Easter was beautiful, and we grilled hot dogs and burgers at Mom's. The party was incomplete without Bruce, who was home with a hurt back, but we had a grand time and enjoyed a lazy Sunday, and walked the yard and flower beds. The burgers and dogs were perfect, as was the weather, and we sat on the deck, simply being with one another. Emily and I were thinking much of a short movie we watched in service for Easter. A dear friend Bill shared it with me last year, and my heart breathes deeply every time I watch it. The link is below. It's 20 minutes that you won't regret, but have a hankerchief handy.
http://www.thedoorpost.com/hope/film/?film=4dd298f102c77b625cf37a9e7744ac68
On a further note, radiation began today with one of our favorite doctors. The treatments will continue weekly, Monday through Friday, for five weeks. To counter the previous post that states that the cancer isn't anywhere else, he tells us that there is an "uptake" from the test in the esophagus and intestines. This awakens the possibility that there is, at most, cancer in those places (at the least, abnormalities). We'll keep you posted on what develops, and we will know something more as of Friday.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
The Plant Sale and Open Gardens, a Kind Word and Hard Words.
As you know, Momma isn't herself unless she's expending her resources on others or gardening. She opted for more of the latter this past weekend, taking in the Talahi Plant Sale at Lakeshore Gardens. It has become somewhat of a tradition for her and me to go and run elbow to elbow with a host of others in hopes of scoring some sweet greens for the yard. Members of the Knoxville Garden Club dig from their own yards for the event, and it's always promising.
This year I arrived before her, which is new, and snagged a cart for us as the gate opened while she was still donning her galoshes. We traipsed off to look at the goods and throw some punches, and came away with some pretty nice plants all in all. Emily is particularly excited about the Hydrangeas and Peonies. If you get a chance, you should go next year.
But as we were leaving, I sat in the car and she told me about her doctor speaking with her last week. That breast cancer is normally a stage 1 type thing, but since this is metastatic that it is automatically stage 4. In between those words, we read "terminal." Rebecca (Elaine) was with her at that particular appointment, and she said that they were both touched. The doctor, sweet man, said that he would rather jump off of a building than to tell her that news, and I love him for it.
As a side note, no one sees patients who have had four cancers and are still mobile. This is a miracle in and of itself. 1 in 10 breast cancers are what are called "triple negative," which is what we are seeing here. (for more reading, see http://www.breastcancer.org/symptoms/diagnosis/trip_neg/)
It's important that we suffer well, which means letting others carry us. It's just hard when we don't know how long this all will play out. Momma is still carrying on like a champ, but she is getting tired more easily. This physician told her to rest and prioritize her diet and sleep. Telling her to stop all activities is like asking the sun not to shine, but she is trying to take care of herself as well as keeping her boots on.
John will be making some adjustments school wise in the next bit, and Michele needs much encouragement and prayer as she lives alongside Momma in this season. We are praying about doing this well as a family and being supportive, but Michele carries a great deal of the weight of it with her daily. We are all adjusting to the news.
As we got in the car to leave, I shut her door and looked at her through the open window, this woman who has given blood and tears to fight for us. She looked at me with that same knowing look that she has given us so much during our lives, the one that says "I know, I know, it'll be just fine." All I could do was look back and say "Well, I'll see you again this time next year."
It could very well be.
We love you all,
N
This year I arrived before her, which is new, and snagged a cart for us as the gate opened while she was still donning her galoshes. We traipsed off to look at the goods and throw some punches, and came away with some pretty nice plants all in all. Emily is particularly excited about the Hydrangeas and Peonies. If you get a chance, you should go next year.
But as we were leaving, I sat in the car and she told me about her doctor speaking with her last week. That breast cancer is normally a stage 1 type thing, but since this is metastatic that it is automatically stage 4. In between those words, we read "terminal." Rebecca (Elaine) was with her at that particular appointment, and she said that they were both touched. The doctor, sweet man, said that he would rather jump off of a building than to tell her that news, and I love him for it.
As a side note, no one sees patients who have had four cancers and are still mobile. This is a miracle in and of itself. 1 in 10 breast cancers are what are called "triple negative," which is what we are seeing here. (for more reading, see http://www.breastcancer.org/symptoms/diagnosis/trip_neg/)
It's important that we suffer well, which means letting others carry us. It's just hard when we don't know how long this all will play out. Momma is still carrying on like a champ, but she is getting tired more easily. This physician told her to rest and prioritize her diet and sleep. Telling her to stop all activities is like asking the sun not to shine, but she is trying to take care of herself as well as keeping her boots on.
John will be making some adjustments school wise in the next bit, and Michele needs much encouragement and prayer as she lives alongside Momma in this season. We are praying about doing this well as a family and being supportive, but Michele carries a great deal of the weight of it with her daily. We are all adjusting to the news.
As we got in the car to leave, I shut her door and looked at her through the open window, this woman who has given blood and tears to fight for us. She looked at me with that same knowing look that she has given us so much during our lives, the one that says "I know, I know, it'll be just fine." All I could do was look back and say "Well, I'll see you again this time next year."
It could very well be.
We love you all,
N
It IS NOT anywhere else!
Cancer is a vile thing. Even though treatments and prognosis have come a long way in the last couple of decades, there is a tenacity with which cancer holds on to our bodies. There is a lingering fear of return and an uncertainty that governs the rules of engagement.
Today, ladies and gentlemen, we have had a small victory. Much like Savannah during Sherman's sweeping campaign, we have been spared the burning. The nurse from the oncologist's office called to tell mom that the rest of her body is clear. The breast cancer has only metastasized into her lymph system on the left side of her neck and armpit.
This is a wonderful thing, because the radiation that we are preparing to endure will have more of a chance of slowing down the growth and spread of the cells.
When you think of mom, pray for her sweet neck and armpit. I'm sure she'll be glad that we used the word armpit over the internet in reference to her. If you drop by the house or see her out and about, give her a kiss. But not in the armpit. Maybe on the neck.
Today, ladies and gentlemen, we have had a small victory. Much like Savannah during Sherman's sweeping campaign, we have been spared the burning. The nurse from the oncologist's office called to tell mom that the rest of her body is clear. The breast cancer has only metastasized into her lymph system on the left side of her neck and armpit.
This is a wonderful thing, because the radiation that we are preparing to endure will have more of a chance of slowing down the growth and spread of the cells.
When you think of mom, pray for her sweet neck and armpit. I'm sure she'll be glad that we used the word armpit over the internet in reference to her. If you drop by the house or see her out and about, give her a kiss. But not in the armpit. Maybe on the neck.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Update from April 1st
Mom has been trying to keep a positive outlook, and we have been
waiting to hear back from the team of doctors that are working together.
I wonder sometimes if they just get together and play Operation (personally,
I prefer Monopoly), but this past week, evidently, we got some work done.
The result is as follows:
Surgery has been withdrawn completely as an option for her
because of the state of her liver. The primary focus is the liver at
this point, and we don't want to do anything to send it further toward
failure. That said, the team is hoping to try radiation in a local
form, starting in the following weeks. That can be tricky too, because
of its effects on other parts of the body, the delicate nature of the
skin, etc. We will see in the next few days what can be done, if
anything. The other alternative (which we were already settled with)
is to simply let it take its course.
Mom said the other day that she is hurting more in her arm and hands.
She feels that other things are failing (her words, not mine) and that
things are spreading. She has a pretty high pain tolerance on the
whole, so it's something to say that she is verbalizing that. What
initially seemed to be so urgent with our doctors has turned into some
referrals and conference calls (I give them a hard time, but they
really do treat her well), so it's frustrating to wonder whether it
really is urgent or will just become a waiting game. One says take
action now, now, now, and the others say it's not a huge hurry. In the
end, we don't know what to expect...weeks, months, years?
David Benner stated that the possibility of human love opens our heart
for the possibility of God's love. He talks about the fact that the
ways we experience love here on earth translate into how we are able
to receive God's love. It's been wonderful to learn about his
affection and tenderness, but I turn around and live it out so poorly,
and the cost is very high. Thanks for being along for the journey.
waiting to hear back from the team of doctors that are working together.
I wonder sometimes if they just get together and play Operation (personally,
I prefer Monopoly), but this past week, evidently, we got some work done.
The result is as follows:
Surgery has been withdrawn completely as an option for her
because of the state of her liver. The primary focus is the liver at
this point, and we don't want to do anything to send it further toward
failure. That said, the team is hoping to try radiation in a local
form, starting in the following weeks. That can be tricky too, because
of its effects on other parts of the body, the delicate nature of the
skin, etc. We will see in the next few days what can be done, if
anything. The other alternative (which we were already settled with)
is to simply let it take its course.
Mom said the other day that she is hurting more in her arm and hands.
She feels that other things are failing (her words, not mine) and that
things are spreading. She has a pretty high pain tolerance on the
whole, so it's something to say that she is verbalizing that. What
initially seemed to be so urgent with our doctors has turned into some
referrals and conference calls (I give them a hard time, but they
really do treat her well), so it's frustrating to wonder whether it
really is urgent or will just become a waiting game. One says take
action now, now, now, and the others say it's not a huge hurry. In the
end, we don't know what to expect...weeks, months, years?
David Benner stated that the possibility of human love opens our heart
for the possibility of God's love. He talks about the fact that the
ways we experience love here on earth translate into how we are able
to receive God's love. It's been wonderful to learn about his
affection and tenderness, but I turn around and live it out so poorly,
and the cost is very high. Thanks for being along for the journey.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)