Joy Along the Detour

Yesterday sweet Jerry drove me to Kaiser in Ontario for what is proving to be my last visit at the radiation department there. Dr. Ro examined me thoroughly, then declared I am doing well, and unless some unexpected event develops I do not have to return there. Yes! I do have scarring under my arm from the severe burns, but it does not bother me at all.

So life, precious life continues.

My life consists of much more than my cancer detour. A few days ago Jerry received this in the mail.

How blessed of God I am to be allowed to share in the ministry of my dedicated, godly husband. For more than 60 years he has carried the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Despite his exceptional accomplishments, including assuming the pastorate of two churches, and establishing another one, things have not  always been easy for him. His mother died when he was four, his dad when he was twelve. He was moved from place to place during the remainder of his childhood, living with older siblings, then living with a couple who had a dairy farm where he earned his keep by rising well before dawn to milk cows. Before he went to school each day, he delivered the milk to various places in the tiny town of Starks, LA. When he was a high school senior he went to live with his brother Bill who encouraged him to go to college after he finished high school. He followed that excellent advice, and four years later he graduated with a Bachelor’s degree in the education field.

In 1994, he was struck by a drunk driver and was dead in the street. A lady revived him and he was taken to a hospital where he spent five months. He had almost unimaginable injuries including a broken neck, bleeding into his brain stem, broken hip, multiple other breaks, ruptured urinary bladder, bruised heart, kidneys…Doctors gave him little hope of living, then of walking, but if you saw him today you would never suspect he endured such a calamity. (The first book I wrote is an account of this event, entitled A Thousand Pieces. Available several places including Amazon. You may also order the book from me and I’ll ship you one.)

. . .and still he ministers. How blessed we are.

So despite the little cancer detour life continues, glorious life.

Fingernails, Burns, and Chemo Curl

My chest and the skin under my right arm were more severely burned than I had thought, so that for about two weeks following my final radiation treatment I had a significant amount of pain. Healing has come, although my chest wall is still tender after having a layer of all my skin in that area peel away in ugly grey strips. I’m thanking God that I developed no infection.

A result of the chemotherapy is that I am losing all my fingernails. As the old ones slough off, new nails are growing, beautiful and fresh. No pain at all.

Chemo curl. I’ve always had very straight, fine hair, and when I heard about the chance of curls developing after chemo, I ordered some! Voila! I now have curls, and am loving it. I’ve read fairly extensively about this phenomenon, but no one seems to know why this change often develops after chemo treatments. Usually the change is temporary; I’m hoping mine will be permanent.

I am feeling extremely well, and believe all my strength has returned. My 78th birthday was the 24th of July and my children threw me a delightful party in San Diego at the South Beach Jetty of the Pacific. Three grandchildren came home with Jerry and me, and at the end of their visit of almost a week I felt no more tired than I would have before this little session with cancer. I am extremely grateful, and with all my heart worship Jesus because of His extreme mercy to me.

Again, I want to thank each of you who is following me during this little detour. Your love, prayers, and comments are wonderfully significant to me. I treasure every word you are kind enough to send.

New post on my God Things blog. You may want to follow my writing on that site as well as this one. Blessings today.

Happy Posters on the Ceiling

Dr. Chan  is the doctor who ordered that I have a bone scan. Consequently, yesterday Jerry and I drove to Kaiser in Fontana where we parked at building 2, then took an elevator to the fourth floor where the Dexa Imaging Department is located. I was early for my 10:15 appointment, and they were quick to take me back where they weighed and measured me before leading me to the room where the test would be done.

In the early days of my diagnosis, my cancer was found to be an infiltrating ductal carcinoma with the further distinction of being hormone receptive. That means my cancer was feeding on the hormones my body produced. So, in addition to a mastectomy, chemotherapy, and 25 radiation treatments Dr. Chan prescribed a five-year regimen of a hormone blocker called Anastrozole. Unfortunately, one of the side-effects of this medication is the danger of bone weakening, leading to bone fractures. Thus Dr. Chan’s decision to have the density of my bones tested.

Dr. Chan highly regards hormone blocker medication as a very effective treatment for the type of cancer I have. He has mentioned this to me several times. “Out of all the treatments you are having for your cancer, this hormone blocker, which has fewer side-effects than any of them, is the most effective.” He went on to tell me that current literature suggests that in the near future it may be that women with my diagnosis may not need chemo, but that the hormone blocker could be all that is prescribed.

The bone density test was quick and painless. I lay flat on a table as a large, white imaging apparatus moved slowly over my body, measuring the density of my spine and of my hips.

I gazed upward, of course, and was delighted to see on the ceiling above me the posters I have pictured here. What a considerate act someone had thought of.  Someone then had hauled in a ladder, climbed up to the ceiling and with some sort of mastic had fastened those cheerful pictures and slogans. I loved it, and when the testing was finished I asked the technician if I could get my phone and take a picture. She smiled really big and said, “Yes!”

Yesterday was the first time I’ve looked at a ceiling to be reminded to hug, smile, and to take time for my family and friends, and that doing all those things contributes to my good health. How cool is that!

 

. . .in sickness, and in health

Steady. Dependable. He walks with me, every step. Leading, or close beside me.. .”for better, for worse, in sickness and in health.” 

Recovery Monday

On other days, recent days, we would have pointed our faithful Jeep down the hill toward Ontario for one more radiation treatment, perhaps a short stand-in-line at the pharmacy, or a visit with one of my doctors. Not today.

Today, I recover. This morning I sat for awhile on the cement steps leading to our front deck. I watched. I looked and listened. I have blisters under my right arm, a sore, decimated chest wall beneath which is a grateful heart, and today I have a head that reels. I’m a follower of the news, one who listens much, who is interested in the election that looms before us. I’m aghast at our world. How can we humans speak as we do? How is it that we slaughter each other at such a rate? How.can.this.be.so?

The steps, though. Where I sit. I watch as two lizards dart before me. My camera is beside me, lens cover removed, and as I lift it to my eyes, the couple spatted, I guess, and in a flash one is gone. This one, though. This brave critter stopped quite near me. He posed, and held. Steady, he displayed his long “fingers.”

Behind him stands a frog. Well, a replica of a frog, who is of green metal, and who appears to be holding a clarinet or some such instrument. I laughed when I noted these two critters in this juxtaposition.

And it was better than police shootings, or blatant lying, or coarse, vulgar language. Or the utterly ridiculous question of whose lives matter.

Hummingbirds rushed by Jerry’s face today as he watered plants in the front.

Bokeh, they call it. Light, unfocussed light shines through the scarlet bird feeder.

The bigger birds have scratched about and their food is scattered on the railing, and this morning there was a dead bird in our driveway.

And God knows. He is in charge. Still. Capable. Not in trouble. I rest. I recover.

 

Radiation 25

The night before, I baked the goodies I would take. Yesterday morning I wrapped them in a festive way. I chose cards and wrote notes on them. One for the exceptional clerk who checked me in almost every day at the Kaiser facility; the other for the sweet crew that manned Linac # 3 where they tended me over a 5 week period, 5 days a week. Linac is the name of the radiation machine. Number 3 is the one to which I was assigned.

From the first day, the calibre of people whom I have encountered during this quite unexpected detour in my life’s road has amazed me. I have been treated not only professionally, but in loving ways, and with utmost care and dignity. Yesterday was no exception. When I gave the little gifts, the staff were so appreciative. We hugged–some of us more than once–and yesterday  I felt as though I was leaving friends when Jerry and I walked from the facility to our car in the parking lot. “I’ll miss you,” a couple of them said to me. “Maybe we’ll see each other in a grocery store or something like that,” Zack said almost shyly to me.

Because it was my last visit, I was scheduled to see my radiation oncologist, Dr. Ro. I was surprised when after he examined me he said I had significant radiation burns under my arm, so that he must prescribe a cream designed for severe burns. I will see him for a follow-up visit in about a month. For a couple of days I had noted a little discomfort, but didn’t think too much about it. Perhaps because my entire chest wall where I had the mastectomy is quite numb is the reason for my feeling very little pain. The danger is infection, Dr. Ro told me, indicating that we must stay “on top of it.”

“Come by here after you’ve seen the doctor,” the receptionist told me when I checked in. “We have something to give you.” When I returned to her desk, she smiled broadly and handed me this certificate. Wished me well, said she would miss me.

Rebecca had wanted to be with her dad and me, but she could not, so it was only loyal and faithful Jerry and me who went to lunch at Lucille’s Barbecue to celebrate my last radiation treatment. With not one complaint, this dear husband of mine has driven me every day to my radiation treatments–80 miles round trip. How blessed, how very blessed I am.

Sweetest daughter, Rebecca, came to our home later in the day, bearing lovely flowers, a balloon, and a precious hand-written card.

So. I’ve jumped another hurdle, and am looking ever upward and forward. God is so dear and precious to me. Has held me close during these challenging months, and blesses me more than I could possibly deserve. I am forever grateful.

Of Warm Blankets

At the Kaiser Center in Ontario where I have my radiation treatments, just outside the dressing room, where this morning I donned the outfit for my 20th treatment, there is a stainless steel windowed cabinet that houses warm blankets. Frequently it is chilly inside this department, so a warm blanket has often been a comfort to me (and to many others, I feel sure) to wrap around my shoulders or spread over my legs or arms during my actual treatment.

I considered warm blankets today as I waited. I reckoned with the understanding that sometimes warm blankets are not of wool or cotton, not something I might hold in my hand, but otherwise . . .

Perhaps a bud from my garden, a single stem from the florist, or a dandy stick or stone found along my morning walk.

Eye contact with a stranger as she lifts her head. A smile.

A word of approval. A nod of understanding.

Hand on a shoulder. Whisper in an ear, “I’m here if you ever need me.”

Today during my cancer treatment time,  I reflected on warm blankets.

Sixty and Eighteen Go Together

It is the 18th day. It is the 60th year.

…….Counting the one this morning, eighteen is the number of radiation treatments I have had.

……Totaling them all, sixty is the number of years Jerry and I have been married. Today is our anniversary.

A year or so ago, as we talked about this momentous occasion and how we would celebrate it, high on our list was a Mediterranean cruise. Then came November 2015, my routine mammogram, and the quite unexpected diagnosis of breast cancer that had spread to my lymph nodes. We changed plans. The cruise deal was out, but after my chemo was finished and I had regained my strength, here in Crestline, we would have a nice party with our family and close friends. We decided on a date and made sure all our children were free at that time. Then Dr. Chan recommended I meet with a radiation doctor. I did so, and was shocked when Dr. Ro advised me to have 25 radiation treatments. We cancelled the party plans, understanding that when today arrived, I would be deeply into daily radiation treatments, and not knowing how sick or well I would be feeling.

So, today is the big day, and despite no momentous celebration, I am extraordinarily happy. And Jerry is happy. God has been extremely good to us. Blessed us. Favored us. Chose us. Gave us four remarkable children, a passel of grandchildren, a flock of great-grandchildren, and an enormous group of exceptional friends and other family.

Rebecca went with us to Ontario for my treatment, then we all went to The Cheesecake Factory in Victoria Gardens for lunch. Delicious food. Rebecca snapped a couple of pictures.

 

Toward the end of Summer or the beginning of Fall, we plan to take a road trip up the coast of California. We have wonderful friends scattered here and there in this great western part of the United States, and we haven’t seen some of you for a long time. Maybe we’ll pop in for a visit. 🙂

EDIT: Just as I was finishing up this piece, a delivery lady  brought to our home the most beautiful deep red roses. Jerry grinned as she brought them in to me. Sure enough: Love, from Jerry. He is the best!

Only Eight to Go!

My 17th radiation treatment this morning followed the pattern of the previous 16–no negative reactions at all! In the afternoon I had a follow-up appointment with Dr. Chan, whom you may recall, is my primary oncologist. My blood pressure was 128/67, my heart and lungs were clear, and my oxygen saturation was 99%.  He grinned when I told him how wonderful I am feeling.

We visited for a while, discussed a few things, then he stood, extended his hand, and said, “I won’t need to see you again until 6 months have passed. You have been a trooper!”

It was late afternoon when Jerry and I arrived home. He lighted the smoker on the back deck to grill the salmon we would be having for dinner. I seasoned the fish, then he placed it on a cedar plank and cooked it to perfection.

Fresh blackberries that needed to be eaten were in my fridge, so I engaged in a major indulgence and whipped up a blackberry cobbler.

It is said that cancer feeds on sugar, so I have made the commitment to drastically reduce my intake of the luscious white stuff. Notice I said, reduce, not delete!

So, because a bowl of warm blackberry cobbler is not quite complete without a scoop of vanilla ice cream, I indulged in a major splurge and tackled this . . .

Only 8 to go, friends.  (Radiation treatments that is, not bowls of blackberry cobbler oozing with melting vanilla ice cream!)