Sunday, May 11, 2014  (Mother's Day!)
I have to tell you, this is kind of an experiment . . . I'm so bad and so intimidated by stuff like this, my sister set up this blog for me because I don't know how to do it and didn't want the extra stress of trying to figure it out.  So thanks to Katie for her kindness in taking time to do this for me.

My purpose in having a blog, really, is because I think it will be therapeutic for me to keep a record of my thoughts.  I have a journal, and I've written in it, but because it takes so much time for handwriting (I can type faster), I only write when I'm not coping well.  Think of the legacy that's gonna leave!!!  ;-)  My descendants will think I was really unstable.  Anyhow, so I decided maybe a blog would work better and be more therapeutic for me for now.  I really don't care if anyone reads it . . . but I guess if you can't sleep . . .  It might work better than a sleep aid.?

So this whole breast cancer journey started in March.  One day I thought I saw a "dimpling" when I was toweling off after showering.  It kind of looked like a shadow, so I played with the lights, etc.  I still wasn't sure so I decided to keep an eye on it.  It seemed to go away after a few days or so, so I decided it must have been nothing.  Thinking back, I wonder if maybe I was having a bit of denial?  But a few days after my youngest sister's bridal shower (about 3-4 weeks later), I was once again drying off after showering, and saw a dimpling.  This time there was no question.  I couldn't feel a lump; in fact, it felt like someone had taken a scoop of tissue out underneath the skin and then put the skin back on over it.  There was a hole there.  That didn't make sense to me.  How can a "hole" be a sign of something serious?  (I found out how later--it's because the mass was growing on a ligament, which twists in and pulls the tissue in.)  I was sure it was probably nothing, but decided it would be stupid to assume things.  It was time for my annual anyway, so I scheduled an appointment for the next day, a Thursday.  The Nurse Practitioner could not feel a lump, but felt we should follow up.  We scheduled a mammogram for the following Monday (April 14.)  The next day I got sick.  I had been fighting a sinus infection for a long time, and I guess that day I lost that fight!  I had a fever and chills for the next 3 days, and finally, Sunday morning, I decided I had better go to the Dr. because I didn't want to miss my mammo appointment the next day.  My mom took me to the Dr. while my family was at church, and he gave me antibiotics.  It was amazing how much they helped.  By the next day, I was well enough to drive, but I still felt pretty miserable, and I had to wear a mask while I had all the tests done.  I was drowning in my own snot, which only added to my misery.  I had a mammo, then an ultrasound, then a biopsy.  The Dr. that did the biopsy was fantastic.  He said that black mass on the screen "could be cancer."  I thought, "Well, of course!  Why do you think I came in here!!" and then I realized he was trying to tell me he thought it WAS cancer.  I started asking questions, and he was great.  He didn't sugar-coat it or lie about it; he was compassionate, but he gave it to me straight.  I left with ice packs in my bra and my head reeling (and still drowning in my own snot.)  I came home and told my husband, and told him it if it was at a terminal stage, I was going skydiving (which I have never had any desire to do.)  He thought I was crazy, because I'm scared of heights.  My thought was, "Shoot, what's the worst that could happen?  So my parachute doesn't open . . . OH, NO!!!"

And then the waiting began . . . it felt unreal, so hard to comprehend that I probably had something like that growing inside me . . . 3 days later I got results . . . positive.  By then I was emotionally prepared for them.  We met with the Nurse Practitioner again, and she was kind and compassionate and talked to us about what to expect emotionally as well as physically.  She explained that we would both go through the grieving process, and that we would likely not be in the same stage of grief at the same time, and whatever it was that the other person was feeling, we would need to support each other.  That has been so helpful!

Within one hour of receiving results, we had scheduled an appointment with the oncologist . . . and it was a whole week away.  We tried to get it moved to an earlier date, but it was a no-go.  The whole time, I'm trying to pretend nothing is unusual because I don't want to tell my kids until I know the answers to their inevitable questions.  It was so weird . . . surreal.  I found myself alternating between feelings of denial that I really had something like that in there, and the acceptance that it was there and growing every day while I waited for the calendar pages to turn!  I experienced a lot of different steps of grieving that week . . . sometimes I was accepting, often I was really sad, sometimes I was scared.  I sometimes found myself feeling cheated--feeling that somehow I didn't deserve this because I was too young and I had kids that needed a mom.  That week was a real emotional roller-coaster.

I was finally able to get into the oncologist the day before my sister's wedding.  He couldn't feel a lump either, and he felt that it was early, and very treatable.  Now I knew the information I needed to know, but I didn't want to ruin the wedding, so I still kept quiet.  And then next day, my oldest had a track meet and Prom.  He was so excited for Prom--his first one---how could I ruin it for him?  So, finally, after church on Sunday, we had a family meeting with the kids.  How do you tell your kids something like that???  It was really hard.  My oldest son looked like he had been slugged in the stomach, and my two daughters and 7 year old son burst into tears.  My six-year-old son was climbing on the furniture and on all of us; I still don't know if he knows what's going on, though he prays at night that "Mom will get feeling better."  Of course, my 19 month old has no idea that anything out of the ordinary is happening . . . yet.

I had decided that even though I wasn't sure I was ready to face everyone else's grief, my children would need support from others, so I had better not even try to keep a secret.  Immediately after telling the kids, I e-mailed all of my husband's family and mine, as well as the kid's teachers at school.  I also began calling some of my close friends and asking them to spread the word to others.  As expected, it went viral very quickly.  In our church, two men (called Home Teachers) are assigned families to visit and look out for each month.  Our home teacher came over to help give the kids Priesthood blessings; the Bishop and Elder's Quorum President (one of the church leaders over the men and families at church) stopped to visit a few days later, and a ward-wide fast was arranged.  I had surgery that week, and went to church just long enough for my son's ordination to the office of Priest.  People were so sweet; they all but rolled out the red carpet.  Everyone who saw me sitting in the clerk's office stopped and came in the office to ask how I was doing.  Small children that I saw every week (and they never noticed me before) stopped to wave at me, people took my arm to help me walk through the crowd, gave me soft hugs, told me they loved me.

It's a strange experience having cancer.  It is strange watching people mourn for you while you are still alive.  It is so different to have people you 'bump into' all the time suddenly telling you that they love you, or how nice it is to see you.  It's not unpleasant, just different than before.  It is strangely touching to find out that people you don't even know have called their nearest temple to put your name in, that they are fasting and praying for you.  It is strange to go from being anonymous and unknown to being the object of concern so quickly.  I guess it takes tragedy to remind us how precious the people we see every week at church or around town are.  It's not that we don't love them; it's just that we take for granted that they will always be there.  And it is very, very strange being the object of their concern and care.  I have received so many calls and texts.  So many people have offered their help.  It has been so appreciated, and has made a very difficult situation a little easier.

During those first 2 weeks, I felt a quiet peace, even while experiencing that roller-coaster.  I tried my best to have faith in the Lord; I know that He knows me and has a plan for our family.  I tried to trust in His will, and I felt like things would work out.  I also understood in my heart that this experience would be the very best growth experience for my family---that it would be worth it all in the end.  I received a couple of Priesthood blessings; they gave me the information I needed to know and brought me peace.  After the surgery, when I discovered that the cancer had progressed further than we had thought, I felt increasingly discouraged.  The discouragement finally peaked the day after I met again with the oncologist to go over the plan for my treatment.  I realized that I had been in denial; I had somehow subconsciously thought that when I had surgery, the pathology reports would come back completely clean--the doctors would discover that there had been a mistake and that lump really was benign.  Or they would discover the lump was so small, it was just a Stage One.  Of course, I would still have to have chemo and radiation, but we would have caught it so early, a "cure" would be almost guaranteed.  But Stage Three???  THREE?  HOW could that be possible?  The oncologist (he's fantastic, by the way) was surprised too.  He reassured me that anything less than a Stage 4 was curable.  He was very positive, and very encouraging; he even told me that with the faith and prayers in my behalf, overcoming this was almost certain.  He told me that the good news was that we were blessed to have found everything we needed to know so that we knew how to best treat it.  But right then all I could hear was the number.  3 is the number just before 4!!!  I was just reeling.  Suddenly this was real, not just a bad dream, not just an idea.  It was cancer!  And I had it.  And it had somehow--so quickly--progressed far enough that it was really possible that it could kill me.  KILL ME!  And leave my 6 children motherless and my husband a widower.  As I tried to wrap my head around this new realization, I began realizing that I had unknowingly been placing more faith and trust in medicine than in the Lord.  I also began realizing that it took getting scared--really scared--to redirect my faith in the direction it should have been going all along.  I was ashamed, but it was true.  I realized that it was better for it to have happened this way, even though it's not what I wanted, because that's what it would take for me to become what Heavenly Father wanted me to become.

I was mourning my own (seemingly inevitable) death, and I realized that I needed another blessing.  My husband and I called my dad late one night, and headed over there just as he was headed home after finishing milking cows.  That blessing was the sweetest, most comforting blessing.  It told me what I needed to do, gave me comfort, and helped to remind me that I am not in charge; Heavenly Father is.  But not only is He in charge, He knows my needs.  And He knows the needs of my husband and children.  He knows, and He cares.  The fog lifted, and my courage returned.  As it did, I replayed the conversation with the oncologist in my mind.  And I began to understand.  I realized it is possible to survive this.  I realized that I was "missing" some blessings that were staring me in the face.  Bad news, yes.  But as the Dr. had said, that bad news also meant that we HAD found the truth, and we DID know what treatments were needed.  And I was reminded that faith and prayers are the most powerful medicine of all.

I have had so many people of all religious beliefs--some that I didn't even know were religious--tell me that they love me and are praying for me.  I am thankful for their caring and concern.  I am especially thankful for their prayers, for regardless of their religious beliefs, they are all showing their faith and trust in God.  He knows them all and hears and answers their prayers.  And, after all, faith and prayers are the most powerful medicine of all.