that NO melanoma was showing up immediately. Dr. G was very encouraged by this, as he said that melanoma cells tend to manifest right away and be very present, so to NOT see them in any of the four samples was great news. He still wanted to do a few other tests on the samples, but didn't seem overly concerned. I trust him. I'm trying not to be overly concerned, too.
Then, he told me that the scans were also showing two "suspect" lymph nodes in my left neck. My heart sunk. But, one thing I love about Dr. Grossmann is that he is not a "dramatic" doctor. As he read the radiologist's report on these nodes, he said that he wanted to call him up and say, "Really? You really think that's something to be concerned about?"... because obviously Dr. G was not. He explained that normal lymph nodes tend to look a little like Lima beans (now, why hasn't someone given me that visual before? I love it!) and that they are mostly made up of fat, which can, of course, grow and shrink from time to time. Nodes that are "hot" are ones that have lost some of the fat cells and can be a sign of trauma (such as recent surgery, scar tissue, etc.) or cancer or illness or whatever else. He thinks the trauma is what is happening with these nodes, but he wants to be sure, so he ordered a PET scan, the 3-D imaging (and super expensive) one. Again, my heart sunk because the other day Dean announced that his company's insurance is changing January 1. Who knows exactly what this new insurance will cover, which doctors it will cover, and just what is going to be happening with my future care? (Very worrisome...) Lindsey mentioned this to Dr. G and asked that, if at ALL possible, the scan could be scheduled before the end of the year. He was very understanding and said he would try to make that happen. When the receptionist at the front desk seemed less than convinced that we really did NEED that to happen before the end of the year, Lindsey asked if she would make a note in BIG, RED print. Obviously, the persistence worked because just a couple of hours after I got home, the radiology department called to set up an appointment for this coming Thursday. What a relief.
After the appointment, Lindsey asked how I felt. I don't think I am discouraged or even afraid, but I am disappointed. I just want a 3-month scan that comes back without any further complications. When I told this to Mom, she said something interesting: "Maybe you will never have a 'normal' 3-month scan because your good doctors will always be looking at every tiny little thing that doesn't quite fit." So true. I should be grateful for that, and I really am. I'm also grateful for doctors who use their professional expertise and their immense knowledge and don't jump to conclusions and start panicking at things like "nodes" and blips. I'm grateful that they've seen enough melanoma and know all the ins and outs to make positive assessments and order appropriate procedures. I'm grateful that I can trust their training and their wisdom. Above all, I'm grateful that I can leave the Center and still feel hopeful, knowing what I know and living with what I have to live with. Yep, these days I'll take 99%, gladly.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Hope of the Hopeless
Saturday, December 17, 2011: Today I am feeling especially emotional, partly because Christmas is a mere eight days away and it will be here and gone before we know it; partly because I am worried for big and little folks in my life who are facing struggles that seem beyond their capacity to endure; and partly because the evidence that life can change in the blink of an eye once again reared its unpredictable head.
A friend from chorus ended her own life this past week. I am reeling with shock and sadness.
In the past few years, Marilee had faced and conquered a devastating cancer diagnosis & treatments. She lost her beautiful hair. She lost her long eyelashes and lovely curved eyebrows. In the past few months, she was involved in several car accidents and other health issues. Through it all, she had tried to remain hopeful and positive and was always grateful for the good things in her life, like her son & daughter-in-law and precious granddaughter. The last time I saw her was at chorus rehearsal two weeks ago. I remember thinking how good it was that her hair was growing back, curly and thick. I should have told her. She was always so gracious giving and receiving compliments. She would say, "Thank you for noticing," or "Thank you for saying so," or "Thank you for asking how I'm doing." I should have taken that extra five seconds to tell her how pretty she looked. It may not have made that much difference if she was struggling emotionally already, but it may have given her a bit of hope. Because, obviously, Marilee had begun to feel hopeless. She had come to a point where she no longer considered that "this too shall pass". She was lost in doubt and darkness. Taking a few too many pills and going to sleep must have seemed the best of all propositions in her life.
I once had a brief taste of that hopelessness, many years ago. It was long after midnight and I was driving aimlessly around town, my family sound asleep at home. I was screaming my frustration and discouragement and anger at myself to God, pleading with him to take away the pain of the mistakes I had made and the pain I was causing others. I finally stopped the car in an abandoned parking lot and I must have pounded the steering wheel and cried for over an hour until I was exhausted. That's when the Master of Lies whispered to me how sweet it would be to just end it all, to have an end to pain, to have an end to worries, to have an end to sorrow. I actually listened to him for a moment. I actually considered it. But just as quickly, I thought of my children, home asleep in their beds. I thought about the aftermath of such an act, and there was the difference. I put myself away and reached out and pulled in any source of comfort I could find, which happened to come most abundantly from my Savior. He ran to help me, to save me from the darkness. I can't say life was perfect from that moment on, but it held hope. And in all the days and months and years since that night, it has continued to hold hope. He is the hope of the hopeless. I wish Marilee had let that light push away her darkness.
I want to try to sing with a small group from chorus at her funeral on Wednesday. I hope she will see how much she was loved and will feel our hearts giving her those compliments we should have said before. At this Christmastime, we must be kind to everyone because it could be the difference between the Light of Life and the darkness of lies. There is always hope. It is a truth the world was created for, that "all mankind may be saved" by the love of their Lord and Redeemer, through faith on His name and obedience to His commandments. I know this is true, Marilee. God bless you...
A friend from chorus ended her own life this past week. I am reeling with shock and sadness.
In the past few years, Marilee had faced and conquered a devastating cancer diagnosis & treatments. She lost her beautiful hair. She lost her long eyelashes and lovely curved eyebrows. In the past few months, she was involved in several car accidents and other health issues. Through it all, she had tried to remain hopeful and positive and was always grateful for the good things in her life, like her son & daughter-in-law and precious granddaughter. The last time I saw her was at chorus rehearsal two weeks ago. I remember thinking how good it was that her hair was growing back, curly and thick. I should have told her. She was always so gracious giving and receiving compliments. She would say, "Thank you for noticing," or "Thank you for saying so," or "Thank you for asking how I'm doing." I should have taken that extra five seconds to tell her how pretty she looked. It may not have made that much difference if she was struggling emotionally already, but it may have given her a bit of hope. Because, obviously, Marilee had begun to feel hopeless. She had come to a point where she no longer considered that "this too shall pass". She was lost in doubt and darkness. Taking a few too many pills and going to sleep must have seemed the best of all propositions in her life.
I once had a brief taste of that hopelessness, many years ago. It was long after midnight and I was driving aimlessly around town, my family sound asleep at home. I was screaming my frustration and discouragement and anger at myself to God, pleading with him to take away the pain of the mistakes I had made and the pain I was causing others. I finally stopped the car in an abandoned parking lot and I must have pounded the steering wheel and cried for over an hour until I was exhausted. That's when the Master of Lies whispered to me how sweet it would be to just end it all, to have an end to pain, to have an end to worries, to have an end to sorrow. I actually listened to him for a moment. I actually considered it. But just as quickly, I thought of my children, home asleep in their beds. I thought about the aftermath of such an act, and there was the difference. I put myself away and reached out and pulled in any source of comfort I could find, which happened to come most abundantly from my Savior. He ran to help me, to save me from the darkness. I can't say life was perfect from that moment on, but it held hope. And in all the days and months and years since that night, it has continued to hold hope. He is the hope of the hopeless. I wish Marilee had let that light push away her darkness.
I want to try to sing with a small group from chorus at her funeral on Wednesday. I hope she will see how much she was loved and will feel our hearts giving her those compliments we should have said before. At this Christmastime, we must be kind to everyone because it could be the difference between the Light of Life and the darkness of lies. There is always hope. It is a truth the world was created for, that "all mankind may be saved" by the love of their Lord and Redeemer, through faith on His name and obedience to His commandments. I know this is true, Marilee. God bless you...
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Christmas Bundle
Tuesday, December 13, 2011: Yesterday, I received the happy news that my sweet niece, Malyree, had given birth to her first baby, a precious girl named Briia Madysen. She was born on 12/12 (you know how I love the number game!). I went to the hospital today to see little Briia and her mommy & daddy. Snow was lightly falling and the winter air was cold and crisp, but I was thrilled to be walking into that hospital to see a new baby and not to have some treatment or procedure done! Oh, and then to see that tiny innocent baby snuggled on her daddy's lap, sound asleep, oblivious to the big strange world she has suddenly landed in, and to be bathed in the warmth of her family's love. She truly is a gift, a special Christmas gift. When I saw my Maly, I got all choked up. She's a mother!! How can this be? Only yesterday, I snuggled with her as a tiny baby and watched her grow and become her cute self. The life cycle goes on. For the first time in many months, I was happy to go through those hospital doors to the happy place of new mommies and babies. That little bundle is the reason we all fight to live every day, so that we can share memories with those we love.
My scan is six days away. Thinking good thoughts and sending much prayer heavenward...
My scan is six days away. Thinking good thoughts and sending much prayer heavenward...
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Eye See You
Thursday, December 8, 2011: Went to bed last night with a sore left eyeball (I know, I know, I try to give every body part a piece of the action). My eyes were dry and itchy all day and it only got worse as the night progressed. Of course, part of the problem was my old contact lens. Hmm, how long have I had that one in? If I can't remember, it's way past its expiration date. When I took it out last night, there was a tiny tear in the contact. That could have been the problem. But this morning, I felt like I had a hair or some other debris (might as well use that word here, as I've been using it all week to describe the litter of fallen trees in our fair city) in my eye. Couldn't even imagine putting a contact back in, even a brand-new one (which I will do, I promise), so I put on my glasses for the day. About 10:00 AM, I called the eye doc and made an appointment to see if it was infected and if I needed drops. Of course, 20 minutes later, the eye felt better. But, I kept the appointment, just in case.
While Janessa waited in the car, listening to the radio, I had the quickest eye doctor appointment in the history of my 40-years of eye doctors. Good news - the cornea was not scratched (which I thought it would be). Also, no infection, as far as the doc could tell. Bad news - left eyeball was very dry and there were "dead skin cells" on the cornea. What?? Eeek! Doc thought it was from the old contact lens, plus irritation from the dry furnace-blasting air that is the norm everywhere I go, due to our cold temps lately. He also attributed it to "aging", though he wasn't worried enough to prescribe anything yet. He gave me a couple of antibiotic drops right there in the office and sent me home with a bottle of artificial tears, which will help keep it lubricated. More good news - he says I should be okay to wear my NEW contact tomorrow. Good. Wearing my glasses 24/7 makes me feel like I'm in disguise...
While Janessa waited in the car, listening to the radio, I had the quickest eye doctor appointment in the history of my 40-years of eye doctors. Good news - the cornea was not scratched (which I thought it would be). Also, no infection, as far as the doc could tell. Bad news - left eyeball was very dry and there were "dead skin cells" on the cornea. What?? Eeek! Doc thought it was from the old contact lens, plus irritation from the dry furnace-blasting air that is the norm everywhere I go, due to our cold temps lately. He also attributed it to "aging", though he wasn't worried enough to prescribe anything yet. He gave me a couple of antibiotic drops right there in the office and sent me home with a bottle of artificial tears, which will help keep it lubricated. More good news - he says I should be okay to wear my NEW contact tomorrow. Good. Wearing my glasses 24/7 makes me feel like I'm in disguise...
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Remembering...
Wednesday, December 7, 2011: This morning (in the 20-degree cold), I visited the cemetery and put new Christmas flowers on Dad's grave. I was sad to see remnants of the big old fir trees that had toppled in the wild wind storm the other day. I finished putting the flowers in the vases and then sat for a few minutes in my car, talking to Dad. I told him all was well. I miss him. I can see him shaking his head at the year we've had. I'm grateful I can feel him with me.
I also came home and put the flag up to honor and remember Pearl Harbor. Grandpa Calvin served in WWII, so I thought of him today, too. What great men our dads were and are! I'm proud to be their daughter.
It's been a good day. I had my blood work done this morning, too (busy morning), and it was 2.2 - right in the range of "normal". GOOD! Been worried about that all week, but I'm not going to worry about it any more.
I'm praying that Janessa is having a good day, too. She was going on a field trip with her Science class and was anxious about who she would be able to "hang with" during the trip. I pray that she put on her brave face and that the kids she wanted to be with were kind & willing to let her come along. Who wouldn't want her to part of their group? Ah, teenage-hood. It's a beast sometimes. I'm proud of her -she's stretching & growing in many ways.
Only 18 days until Christmas...
I also came home and put the flag up to honor and remember Pearl Harbor. Grandpa Calvin served in WWII, so I thought of him today, too. What great men our dads were and are! I'm proud to be their daughter.
It's been a good day. I had my blood work done this morning, too (busy morning), and it was 2.2 - right in the range of "normal". GOOD! Been worried about that all week, but I'm not going to worry about it any more.
I'm praying that Janessa is having a good day, too. She was going on a field trip with her Science class and was anxious about who she would be able to "hang with" during the trip. I pray that she put on her brave face and that the kids she wanted to be with were kind & willing to let her come along. Who wouldn't want her to part of their group? Ah, teenage-hood. It's a beast sometimes. I'm proud of her -she's stretching & growing in many ways.
Only 18 days until Christmas...
Monday, December 5, 2011
Smells like Christmas
Monday, December 5, 2011: Over the weekend, I had a dear friend tell me that she reads my blog religiously, and that when I don't post for several days, she worries. Her advice: "Just write, 'I'm okay', once a day!" I'll try to do better, Colleen. And I am okay!
Loved having the annual "Writer's Friends" brunch Saturday morning. Has it really been a tradition for 20 years now? First Saturday in December! I love these women. They are inspiring, faithful, loyal, smart, and funny. It is a blessing to spend time with you. Thank you for loving me.
We watched the First Presidency "Christmas Devotional" last night. I realized (again) that one of my favorite Mormon Tabernacle Choir Christmas carols is "The First Noel". The orchestration and harmonies of this beautiful hymn are absolutely breathtaking. It makes me weepy every time. I'm always grateful for the reminder to put Christ in the center of our celebrations and to serve and love one another...and that doesn't mean just buying a gift for someone. It's truly giving with a happy heart and forgetting that you gave.
Today, Janessa and I are in full swing of our baking spree for the Sub 4 Santa service project. Last night, we made Rice Krispie treats, pumpkin/chocolate chip loaves, and poppyseed muffins. This morning, I've been baking peanut butter/chocolate bars and more pumpkin loaves, along with some banana bread. When she gets home from school, we'll start on the chocolate chip cookies, the blueberry & crumb cake muffins, and the oatmeal cookies. The house smells delicious. The kitchen is warm. Life is good.
Now that the oven is off for a few hours, I should get some other things done...like work. And Colleen, I'm still okay!
Loved having the annual "Writer's Friends" brunch Saturday morning. Has it really been a tradition for 20 years now? First Saturday in December! I love these women. They are inspiring, faithful, loyal, smart, and funny. It is a blessing to spend time with you. Thank you for loving me.
We watched the First Presidency "Christmas Devotional" last night. I realized (again) that one of my favorite Mormon Tabernacle Choir Christmas carols is "The First Noel". The orchestration and harmonies of this beautiful hymn are absolutely breathtaking. It makes me weepy every time. I'm always grateful for the reminder to put Christ in the center of our celebrations and to serve and love one another...and that doesn't mean just buying a gift for someone. It's truly giving with a happy heart and forgetting that you gave.
Today, Janessa and I are in full swing of our baking spree for the Sub 4 Santa service project. Last night, we made Rice Krispie treats, pumpkin/chocolate chip loaves, and poppyseed muffins. This morning, I've been baking peanut butter/chocolate bars and more pumpkin loaves, along with some banana bread. When she gets home from school, we'll start on the chocolate chip cookies, the blueberry & crumb cake muffins, and the oatmeal cookies. The house smells delicious. The kitchen is warm. Life is good.
Now that the oven is off for a few hours, I should get some other things done...like work. And Colleen, I'm still okay!
Friday, December 2, 2011
Vanished
Friday, December 2, 2011: Yesterday was a wild day - in many ways. But, let me begin by saying that hope is still alive and well and miracles continue to bless my life. So thankful.
We experienced a terrible wind storm today with gusts reaching 100 mph in some spots of the county. Luckily, in our little flatland west of the foothills, the winds only knocked down garbage cans and basketball standards and flipped trampolines around the neighborhoods. But eastward, where Aaron & Lindsey live, the winds tore away their carport, uprooted trees, tore shingles off roofs, and made a general mess of things. They were also without electricity for 12 hours, making life quite uncomfortable in the 30-degree temps outside. Driving through town, evidence of the storm was everywhere - traffic lights out, huge fir trees uprooted, branches littering the road, businesses without power, garbage blowing around, and people scrambling just to stay upright. I took Janessa to school in the morning, but the power was out at the school and many kids just stayed home because their HOME power was also out. By 11:00 AM, she was calling for me to come pick her up, and actually, I think the office workers were relieved that kids were being checked out of school.
Yesterday was also the scheduled appointment to have my "procedure" to remove the cyst that I was worried about several weeks ago. Lindsey planned to take me, even though Ally was home from school and they had no power. We were late to the appointment because of the wind and traffic lights out and were amazed to drive in to Salt Lake where there was just the slightest ripple of a breeze. No one really believed that we had just driven through our own "war zone" of debris and damage. Dr. Fisher rushed me right in to the procedure room - I'm sure he was anxious to get back on schedule. But when it came time to look for the cyst, neither he nor I could find it under my skin. I told him that there have been days in the past few weeks when I could not feel it and other days when I could. Today was one of the "no feel" days. He couldn't feel it either and certainly didn't want to cut into tissue without knowing if he was in the right spot or not. "It must have disintegrated on its own," he said. I'm sure I looked a little disbelieving - nothing is that simple in my life lately - so he reassured me that if I ever do feel it again and am worried about it, I can call him and have him take another look. And of course, when I have my 3-month scans in a few weeks, if there is really anything there to worry about, it will show up. It's just another miracle. If I had gone with the original appointment on November 10, it probably would have still been infected and easier to feel and find. But waiting a few weeks (and blaming the Coumadin!) has proved to be a blessing. No procedure. No cutting into my body again. No complications. Nothing but relief, and as my friend, Ann, said, "Not even a Band-aid." I'm so blessed.
We experienced a terrible wind storm today with gusts reaching 100 mph in some spots of the county. Luckily, in our little flatland west of the foothills, the winds only knocked down garbage cans and basketball standards and flipped trampolines around the neighborhoods. But eastward, where Aaron & Lindsey live, the winds tore away their carport, uprooted trees, tore shingles off roofs, and made a general mess of things. They were also without electricity for 12 hours, making life quite uncomfortable in the 30-degree temps outside. Driving through town, evidence of the storm was everywhere - traffic lights out, huge fir trees uprooted, branches littering the road, businesses without power, garbage blowing around, and people scrambling just to stay upright. I took Janessa to school in the morning, but the power was out at the school and many kids just stayed home because their HOME power was also out. By 11:00 AM, she was calling for me to come pick her up, and actually, I think the office workers were relieved that kids were being checked out of school.
Yesterday was also the scheduled appointment to have my "procedure" to remove the cyst that I was worried about several weeks ago. Lindsey planned to take me, even though Ally was home from school and they had no power. We were late to the appointment because of the wind and traffic lights out and were amazed to drive in to Salt Lake where there was just the slightest ripple of a breeze. No one really believed that we had just driven through our own "war zone" of debris and damage. Dr. Fisher rushed me right in to the procedure room - I'm sure he was anxious to get back on schedule. But when it came time to look for the cyst, neither he nor I could find it under my skin. I told him that there have been days in the past few weeks when I could not feel it and other days when I could. Today was one of the "no feel" days. He couldn't feel it either and certainly didn't want to cut into tissue without knowing if he was in the right spot or not. "It must have disintegrated on its own," he said. I'm sure I looked a little disbelieving - nothing is that simple in my life lately - so he reassured me that if I ever do feel it again and am worried about it, I can call him and have him take another look. And of course, when I have my 3-month scans in a few weeks, if there is really anything there to worry about, it will show up. It's just another miracle. If I had gone with the original appointment on November 10, it probably would have still been infected and easier to feel and find. But waiting a few weeks (and blaming the Coumadin!) has proved to be a blessing. No procedure. No cutting into my body again. No complications. Nothing but relief, and as my friend, Ann, said, "Not even a Band-aid." I'm so blessed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)