May 28, 2014

I was talking to my husband last night, and in the course of our conversation, I realized I have not done a good job communicating all the things I am learning/have learned about cancer--and specifically, this type of cancer, to everyone.  So, I'm going to take a minute to further explain things as I understand them.  I hope I am understanding it all correctly, and hoping that it may clear up any misconceptions that exist.  

First, these days cancer research and treatment is a very specialized field.  There is not a "one-size-fits-all" kind of cancer, nor is there a "one-size-fits-all" treatment.  Looking just at breast cancer . . . there are several different kinds of breast cancer.  There are also many different treatment options.  In diagnosis and treatment, they look at EXACTLY what type they are dealing with, and then determine which of the treatment options is likely to be the most effective.

In my case, I had the mammogram first, which showed a mass that looked "suspicious."  That means it had several of the things they look for in a cancerous mass.  The ultrasound also showed those same suspicious traits.  So, they did a biopsy.  They took a needle and took "cookie cutter" samples of the mass out to send it off for testing.  The biopsy showed that it was cancerous, and that it was the type called "infiltrating ductal adenacarcinoma of the breast."  It showed some other specifics, too.  Even within that specific type of cancer, though, there can be big differences from one to the next.  After the surgery, they tested the mass to learn even more specifically what type I had and what treatments were the most likely to be effective.  The specific type of chemo I am receiving is the type that has been shown to be most effective against the specific type of cancer that I have.  As I said, it's very specialized.

Secondly, let's talk about staging.  I always thought it was a very easily definable thing.  My husband and I were flipping through a book in the oncologist's office that showed staging information.  I always thought it was the size of a mass that determined staging, or perhaps how far it had spread, etc.  That's true . . . sort of.  It's more like a mixture of all of the above.  So, my "Stage 3" just means it had made it into the lymph nodes, and the mass was a certain size when they finally got it out of there.  The Dr. pointed out that the size of the cancerous cells within the lymph nodes was still quite small.  While it is true that Stage 3 is bad news, it doesn't necessarily mean it is spread throughout my whole body, and I'm a goner.  For this type of cancer, anything less than Stage 4 is treatable.  (I don't know if Stage 4 = terminal across the board for all types of cancer. My mom says she thinks some kinds go up to Stage 5 . . . we aren't sure about this!)

Think of those infernal dandelions in your lawn.  You start with one plant, which then goes to seed.  The wind blows the seeds who knows where, and the next year, all of a sudden, you have a lot more dandelions to contend with.  Cancer is like that.  The original cancer is gone now, to our knowledge.  They took the mass.  They took the lymph nodes nearest the site.  Some had cancer, some didn't, which means it's probably gone.  BUT, like those infernal dandelion seeds, cancer sprouts seeds that spread all over.  At this point, the CT scan showed that none of those seeds have begun sprouting in other areas of my body.  That's SUPER GREAT news!  If we did no other treatment other than surgery, I would most likely not die this year, or next, or even the next . . . because the mass is gone.  But, because of those silly seeds that COULD sprout elsewhere, there's a good chance that the cancer would show up somewhere else in future years.  Chemo is like the herbicide you put on your lawn, hoping to kill the seeds that have fallen there BEFORE they start sprouting.  The hope is that if we poison me now, it will kill each of those seeds so they never sprout anywhere else.

Third, I think it's important to talk about what "terminal" means.  We think of someone having "terminal" cancer as being a goner . . . go home and get your affairs in order!  While that is often the case, again, there are so many different types of cancer, you can't think of it as "one size fits all."  "Terminal" means they can't kill or remove it, basically.  Sometimes people live for YEARS with terminal cancer.  Other times, only weeks.  It depends on where it is, how fast it's spreading, etc.  

So, let's talk percentages.  It's a scary topic, but we will go there anyway.  I don't know what my "chances" would be if we didn't do chemo & radiation.  Not as good, for sure.  But, speaking from a strictly medical standpoint, there is an 80% chance after chemo and radiation that none of those seeds will ever sprout.  Please understand . . . 80% isn't my chance of living through this . . . I have an 80% chance that NONE of those seeds will ever sprout during my lifetime.  

I would sure love for the percentage to be higher, but, really, 80% isn't half bad!  Add in faith and prayers . . . As the oncologist pointed out, "The Good Lord doesn't need chemo to cure cancer."  God has a plan for me; he always has!  So, we go through the treatments as outlined, keep applying faith and prayer liberally, and let His plan come forth however He wants it to.  As for myself, I am planning on a lot more good years!!!!  :-)  So, please don't fret too much.  You're in God's hands, too.  We all are!

Hope this helps to explain how it all works.  As always, if you have questions, don't be afraid to ask.  I"m not afraid to talk about it, and I don't want you to be, either.

Have a great day!  It's a warm, sunny one here!

Tuesday, May 27, 2014
It's a beautiful day!  The grass is green, the weather is nice, the blossoms on the trees smell good.  Funny, those are things I never took time to notice very much before.  Don't get me wrong--I tried to take time to smell the roses, but things like this really do make every day a gift from God!

I feel like I've been through an abyss, and come out the other side surprisingly--and gratefully--alive!  My first treatment really wasn't that bad . . . but the word tired doesn't even do justice.  It feels good to feel good!  I am very, very grateful for effective nausea medications.  The kind of stuff you hear other people going through--I didn't have any of it with this first one.  Just FATIGUE.  :-)  I know that I still have more to go through, but I knew from the very first appointment with the oncologist that I would have to take this problem one chunk at a time.  To try to think of the whole treatment schedule was just too overwhelming.  So, for today, I'm loving the weather and the fact that I have emerged from hybernation.

I learned one other new thing today.  My cousin called me.  He lives out of state, and I haven't seen him for a couple of years now.  He had seen a picture on Facebook of my brother with his head shaved--another brother, not the one I mentioned previously--and texted him about it . . . and then found out about my diagnosis.  I'm so touched that he took the time to call, but not surprised.  He's like that . . . just a nice, nice guy.  He's so genuine.  If he can help, he will.  No questions asked, no expectations in return.

So, if the roles had been reversed, would I have called?  I'm ashamed to say, no, probably not.  Why?  Because I have always been too worried that I would say the wrong thing, or not know what to say.  I have always doubted that anything I could do or say would make any real difference.  It always seemed to make sense, but now it sounds so silly.  I realize that on my end of things, each of those phone calls, texts, cards, etc. is SO appreciated, no matter how long it has been since I've talked to them, or what the last conversation we had was about.  And, even if they were to say the wrong thing, I think I would understand that the thing that motivates them to pick up the phone in the first place is love.  So, even if the conversation were to go a bit awkwardly, I would still feel their love and concern.  I guess there's another lesson for me to remember!

Sunday, May 25, 2014

I have revived . . . momentarily.  Well, the Dr. called it right.  He said I would be "tired."  And I am!  All I do is sleep and sleep some more.  Thankfully, I haven't had terrible nausea or anything like that.  But the word "tired" is a bit of an understatement!  I am so grateful that my older kids and friends and family have been willing and able to help.  I just have to keep picturing cancer cells that are feeling even worse than I am--and that makes me smile!

I realized that one of the problems with beginning to comment on the nice things that people have done for me is that there is no way on earth I can ever include all the nice things people have done . . . there have been so many.  I have so many offers of help that so far, I haven't had enough "need" for the help that has been offered, though that will change before this is through, I'm sure.

My mom has taken me to appointments, etc.  I know it has been a sacrifice for her.  She is so busy that she can't keep up with her own life as it is.  My aunt came over and got my kids off to school on the day I had surgery, and has offered to help in any other way she possibly can.  I have lost count of all the meals that have been brought in . . . some of the sweet Relief Society sisters have brought in more than one.  My visiting teacher and her daughter spent hours at my house after I had surgery.  They cleaned, visited with me, brought food, etc.  I have had more cards, letters, texts, and phone calls than I can count.

Last night, my son brought his IPod into my room to show me a picture.  My brother and his roommate shaved their heads in my honor--and in honor of all those others who are fighting cancer.  A few minutes later he brought it in again.  So did my brother-in-law.  My sister bought a whole bunch of temporary pink ribbon tattoos.  She texted me pictures of them all wearing them.

I have had several family members that live out of town--even out of state--that have offered to leave their families and homes to come up and help me.  I am humbled by everyone's willingness to give of themselves.  I really can't imagine myself being that giving.  Really.  Maybe one of the lessons the Lord wants me to learn is how to be less selfish with my time.

I find it difficult to describe how it feels to have all this kindness extended to me.  'Lil ol' me.  I always thought I was so insignificant.  I guess there is no such thing.

Thank you, everyone!!!

Thurs. May 22, 2014
Had my first chemo treatment today.  So much information given; it's going to be a learning curve trying to understand it all.  Even the medications I have to take to manage side effects are pretty overwhelming.  After I finish writing this, I'm going to make a consolidated list of everything and hope that helps me wrap my head around it a little more.

The treatments went well, but took longer than expected.  They gave me nausea drugs first (good thing, even with them I felt a bit nauseated; I'm sure I would have been throwing up without them.)  With one, I had to eat cold things like ice chips, etc. while I was receiving it to keep the blood vessels constricted in my mouth.  This is to hopefully prevent a side effect of that drug . . . mouth sores.  With another I had to have my hands on ice packs to hopefully prevent hand/foot numbness and tingling.  Weird.  I feel o.k. right now, just SUPER tired.  I will probably start really feeling the effects tomorrow.  I have to go back and get a shot to help boost my bone marrow, and that will cause me to be achy, but will help my immunity.

Everyone has been so sweet.  Yesterday I received (from my husband's 3 sisters and niece) a box of sunshine.  It is so bright and cheerful---I smile every time I look at it.  I would attach a picture but don't have the energy to figure out how.  Maybe I'll ask one of my kids to help me figure it out???  It is a box full of bright yellow things; Sanitizing wipes, paper plates, forks, cups, dish towels, different kinds of food, etc.  ALL YELLOW!!!  It is so cheery!  I love it!  Thanks to all of you!  :-)

Last night we were getting kids situated and getting them to bed and heard a loud knock at the door.  My son opened it and found an envelope taped to the front door.  It had a very nice card and $200 inside.  Someone also deposited $100 in our bank account.  I am so touched by their generosity, whoever they all are.

Also, one day my husband went to a customer's house to work.  He apologized for being behind, and mentioned that he had been going to medical appointments with me.  The man asked what was going on, so he told him.  The customer said, "Just a minute."  He went in the house, got his checkbook and wrote out a $100 check.

My neighbor, whose husband had testicular cancer at a young age, has been so thoughtful.  She brought me something she found when out shopping; it's a wooden candle holder thing, and it says "Prayer--The World's Best Wireless Connection."  She also brought us over a HUGE DQ ice cream cake.  She, almost apologetically, said "Maybe this is silly, but this looked so good.  I wanted you to have something yummy to eat while you still feel good enough."  Silly, no, not silly.  Sweet!!!  So sweet!  (And I did enjoy it!!!!)

There have been offers of babysitting, I have received many meals, flowers, etc.  So many people willing and happy to help.  It makes me think I need to step it up a little when this is all over.

People are so good!

So, on that subject, I have to tell you what my aunt did.  She's awesome.  She is a nurse, and was at work.  One of her patients that day told her he and his girlfriend had been together for 7 years, and had decided to get married.  That day was supposed to have been their wedding day, before the Justice of the Peace, and now he was in the hospital.  They wanted to get married anyway, so the Justice of the Peace was coming to the hospital to marry them in his room.  She said, "No, you can't do that.  Hang on, I'll be back."  She went and made arrangements for the wedding to take place in the chapel at the hospital.  Then she called the hospital photographer and arranged for pictures to be taken.  Then she called up to the kitchen and arranged to have some wedding cake for them to eat.  Then she went to the gift shop to get some flowers and a bouquet to throw.  She found matching "dresses" for the bridesmaids (which under the circumstances were hospital gowns) and for the "best man" (the groom's dog.)  They had 5 guests come; one was a single woman with a little girl.  When it was time to throw the bouquet, they collected all the single nursing staff to come in.  When she threw it, all the staff stepped back so it could be caught by the single mom in attendance at the wedding.  I just thought that was all so cool.

Now, for the craziness.  Tuesday, my sister, who was expecting a baby, found out that the baby had died.  I found out yesterday, and bawled all morning.  She delivered yesterday afternoon.  We went to see her and took her food and flowers today after my treatment today.

My father-in-law got sick yesterday with a bowel obstruction.  This has been an ongoing problem for him, and they don't know the reason--they haven't been able to find a cause.

And this afternoon while I was having my treatment, my mom got a call from the school.  My Kindergarten-aged son was throwing up, so my dad had to go get him (my mom was with me and my husband was working.)  Wow.  Chaos seems to be contagious.

But it could all be worse (hope it doesn't become worse!!!) so we will just keep on keepin' on!

Thanks, everyone, for your faith and prayers.  We will be fine; we have lots of great friends and family to help us through it, as well as blessings from God that show up in a variety of ways.  For that, I will always be grateful.

Wed. May 21, 2104
My sister sent me something she saw on Facebook.  It said "My New Word:  Blesson.  It's when you are able to view painful lessons as blessings.  In other words . . . A Blesson is what happens when you see the blessing in the lesson that your challenge taught you.---Karen Salmansohn notsalmon.com"  I liked that.

I learned something about myself the other day . . . I realized that I had always thought I had to have good health to be happy.  It wasn't a conscious thought . . . just an assumption I subconsciously made.  Therefore, any time I got any medical news I didn't like, even if it was minor, I was upset.  I suppose that's human nature.  But that day, somehow, I realized that the goal here is to stay alive, and be happy while doing it.  Even if we have struggles/health complications along the way.  That may not seem very profound, but right now, with what I am doing, it was kind of an "Aha!" moment.  There are a lot of happy people out there that have medical issues.  They just keep on keepin' on, and do the best they can with the challenges they have been given.  I realized that this is yet another area where my perfectionistic ideas get in my way.  So, I'm hoping to remember from now on to enjoy the journey a little more.

Right after I was diagnosed, I talked to my aunt and uncle.  They both have cancer.  That was one of the best decisions I made!  They talked about the unexpected blessings that have come their way by a devastating diagnosis.  They said "Every day is a gift."  I've thought a lot about that.  I have ALWAYS tried to think of every day as being a gift, to not take anything for granted, but somehow, this has made me more aware.  I am even enjoying exercise!  Anyone who knows me should know that is amazing.  I have started appreciating that I am currently feeling good enough to get a little exercise, especially if I can do it outside now that the weather is finally warm and sunny.  I am just enjoying that I am healthy enough that I can take a walk in the sunshine.  I even surprise myself!!  :-)

I had a CT scan and echo on Monday, and just got results this morning.  Both look great!  This means the cancer hasn't spread any further, and my heart is healthy!  I am smiling today!!!  :-)  Hope you are too!

Sunday, May 18, 2014

So, I think I kind of freak people out a little . . . I keep cracking all these cancer jokes.  I have to say, I think I'm being pretty funny, but apparently, not everyone else does.  People don't seem to know how to take them--I think at this point, they are more traumatized by this whole thing than me (although when I'm sick as a dog from the chemo, that might change.)  Somehow, laughing about it seems to make it less scary.  I can either laugh or cry--and laughing is much more fun.  :-)

When I first found out, I decided I was going to put pink streaks in my hair.  I'm pretty conservative by nature, so I've never dared (or even had a desire) to put pink in my hair.  So, we bought pink hair dye.  My thought was that it was pretty low-risk . . . my hair's going to fall out anyway, so if I hate it, who cares?  I'm not stuck with it!  I didn't expect my family (and even some of my kid's friends) to put pink in their hair, too, but many of them did.  My 7 year old son was getting a bit of a ribbing from a kid at school for the pink stripe on his sideburns.  He told me that he told the boy, "It's in suppoowt of my mothew who has bweast cancew."  (He can't say his r's.)  So cute.  The bummer is that it didn't stay very long.  I'll have to "refresh" it, I guess.

One of our Home Teachers was joking around with me today.  He suggested when I shave my head (after the first clump of hair falls out) I should leave a little on the back--like a mullet.  I never thought about that!  Maybe I should!  I could shave my head in steps . . . like a mohawk down the middle, etc.  (Just long enough to get a picture.)  I don't want to leave clumps of hair all over the house--or in the shower drain.  I love my husband and would like to stay married, and I'm way too cheap to pay a plumber.

I also decided I should draw pictures on my head or write "Bald is Beautiful" on my head once my hair is gone.  Only problem is that I haven't decided what to write with.  My aunt pointed out that Magic Marker could be toxic.  Good point . . . it could give me cancer--oh, wait!  I already have cancer!  Seriously, though, it probably isn't the best idea.  I don't want to do this cancer thing again, that's for sure.  I'm really not a tattoo girl, but maybe temporary ones would be fun.

I'm also thinking about eyebrows . . . should I draw some on?  That might get fun, too.  I could have "angry eyebrows" one day, go for looking confused another day, etc.  I don't even own an eyebrow pencil . . . if you know me, you would agree I don't need one . . . I need tweezers!  But I won't anymore!  Maybe I'll have to buy one.

Last night, a lady in our community that went through this same experience 7 years ago caught up with me at a church meeting.  It was helpful to talk to her, hear of her experiences, and get some more information about what chemo will entail.  (Actually, strangely enough, her diagnosis date was April 20--mine was April 17.  Her surgery date was May 1--so was mine.  Her first day of chemo was May 21--mine will be May 22.  How weird is that??)

Now reality is hitting me . . . the next big step (chemo) is this week.  Truthfully, I'm a little scared, but I have to keep reminding myself that I need to trust in the Lord, pray for help, and lean on Him.  AND take it 1 day at a time.  I'm in the process of getting my family lined out--assigning out laundry, meals, etc.  I have some meals in the freezer, but I know I will have to depend heavily on the help of others.  I am so thankful for their offers of assistance; their kindness and generosity.  I hope I'm not too much of a burden on them.  I'm trying to balance self-reliance and the reality that with 6 children at home, we are going to have to ask for help.

The sweet lady I talked to last night told me how chemo affected her.  It sounds very miserable, but I"m glad she told me because that will help me be more prepared for the reality.  As I've thought about it today, I've thought about how frightening it is, but also how I know that Jesus Christ knows what I'm feeling.  He understands the pain I will be feeling, and if I turn it over to Him, He will help me to bear it.  Sometimes it is hard to let go of the fear and just trust, though.  I guess maybe that's one of the lessons He wants me to learn from this experience.  I hope I'm not too slow of a learner . . .

My sister sent me a link to a talk that John Bytheway gave.  I thought it was so good, I asked her to include it here.  (I asked her, because I'm not tech-smart enough to do it myself!  :-)  )  It pretty much summed up the way I feel, too.  Enjoy!!

Wed. May 14, 2014
I just e-mailed my sister, and it reminded me that there is something else I guess I should post on here.  Again, not that anyone else really cares what I think, but . . . therapy is good!!!  :-)  So, I guess I one thing I haven't really said out loud, but I have felt is that this isn't a "bad thing that happened to me just by chance."  I can't say God GAVE me cancer (that would be a weird thing to think) but I feel very, very strongly that He knew this was going to happen and allowed it because it was a part of His plan for our family.  He didn't do it because He is unkind, or uncaring, or even because He's mad at me.  Actually, I feel very strongly that the reason He allowed this to happen is just the opposite . . . there are some blessings He wants to give us, and in order to qualify for those blessings, there is some learning that needs to take place first.  This is the way--the only way---for that valuable learning to take place, and if we shrink from this and allow ourselves to dwell on feelings of anger or victimization we will not learn those things, and thus will deny ourselves of whatever blessings He has planned for us.  I know this is the case, and it helps me to have a better attitude about it (even though it's still scary sometimes.)  Assuming I survive this, which is what I'm shooting for, the victory will be God's, not really mine.

I know I have been guided in choosing doctors . . . the first surgeon I chose, I just didn't feel good about, even though there was no "reason" why I should feel the way I did.  I finally recognized what I was feeling, and listened and switched to the one I was feeling good about.  I don't know why, but I do know that I have felt the Holy Ghost here with me more this last few weeks than ever before, and that really helps to make it easier to turn it over to Heavenly Father.

Yesterday I went to the surgeon and got the drains removed!  Hooray!!!  They were kind of uncomfortable.  And even though I'm still a little sore today, it's just one step closer to healing, so even the soreness is o.k.  A good friend of our family, Pat, drove me out there, and we spent the day together and went to the Rexburg temple.  It was wonderful.  She's a gem . . . I'm so glad to have her in my little circle.  What a sweet lady!!!

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.