"I'm All Good"

This evening I was scrolling through Facebook and I saw a post from a fellow breast cancer survivor. Her post said the following:

“…Luckily the cancer hasn’t returned, but the long-term effects take place for years. Seems I have now developed a painful case of endometriosis which research shows can be exacerbated by Tamoxifen-a drug I take to keep the cancer away. So now my doc has decided to, in his words, chemically castrate me. Fun times. This includes a nasty monthly shot of Lupron and an infusion of Zometa. Zometa is similar to a drug I took during chemo that alters bone formation. It caused me lots of pain during chemo. Great. Menopause in one day plus pain. Great combo. This is a good Breast Cancer Awareness month post—know the side effects last for years and that many patients are suffering physically and mentally and you may have no idea. But I am all good. It is what it is.”-Decca Taliaferro Knight

I read that today and my heart went out to Decca. I haven’t experienced that exact thing, but I get the “side effects for years” part.  I get the “I am all good. It is what it is.” 

I run into people all the time and they ask how I’m doing and my answer is and will always be “I’m doing absolutely great!” Because I’m cancer free and I’m not dead and therefore I feel like I need to focus on that. 

Nobody wants to hear that I haven’t read a single book cover to cover in 2 years because of my brain fog or that my body hurts so bad when I get out of bed that it takes an hour of stretching and finesse to get moving. Nobody wants to hear that I could easily sleep 12 hours a night because I still am not back to pre-cancer energy. Friday, I stopped by The Flower Center to help move a dozen or so boxes of wine glasses for a fund raiser. It frustrated me to death that I can’t trust my strength or my balance to carry two boxes at a time. I was never a gym rat or super strong, but three years ago I wouldn’t have thought twice about carrying two of those boxes—in heels no less!

But I am all good.

Sometimes before publicly saying something cancer related, I will actually think to myself, “people are probably sick of hearing about this.” 
And maybe they are. 
The truth of the matter is that I’m probably never going to stop talking about cancer—specifically the type that has touched my life.

Many of us have life defining moments. Marriage is one, children is one—and for me, cancer is one. I have two parts of my life—life before cancer and life after. And this Part B life after will never not be Part A before. I just watched my friend Leecy Fink on the news. If you don’t know Leecy’s story, boy are you missing out on a story of immense inspiration. Tonight, she was talking about the rebuilding of her house. Leecy is a breast cancer sister. Her house was one of the ones in Elon, VA that was flattened by the tornado a few months ago. 

I would guess that Leecy has had many life defining moments. She and her family will be moving into their new house in a few weeks and life will continue. The rest of their lives will continue to be “life after the tornado” though. It can be a wonderful life, but it can never go back to life before tornado. And that’s how cancer is. It can be survived and life can go on, but it can never NOT be a part of you. And there are great opportunities that come with that—opportunities to bless others and advocate and be a light—and there is also a great burden that comes with that.

Now. I told you all of that to tell you this…

I painted my bedroom dresser and chest over the weekend. These pieces were my grandmother’s. They graced her front bedroom for several years. The furniture was a medium tone wood, and while beautiful in her home, the color was too heavy for my taste. For years, I have wanted to paint the dresser and chest, but hadn’t been able to get around to it with three busy kids and then that whole cancer thing. Sunday, I mixed up my paint and I pulled the drawers out of the dresser and moved them to the kitchen table to paint. Behind one of the bottom drawers, I felt something and after feeling around, I discovered that it was a package of tissue paper.

I pulled it out and I looked at it. I knew immediately that it wasn’t mine and therefore had to have been my grandmother’s. And then I smelled it. I know. Weird. But I wanted to know if it smelled like Momaw’s house. And it did. And I smelled it again and again. I put it aside while I finished painting. 

Today I showed Kevin and the kids and I made them smell it. They could smell it also. Then I began to panic that the smell was going to be lost and Kevin told me that it had been in that dresser for five or six years and it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. He then recalled taking the bedroom suit out the front door of my grandparents’ house and my Papaw holding the door open. When he described that scene, I remembered it vividly and it hit me right in the gut and my tears started just like that. I miss them so much. I miss the smell of the house when I walked in and I miss talks with Momaw while she washed dishes and I miss Papaw’s laugh. Everything. I miss it all. And I had a total breakdown on an ordinary Monday night.

Just like cancer, death is another life defining moment. My life is also marked in another way—life with grandparents and life after.

For many days and weeks and months I think I’m fine and healed and I’ve dealt with all the grief there is to deal with and then just like that, a package of tissue paper brings me to my knees.

We are all living through our many different life-defining moments. Maybe it’s the loss of a loved one, the ending of a relationship, the after effects of an illness, or it could be a hundred other different things. 

When we say “I’m all good” that may be the filtered answer. That may be our strong, best foot forward answer. But it might not be our 100% honest answer.

When you run into someone and you ask them how they're doing and they say "I'm all good" hug them for just a little while longer.

~lightningbug

Go out with a bang...

I have been dragging butt now for…well…for months if we’re being honest. I keep hoping that the time change and the promise of longer days and shorter nights and warmer temps and sunshine will be the medicine I need to get me motivated and moving. I work part time at the church. I used to come in at 8 or 9 am like a normal person. Now I can’t get moving that fast! I have a hard time getting here at noon these days!

A lot of people ask me how I’m doing…how I’m feeling. And my answer is always, “Absolutely fantastic!” Nobody (including myself) wants to hear about how my back hurts and how I have to sleep in the recliner if I’m going to be able to bend over and unload the dishwasher the next day. Nobody wants to hear about chemo brain and how it’s not something that I’m using as an excuse to focus or get things done. So the answer is “Fantastic!” because I’m cancer free and I am going on about my life and things are indeed, mostly "absolutely fantastic!"

My hair is growing back like a weed--like a wild and unruly weed. It is crazy curly and if I try to tame it, it laughs in my face! Ha! Each day I try to style it differently because I haven’t had short hair in a while and I haven’t had short, wild, curly hair ever! I also am trying to readjust to actually having to carve out time for hair styling again! For the last year I have done my makeup and then put a wig or a hat on my head. I haven’t had to dedicate time to drying and styling. That doesn’t help my chronic lateness!

This morning I was drying it and I was blowing all the hair forward and I wasn’t even watching what I was doing. When I looked in the mirror, I had bangs sitting on my forehead.

I laughed out loud because it reminded me of the funniest thing. I have a good friend who lived here for only a short time. Her name is Brandy. She moved here from Texas and was only here for about three months before returning to Texas. She and I hit it off from the get go and I miss her like crazy. During her time here, my hair was nice and long. I was wanting something different though. I wanted to cut my hair and get some bangs. She told me absolutely not and she told me there was a YouTube video to show me how I could pin up my hair to make it look like I had bangs. Well, I was in the kitchen (burning something I’m sure) and I went into the bathroom and pinned my hair back to make it look like bangs. It was awful looking (the uneven way I had it pinned up) and I snapped a pic and sent it to Brandy with “NAILED IT!” on the pic. We laughed hysterically and our girls threatened to show it to the whole world which at the time, seemed like the most horrible thing that could ever happen.

This morning as I looked in that mirror and saw those bangs, I realized they resembled those uneven faux bangs I had pinned up that day. After I laughed, I started thinking about how on that evening, the worst thing we could imagine in life was some botched bangs.

Fast forward a little over a year. She was back in Texas and I was in Virginia, but we remained in touch. February I got the cancer diagnosis. Now all of a sudden, crazy bangs didn’t seem like such a big deal. She was there for me through some ugly moments over the last year. 

And then as I was doing my victory lap, her mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. Are you kidding me?!

The last year has taught me (and hopefully many others) that what we perceive to be the little things are indeed, the big things (sunsets, goodnight kisses, the smell of fresh coffee) and the things that we perceive to be the big things (chopping my bangs off, forgetting something, a disagreement) are so minuscule in the big scheme of things. 

Is it going to matter in a year? If so, then give it some attention. If not, then don't spend another minute of worry on it. 

My uneven bang game is on fleek!

Once Upon a Time...

I love children's books. I loved being read to as a child. I loved reading to my own kids and now that my kids are older, I love reading to other children! I have had the honor of reading to Mrs. Looney's class for many years now during Read Across America week. Last year it was difficult for me to keep my emotions in check. The day that I read, I knew I had cancer, but I didn't have my treatment plan mapped out yet. I was still kind of in limbo. I didn't know what stage my cancer was, I didn't know what my prognosis was—I didn’t know much of anything. 

Reading to children stirs something very deep inside you. It's a very special intimacy as they intently hang on every word. Thoughts flooded my heart on that day last year. When you face uncertainty, sometimes your fondest memories will all of a sudden just race like the shuffling of a deck of cards. As I began to read, I suddenly was flooded with memories of all the years of reading to my children. My thoughts raced as I remembered snuggling up on Riley’s big boy bed with sweet baby Natalie in Bluefield as we read Green Eggs and Ham and Hop on Pop. Then my memories shifted to sitting on the edge of Natalie’s bed reading the old set of Raggedy Ann and Andy books that she loved so much. I got those books one year at a Boiling Spring open house when they were getting rid of old books. And then my memories flashed to holding my sweet baby Wyatt. He loved to read Go Dog Go and Hondo and Fabian. “Do you like my hat? No I do not. Goodbye. Goodbye.” That was his favorite part. Time and time again we read that. I still say that to him when I put on a hat!

I had some really horrible moments in the beginning of my diagnosis. I don't like to think back to those times. They hurt down to my core. During that time, it was harder for me to deal with good things than bad things as crazy as that sounds. As the good things happened in my life, I would do my best to smile, but that was always laced with the bitter aftertaste of "Will this be the last time I do this?" "Will this be the last year I watch my daughter play softball?" "Will this be the last year I host my son's birthday party?" "Will I be here next year to see him all dressed up for his senior prom?”

As time passed and treatment plans were mapped out, I became more and more comfortable with the thought of looking ahead and thankfully, those bad feelings began to dissipate. I began to not fear the future so much. I began to not dread the thought of missing out on the future. I made a decision that I would do whatever I could to make the very best of whatever time I have, whether that is a month or 60 years. I decided to make every effort to live each day—not to merely be alive--but to live. I would rather live for a year than merely be alive for five. And I think that made all the difference in my life and my fight. I was determined that I was not going to sit at home and let cancer keep me from missing out on life. 

Today I got to read to the early education class at the YMCA Learning Center. The book I chose is called “Have You Filled A Bucket Today?” Have you read that one? It’s a great one! I will be returning it to the library next week so be sure to go grab it! It tells us how we all have imaginary buckets hanging over us. We can choose to be “bucket fillers” or “bucket dippers” by our words and actions. Bucket fillers use their words and actions to fill others’ buckets—maybe it’s a smile, a kind gesture, or a thank you. When we fill another’s bucket, ours become full also.

There are also “bucket dippers.” We are all guilty of being bucket dippers from time to time. We say or do something that hurts someone or we’re a bully or we exclude someone. Unlike the bucket filler, the bucket dipper can’t fill his or her bucket from dipping out of someone else's. When we dip, we empty both buckets.

See why I love children’s books?

Cheers to the future--one day at a time--but each to the absolute fullest. 

Do you like my hat? No I do not. Goodbye. Goodbye.

-lightningbug

Stop, Drop, and Fluff

So for those of you living under a rock, I’ve had breast cancer this year.  I have done chemo, double mastectomy and reconstruction. I am cancer free. I am one month post implant surgery. Things are healing up.

Things were looking good. And then it happened. One boob went south for the winter. One boob is visiting Santa at the North Pole and one boob has gone south for the winter. And then there’s me—the person these boobs are attached to—just wondering what they are going to do next.

Let me go ahead and backtrack and get this out while I’m discussing breast reconstruction after mastectomy. I feel like I need to say this for all who have ever gone through this and all who will in the future. I get it that people don’t know what to say—I’m right there with you. I can never eloquently express condolences or support after tragedy or illness. I get it. But reconstruction is not a “boob job.” This is not our “prize” after having breast cancer. Living is our prize. If we choose to have reconstruction, that is a consolation prize to say the least. Rest assured, we aren’t going to be working at Hooters next spring. After my reconstruction surgery, my breasts looked like flattened hamburger buns. I don’t have feeling in my breasts. I don’t have feeling in the back of my left arm or in my chest up to my collarbones or in portions of the top of my back near my arms. I don’t have nipples. And currently I have completely lopsided boobs. This is not a boob job and we are not “lucky.” This is an attempt to reconstruct something that was taken from us. I know people are well-meaning when they say “Well at least you’ll have great boobs” but really I am mentally rolling my eyes and throat punching you when you say that.

I look at my boobs every day in the mirror. I check for healing and any changes. I take pictures so I can see the change over time. The other day my daughter happened to be there when I was doing my daily check. She said “Oh my gosh! That one fell down!” I turned to the side and then to the other side and I said, “Holy crap, it did!” So then I was sure that I had a flat. I was already pulling out the emergency roadside assistance kit, lighting the flare and getting ready to jack this baby up. Then I remembered. Drop and fluff. I had read about drop and fluff. The plastic surgeon had talked to me about this (although drop and fluff is not a medical term and not what he called it) but I guess I didn’t realize exactly how this was going to happen. Drop and fluff is the process during which breast implants settle and when this happens, the upper breast fullness decreases and the lower breast fullness increases. The breasts become softer and more teardrop in appearance. My left breast has done the drop and fluff. My right breast hasn’t dropped and fluffed yet. Hopefully it will undergo that change in the next few weeks. It’s still very early and as much as I want to know exactly how things are going to look, you really can’t be sure until after six months or so. If things are still lopsided, I will have to have a revision which will go in and correct the pocket in which the implant sits.  I really like the more natural appearance of my dropped and fluffed breast. It moves a little more and is less like a snowball sitting on my chest. I am hopeful that the other breast will get its drop and fluff on soon.

After this part gets lined out, then I get to decide on my reconstructed nipples. I can leave things just as they are and be nipple-less. Plenty of women choose to do that and I totally understand why. I can choose to have an actual nipple that protrudes out of my breast and then the nipple and areola filled in by tattoo. All of that is done right in the plastic surgeon's office. The third option is something called 3D nipple tattooing. Everything is completely flat but the tattoo is made to look like an actual 3D nipple. I'm not sure which route I'm going with that yet and there's no time frame on when you have to do it so I'm in no rush to make that decision. I have talked to lots of women and no two women feel the same way. It's just personal preference.

When we were at the Pajama Jam, my friend Scarlet asked a lady what type of breast cancer she had. Scarlet went on to tell the lady that I had triple negative and she told her that I had done a good job of educating my friends and community about breast cancer and my particular type. That meant so much to me to hear her say that. The things that I have written about are to better educate those who are going through breast cancer and those who have someone they love going though breast cancer. Unless you have gone through this, you don't know the process. I certainly didn't before I journeyed though. 

-lightningbug

Amanda's Pain Scale Principle

Last week I met with my breast surgeon and she gave me the “official” report that no cancer was detected in my pathology reports. I already knew this because I emailed the office a week prior and my nurse gave me the condensed version. All that chemo I had endured, all those days and nights of prayers and pleading, all the fundraisers and shows of support…all for this day…this big announcement. I am cancer free! Woo Hoo! Why didn’t it feel so Woo Hoo though? Maybe because I’m just exhausted? Maybe because I’m afraid to take that sigh of relief for fear that I might jinx things?

Or maybe it’s because these gosh-forsaken tissue expanders are so uncomfortable and horrible that my every thought is skewed because it’s surrounded by pain. Pain is a hard word for me. They give you these “pain scales” 1-10. I hate those. Is this as bad as the pain I had at the beginning of my diagnosis when I threw my back out? Is this as bad as the headache I had after the first Neulasta shot? Is this as bad as the pain I had in my legs after the Taxol? Hell.if.I.know. Yes, it seems worse. It seems worse because this is what I’m currently going through. You know the rubber band they put around your arm to make your blood vessels pop so they can stick you? Or the way the blood pressure cuff squeezes your arm until you can hardly stand it? That’s how I currently feel in my breasts 24/7. Combine that with a feeling of sunburn—sometimes I feel hot, sometimes chills—just like a sunburn does. I am super sensitive to cold and hot things that I drink because I feel it more pronounced than ever before when it’s going down. The last time I got an expander fill up, my muscle literally jumped in my left breast! The nurse could see it! And it hurt.like.hell. And for that entire day, I felt like I was having a heart attack. True story. I had the most terrible pain in my chest that day and I’m sure it was muscle related but it was terrible. And then there’s this other feeling. It’s so hard to describe. I guess it’s akin to the “phantom” pains they describe, but the best way for me to describe it is like a feeling of anxiety except it’s in your breasts. You may not have anxiety, but all of us have experienced some sort of anxiety from time to time and you know that weird sort of tingly, butterfly-like, yet kind of dull constant pang that you get when you are on your way to a job interview or a blind date or any number of anxiety inducing situations? Yeah, well I feel that in my chest constantly. I take Ativan for muscle “spasms” but I wouldn’t say I have ever had a muscle spasm as in a jumpy, spasm-y type way but rather, my “spasms” are more like when I had a horrible pain in my back a couple of years ago and had to go to Med Express and he could actually feel a knot in my lower back and he said your muscle is “in spasm.” That’s the feeling I have had since August 10. I had pain meds that I took in the beginning and please forgive me if I texted you or called you and said something ridiculous that first week Ha! I was loopy and should not have been allowed access to any means of communication! Ha! I went back through and found where I had emailed my nurse at the breast clinic and I had absolutely no recollection of that! The email was totally fine and grammatically correct I might add, but zero memory of it. Everybody who came over to visit, I showed them my boobs. And they were totally gross with the stitches and the glue and bandages still there and then my drain tubes hanging out my sides and I was flashing my boobs like somebody was throwing beads to me on Bourbon Street at Mardi Gras. Gaaah. No wonder people get hooked on pills. Talk about releasing your inhibitions! Whew! I’m off the good stuff and I’m strictly on OTC plus the Ativan for the spasms (which I don’t actually think is really that effective but I try to convince myself that it is.)

When I had my mastectomy, tissue expanders were put in. I posted a video explaining the tissue expanders on Facebook the other day but basically they are like a balloon or an IV bag that’s really tough and has a port inside of it that is accessed and saline is put in on a weekly basis. You can actually sit there and watch the breast inflate as they are putting the saline in. It is totally wild. And not uncomfortable believe it or not…until I have checked out, gone down the elevator from the fourth floor, and am walking out the main door and then BAM! Omg I feel like my boobs are going to literally EXPLODE! I say that every time I walk out the door. It seriously feels as if someone would poke me with a straight pin that my boobs would blow up like something you would see on some twisted adult cartoon. Ha! Pain. Yes. Lots of pain.

I naively thought that this would be the so-called “easy part.” I thought the hard stuff was behind me. Turns out it’s all hard stuff. I can’t do the 1-10 pain scale because I don’t know. Pain is relative. This might not be as bad as something I have already gone through or something I am going to go through in the future but right now as I am going through it, it is all consuming. It’s a solid 7. It’s not crippling. I can function in the world but there’s never a time that I forget that I’m in pain. There’s never a time that I don’t feel like I have bowling balls under my arms. Oh yeah, I forgot that part. On the arm that they took the seven lymph nodes, I am numb on the underside of my arm to my elbow. When I put my deodorant on every morning—can’t feel a thing. And then there’s the range of motion thing. My right arm is almost back to normal but my left arm isn’t. When I reach really far with my left arm, I hurt all the way to my wrist. I have been doing exercises to try to regain my range of motion but for now, it sucks. My husband wanted me to turn the ceiling fan on the other night and I honestly couldn’t do it. I couldn’t reach that far.

Ok, back to what I was saying. Pain is relative. Yes. I started thinking about how the same is true in our lives. Whatever it is that we are going through at this moment (when it’s stressful and hard) seems like the worst possible thing that has ever happened to us in the history of the worst possible things that have ever happened to us. Divorce—10 on the pain scale! Financial problems—10!  Illness—10!  Addictions—10! Death of loved ones—10!  Depression—10! Ingrown toenail—10! Raising teenagers—10!

Whatever season of bad stuff that you might be in at this moment or that moment seems like the worst at that particular time. I’m not sure if I have a point here…I’m still waiting for it to come to me! Haha!

I guess my point is that when you get through things and you look back on them, the pain scale reduces from where it was. When we feel like we can’t possibly endure another day, look back through your life and think about the things you HAVE endured and know that you CAN endure whatever hardship you are currently going through. What seems like a 10 on the pain scale right now (and it very well may be) will lessen with time. Better days will come and those better days will be even sweeter because of the hard days we have endured.

John 16:33 says something like this…

I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble (like a freaking 10 on the pain scale!) But take heart! I have overcome the world.

I’ll never be perfect (not even close) and my life will never be pain free or exactly the way I plan it or want it, but I do know I will never have to walk it alone.

  -lightningbug

Fill ups...boobs and lamps...

Me: Hey God, I’m really sick of crying and being all down in the dumps and worrying about the stuff that I’m consumed with right now. Could you help me out?

God: Could you shush your brain and your mouth and listen?

Me: You’re asking a lot here God.

I got in the shower this morning. And for those of you who read my blog, you know that the shower is where most of my talking to God happens and it’s where most of my writing inspiration happens. And often times the two go together. This morning when I got in the shower, I heard this song, “Give me oil in my lamp, keep me burning. Give me oil in my lamp I pray. Give me oil in my lamp keep me burning, burning, burning, keep me burning til the break of day.”

That is a song that I used to sing as a kid in Bible School and have sung with our Bible School kids over the years. There are a couple more verses and I actually had to look them up because it was just the oil in my lamp that came to me this morning.

The other verses are “Give me joy in my heart, keep me praising” and “Give me peace in my heart, keep me loving.”

Well then. 

10-4 God. 

I’m not sure you could’ve come through any clearer. My oil is low in my lamp. I haven’t been trusting like I should. I’ve been worrying about my dad and about my health and about some other personal things in my life and I haven’t been trusting that You have a pretty good track record of working things out for me. My oil is low and somedays I can't see where I'm going. Not only can I not see where I'm going, I'm having a hard time emitting any light for anybody else to see.  I haven’t been doing the things that I was doing a few months ago that strengthened me. Tomorrow I go for a boob fill up, but in the morning, I’m going to sit down and get myself an oil fill. 

And I have a sneaking suspicion that once I get an oil fill up, that joy and peace in my heart will follow right behind and those tears and anxieties and fears will diminish. 

-lightningbug

Fragile: Contents Under Pressure

You know that feeling when you've had a long, hard day and you come in and the first thing you want to do is take off that gosh-forsaken bra? Well that's what it feels like after a mastectomy but you can't take it off. Because it's not a bra, it's your skin. I've had that feeling since Aug. 10. And it sucks. And it makes me very grumpy. Yesterday I was cleaning the dog's water bowl and Colby knocked his head up and it busted my lip and I cried. I mean I came inside and I bawled. And not because it really hurt that much. I mean, I'm not a total wuss but just because some days that's all it takes for me to lose my shit. I can't feel the backs of my arms from the shoulder to the elbow. I feel like I have a sunburn all the time and I get hot and cold like I have a sunburn. My balance is all out of whack (totally fell down walking into the football game Friday night,) neuropathy is still messing with my feet.

I went for my first boob fill last week and my breasts are starting to fill out into a somewhat lopsided round shape. They are swollen in all the wrong places and they're just weird and ugly. They have scars all the way across each of them. Ugly scars. Like a boob through a meat grinder. People have been congratulating me on being cancer free and I smile and I AM happy. I am completely happy. Nothing is any more important that knowing that cancer has been served its eviction notice and it's crap is laying out on the front lawn for the garbage man. But this is hard. This is very freaking hard. And the kids are all back to school so it is so quiet and lonely. I have a lot going on in my head right now and the wheels seem to turn and turn and never stay still.

The pieces of me look to be all coming back together from the outside--my hair is growing back, my eyelashes and my eybrows are back--I even have to shave my legs these days--but I feel completely opposite inside. I feel like my pieces are falling apart on the inside. I know this is all a part of the process and I'm human and I'm allowed to have emotions and blah blah. Yeah, yeah. I know that. But I'm the kind of human who likes the good emotions. I like smiles and laughter. I don't like sad and lonely. I looked at Kevin the other day and said, "All these years I have thought I was a free spirit but I like a plan I think I may even be OCD. I am a total fraud." And I do like a plan. And I don't have a plan right now. I have tried to go back to my regular work schedule (which is a very modest part time) and that wears me down and I can't focus like I used to be able to do. 

When I put my deodorant on, I can't even feel where it's going. I feel nothing under my arm. I feel like I'm not "enough" right now. I so want to be complete and back to me. I wasn't any superwoman to begin with but I was me. I worked a little and I came home and did my home thing and I carted kids all over creation and I entertained and I had a pretty great life. And now life is not normal. And I feel guilty for EVERYTHING. I feel guilty that I can't be and do everything that I used to do. I know it will come back but I'm impatient. I'm telling myself that I'm not going down to visit my dad this evening because I am physically and emotionally drained, but I will. The guilt will get to me and I will go. My dad even said to me last night, "Honey, you don't have to come down here every day." But I do. He has always been there for me and I will always be there for him. That's how family works. And that's what I will do.

I know my boobs will look and feel better over time. I'm just impatient right now. I know my energy level will increase over time. I know life will go back to normal before too long. For right now though, I am sad. And Ecclesiastes 3 tells me that it's ok for me to be sad right now.

There’s a season for everything    and a time for every matter under the heavens:2     a time for giving birth and a time for dying, a time for planting and a time for uprooting what was planted,3     a time for killing and a time for healing, a time for tearing down and a time for building up,4     a time for crying and a time for laughing, a time for mourning and a time for dancing,5     a time for throwing stones and a time for gathering stones, a time for embracing and a time for avoiding embraces,6     a time for searching and a time for losing, a time for keeping and a time for throwing away,7    a time for tearing and a time for repairing, a time for keeping silent and a time for speaking,8     a time for loving and a time for hating, a time for war and a time for peace.

A time for laughing and being silly and a time for sitting at the bottom of the stairs with a pillow pulled to your chest crying until breathing becomes laborous and then going upstairs and making a cup of coffee and getting your shit together because normal people don't sit at the bottom of the stairs and cry into pillows.

Have you ever bought something and took it out of the package and then it NEVER would go back in the package? When I was visiting my aunt in Florida, we took the rollaway bed out of the package and it was SO TIGHT getting that thing out that we knew it would never go back in the package. Well that's kind of how I feel right now. My old life was my package and the cancer made me come out of my packaging and I don't think I will ever fit back into my old packaging. I'm just going to have to figure out life outside of my packaging. And that's really scary to me. It's a very vulnerable and terrifying place. And here lately it feels a lot like taking a ride on the coo-coo caboose.

-lightningbug

Jesus & a Bedazzled Hat

It’s been a long time since I dug down to the area where my recent fountain of tears have originated. It was probably back before my biopsy results and the days following that.  You have your regular tears and then you have those that are from the deep down depths of your soul—the ones that don’t get out too often because they just hurt so much so we keep them buried and then one day, sometimes just out of the blue, they will begin. And in my case, they have lasted for a week. I just completely bawl, sometimes for good reason and sometimes for no reason at all.

Currently, I hate my life. It is the worst life ever and I don’t even know why I went through chemo and all that because I should’ve just rolled over and croaked. I do not like my children very much right now, my husband is a jerk, my dad isn’t fighting after his surgery like he should, my dogs are dumb, my basement needs Jesus and FEMA and I and I can’t drive anywhere to even get away from any of this madness. I’m just stuck here. With my stupid thoughts and a dirty house.

Today I was thinking about that woman at the softball tournament—you know—the strong one with the blingy cap and the mini skirt who was able to bring grown men to tears and that woman who (very badly) threw out that first pitch at the Lumberjacks game and that women who has stood tall and proud and strong for six months. Where the hell did she go?  She went through all that chemo and lost her hair and boo coos of changes and she did pretty darn good. All that for THIS???

And now here I am. In the homestretch and I’m losing my ever loving mind.  I’ve had my surgery and I have fallen to pieces. And it has nothing to do with losing my breasts. I’m sore. I’m really sore. I’m numb. I’m weak and tired. And I’m not used to being all those things—well except tired. I’m always tired.

I’ve been wanting to write to tell you all about how when I came out of surgery that the first thing I heard was “Country Roads” and not just in the hospital speakers—this was coming from a guitar and somebody’s voice. You’ve just had surgery and you are trying to make sense of your surroundings and you hear that and then you think maybe it’s not right. I went with it though and I began to tell the nurse that I had a tattoo on my ankle of the state of West Virginia and over a little place in Fayette Co., called Mossy, I had the tattoo artist put a little gold heart. That’s where so much of my heart resided. Before my grandparents died I had them write the words, “Take Me Home, Country Roads” and I used their handwriting to form the words around my tattoo. Well the next thing I knew, the guitarist was over there by my bed meeting me and telling me that he sure was glad he picked that song for today. And I was thinking oh my gosh Momaw, you have outdone yourself on this one. Another one of those “coincidences.”

Well I came home and life was good for a day or two and then the crying started. I cried and I cried. Kevin’s mom came in and hugged me and tried to console me and I wanted to tell her that her son was just a jackass and I wish she would take him back home with her (none of that was true but that was my perception at the time.)

I cried on Sunday so bad that my dad had to leave church to come check on me. I can’t even remember what terrible thing had happened to me that day but I know a blizzard from DQ really helped things.

My dad had to have heart surgery last week and people keep asking me how he is doing and the truth is, I don’t know how he’s doing! The doctors say he’s doing good but he isn’t eating and he can’t get up from his chair unassisted and I don’t see much drive in him and I want to see him wanting to get back on his feet! There are different kinds of loves in this world and we experience a lot of different kinds and degrees. There are three people in my life who have loved me beyond comprehension and I have lost two of those. The thought of losing the third one brings me to my knees.

So basically I just have a lot on my plate right now and I don’t actually hate my life or anybody in it. I threatened Riley’s life for taking a phone charger, I told Kevin I was going to throw a match to the basement, and I have just been mean and ugly and lashing out at the people I love because I’m tired and I’m scared and I’m everything that the girl in the blingy hat on July 23 was not. Or maybe she was and maybe I just need to pull out that blingy hat again!!!

When I can’t find the answers to life when I look around in the world, I can always find them in scripture.

But you, LORD! Don't be far away! You are my strength! Come quick and help me! (Psalm 22:19)

So I am going to have a hot noon shower and talk to Jesus and then I’m going to get that blingy hat on and start conquering the world again.

 -lightningbug

Batt'n 4 Boobies Words...

On Saturday, July 23, the best friends a girl could have came out to play softball and support my cancer battle. I couldn't let them do all that for me without telling them what they all meant to me, so I said these words to them before the tournament got started:

February 19 is when I got the call. It was a Friday morning about 10 am. I was standing at my kitchen counter when the call came. The doctor said, “Unfortunately…” He really didn’t need to say anything after that.

I don’t think anybody expects to have a cancer battle on their hands at 38 years old.

I went to see a genetics counselor soon after that and I found out that my specific type of breast cancer is something called triple negative breast cancer. The short version of that is that the drugs that are often used to treat breast cancer won’t work on me. Triple negative makes up 10-20% of breast cancers and has a lower 5 year survival rate compared to other breast cancers. That appointment with the genetics counselor was probably the hardest appointment for me. There was so much information and it was TOUGH information—information that I didn’t want to hear. I was so overwhelmed and discouraged and truly terrified.

I told my family and close friends that weekend and I knew my name was about to go on prayer lists around the community on Sunday morning and while I welcomed that completely, I wanted the news to come from me.

That Saturday, I wrote my first breast cancer blog that I called “In a World of Eeyores, be a Tigger.”

I ended that blog with the phrase “We got this” which came to be my mantra throughout this journey. WE got this—not me, but WE. My family, my friends, my community, complete strangers, a little of me, and above all, God.

I have been called a hero and strong and brave and all that and that’s totally sweet but I don’t believe I am any of those things. I am just a girl who loves her life and wants to do whatever it takes to stay here for as long as I possibly can. You may not know it right now, but you would do the same thing.

Since the beginning, I have said “This is part of my journey.” It has taken my strength, my money, my peace of mind, my tears, my hair, my taste buds—and on August 10, it will take my breasts.

And all that stuff really stinks and I could choose to be angry or sad about those things, and occasionally I AM sad about those things.

But what I wanted to tell you about today is not what cancer has taken from me, but what it has given to me. Sounds crazy, huh?

The Saturday that I wrote that first blog, I got a Facebook message from a friend. I was up at Edgemont school walking that day. I felt great. I didn’t feel like I had cancer. It was a crisp February day, a sunny day after a week of heavy snow. My friend wrote to tell me that her sister was a breast cancer survivor and if I ever wanted to talk to her, that she was sure she would be willing to talk to me. I gave her sister a friend request that day and she has been there for me just like a big sister from that day on. So many breast cancer survivors have reached out to me throughout the last five months. 

I have received hundreds of cards and just as many emails since my diagnosis and they have been a tremendous source of encouragement for me. I always laughed when people would say “I know you’re probably sick of hearing this…” No. I never have gotten sick of hearing that you are supporting me and praying for me and cheering me on.

I have been given so many gifts! Holy cow! You guys have been so generous to me and I appreciate it more than I can ever tell you! Money, meals, services, all sorts of care packages, along with so much love. You all are incredible.

My best friend and soul mate Deana has been with me the entire way. She has cheered me on and she has dried my tears. She has been with me to every appointment, she has prayed with me and she has cussed with me.  She has never left my side.

My husband and my kids and my parents and my in-laws and my neighbors and so many of you have gone above and beyond and I am so grateful to you all.

I hate wearing shirts that show my port. You would think a mother would be a source of confidence and empowerment for her daughter, but the opposite has been true. Natalie has been there time after time to tell me that I am beautiful even with no hair and an ugly port sticking out of my chest.  My boys have been so protective of me and have chipped in to help with whatever I needed.

Kevin has had to be mom and dad at times. He has taken over most of the chores at home on top of everything else. I jokingly call him Hazel the housewife.

You all get to read about twinkling, happy lightning bug and He has had the misfortune of catching grumpy, weak, barely twinkling lightning bug on so many occasions. I am grateful for his love and patience.

You would never believe this, but sitting in a room full of people getting chemo was a blessing. You will be hard pressed to find better people than the ones you encounter in the chemo room. It is truly a humbling experience. My oncology nurses were absolutely incredible. I believe wholeheartedly that people have been strategically placed in my path throughout the last five months—I think that’s one of the coolest things God has done for me. The people I have encountered haven’t been by chance. They were meant to cross my path.

You know…You don’t have to have cancer to slow down just a little and breathe in what is all around you. That Saturday that I told you I was walking up at the school—I took pictures that day of the water and the birds and the sky. It all looked so very different to me. I had different eyes that day. I have become a lot more in tune with the simple things since the big C came along.

That Friday morning in February, I was so nervous as I awaited my biopsy results and that was the day that my daughter said “Hey mom, come look at these birds!” I walked to the front door and the cardinals were perched in my maple tree. Two cardinals—a male and a female. When I looked out there I smiled and this peace that I can’t even describe came over me. Natalie went to school and I pulled out my laptop and googled, “what does it mean when a cardinal visits.” This is exactly what I found when I looked it up, “A cardinal is a representative of a loved one who has passed. When you see one, it means they are visiting you. They usually show up when you most need them or miss them. They also make an appearance during times of celebration as well as despair to let you know they will always be with you. Look for them, they’ll appear.”

I lost my grandparents in 2013 & 2014. I was super close to them and I know in my heart who sent those red birds.

I urge you today to look for the cardinals…not just the cardinals but to look at the beauty of nature and your children and the dew on the grass and everything around you with grateful eyes. I promise you that will make a difference in your life.

This week I started thinking about how to convey to you all what you have meant to me throughout this journey. I hopped in the shower one day and I heard the childhood chant from the game Red Rover going through my head. Remember that game? You would stand side by side with one another and link hands and call for someone to come over? Red rover, red rover, send Johnny on over. And Johnny would come barreling through trying to break the links and penetrate the line. Sometimes he would make it and sometimes he wouldn’t. It all depended on how tight those links were. Cancer made it through those links and invaded my body. Then all of you all—my friends and my family and some people who don’t even know me—came together and tightened those links and at every turn when cancer tried to get through and destroy my mind or my spirit, your love has been the strength that has kept that cancer out. I could not have done this without all of you. You inspire me every day.

I have completed eight rounds of dense dose chemotherapy and on August 10 I will have my surgery. If my cancer is gone (which I believe 100% that it is,) my prognosis is in the upper 90% range.

Thank you to everyone who has been a part of this event and blessings to each of you who have come out to support me!

We got this!

-lightningbug