i blog for chocolate

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Recently I had the opportunity to share my cancer story at a fundraiser for Wake Forest Comprehensive Cancer Center.  Don’t worry it was not a stuffy dinner with too much silverware.  It was the Wake N Shake which is a student lead Dance Marathon to raise money for the Brian Piccolo Fund.  You can check it out here:  http://www.brianpiccolofund.org/ and here:  http://www.wakenshake.com/.  His story is inspiring.

So after Matt’s cousin showed up here last weekend with her nose pierced (Yes, I noticed Lesley!) I decided I should have just talked about the 4 tattoos I got from radiation and showed them my big scar.  College students  really aren’t thinking about dying or leaving behind small children. 

They did cheer when I mentioned that Karen was still surviving after her home doctor gave her little hope.  They just survived exams last semester, so they feel like they can relate to that.

While I was there I was also interviewed for a video that the cancer center is putting together to promote their services.  I almost typed “promote cancer,” but we would all like for cancer to get “de”-moted to an insignificant disease that is just a mere pothole on the road not a complete detour in life.

Jan asked me some serious questions–the kind of big questions that I don’t spend lots of time thinking about like “How did cancer affect my life?”  I honestly had not thought about that recently.  I had thought about coping mechanisms and treatments and friendships.  But I had not thought about what cancer did to me:  what cancer causes.

I spent time researching causes of chondrosarcoma when I first got diagnosed.  Basically, they cannot really tell you why one person gets cancer and someone else doesn’t.  They are narrowing it down every day, but there is still a huge question mark at the end of that question. 

So I decided to start reflecting not on what gave me cancer, but what cancer gave to me.  Hmm.  Sounds like a good book theme.  (And the girls I volunteer with at school know how I love a party with a theme. )

Now I have to start collecting research for my book.  So I will ask you:  What has cancer caused in your life?  If you are reading this, you know at least one person with cancer.  Unfortunately, you probably know several.  I’d like to know what your thoughts are on this. 

 And if you don’t share, I may have to resort to telling you about all my scars and tattoos.  Of course, to some of you, that may be the most interesting chapter of all.

Do you ever feel that God may have put you here on earth to make other people feel better about themselves?

Do you ever think to yourself in the middle of one of your stories that the person you are relating this hilarious event to is actually GLAD that she is not you?

Has anyone ever said about you, “It could be worse–we could be like the _____?”  (This did happen to us in the church parking lot one time.)

Do you ever look over while you are typing a blog and notice that there are 8 M&M’s under the chair in your TV room?

Do you ever wonder if the 5 second rule is really just an urban myth while you pick up M&M’s off the floor and eat them?  (OK I am just kidding about that one.  The M&M’s are still on the floor. . .for now.)

God made me with a sense of humor.  He knew  I would need one.

So in keeping with my calling in life, I will now relate all those things currently in my life that will make you feel better about yours:

I still have Christmas decorations spread all over the ping pong table in the basement. 

I have lost my hair 3 times, and some days consider that those were the best hair days of my life.

I sometimes feed my kids pop tarts and cereal all week long. (Ok, Ok sometimes they eat that on the weekends too.)

The one day that I did try to make breakfast last week (cinnamon toast!!!), it burned.  Seriously, there was smoke.

I checked Will out of school to  go to the orthodontist office last week.  We were there on the wrong day.  I had the right location, the right time and the right child.  Can I at least get partial credit?

I have started 4 books since Christmas and finished none of them.  But I have read several magazines cover to cover.

My husband was helping me out by taking the baked potato soup out of the oven.  Somehow he sloshed the soup onto the door, and it went inside the door between the exterior glass and the interior glass.  (OK if this has happened to you too, you are starting to make ME feel a little better about my life.  If you can now tell me how to get it clean, I will feel tons better.)

Even though I have survived cancer, I still get mad when I can’t find my car keys.

My kids are closer to their Bible reading goal for the month than I am.

Jack did show up to his basketball game last week with 2 different colored socks on.  (He does this on purpose for some reason.)

So I hope that some of those things make you feel better or at least normal.  I was recently bemoaning to my mom the fact that all my friends’ houses are so neat.  My mom said that I needed to find some messier friends.  But maybe my purpose is to be their messy friend who makes them feel better.  Yes, that must be it.

I am loving life today.  And not JUST because we had a snow day.

I do enjoy those though.  We played Monopoly and went sledding in the dark after eating down at GG’s house. 

Since February is the month when we actually talk about love, I thought I should write this month about how much I love living and all the things I love about life.

Last month marked the 5^th anniversary of my cancer diagnosis.  I am beyond blessed to be here.

In Cancerland there are two benchmarks.  The first benchmark is at one year.  At this point many patients have already completed their treatment.  I was still in treatment at the one year mark.  I could see the light at the end of the tunnel.  I knew I only had 6 more months to go, and some of the worst was over.  Whew.

The next big milestone is the 5 year mark.  When the doctor first talked to me about my prognosis, this was an important number to me.  How many people with my cancer live to see 5 more Valentine’s Day?  Of course, there are many factors that play into this number.  The prognosis is affected by the size, spread and nature of the cancer.  Going into surgery I knew that my prognosis was good unless they determined that my cancer was at an advanced stage.  It was mostly stage 2 with some stage 3, so that is why I got drugged (chemo) and zapped (radiation) in addition to surgery.

So, 5 years is a big deal. 

George was only two when I got sick.  I remember feeling devastated that he might not remember me. 

Now I am devastated thinking about what they might actually remember:

 “Remember how Mom used to scream like a banshee in the mornings to get us ready for school?”

But I didn’t have to yell at them this morning.  And that is why I love snow days.

Losing my hair 3 times may make me a little bit of an expert on hair loss.

After all men who lose their hair usually don’t even realizing that they are losing it until they look at last year’s Christmas picture.

 I was fully aware that girls are not supposed to be bald. 

I have to admit though that I was totally enamored with the whole process. 

 After the first chemo treatment, nothing. 

 I didn’t feel great, but that was due more to the surgery to place a port in my chest than the lethal chemicals that were racing through my veins.  I was told to expect my hair to start falling out in 2-3 weeks.  I skated past 2 weeks and thought maybe I am the exception. 

(Cancerland is the one place where you don’t want to be the exception.  You don’t want to be the only one to have what you’ve got.  You want doctors who are familiar with it and can pronounce it.  You really don’t want to be one in a million.)

And I was not.  I started having this strange sensation on my head during the 3^rd week.  Girls can relate to this.  It is the soreness  you have when you take your hair out of a ponytail.  Not pain.  Discomfort.  That is how it starts.

Then you notice that your hair is coming out.  I could run my hand through my hair and end up with a handful of hair.  I have to admit I was so fascinated that I would stand in front of the mirror and just pluck fistfuls of hair out of my head.  Pulling your hair is supposed to hurt, but this didn’t hurt at all.  It was a little out of body. 

After a while I couldn’t stand it anymore.  Losing hair is messy.  Acutally finding hair everywhere is the messy part.  On my pillow.  In the shower.  All over my shirts.  So my friend, Lori, came over to shave my head.  I realize that this may be extremely traumatic for some people, but I didn’t cry at all.  I never had great hair to begin with—horrible perms for years takes its toll on your hair, your priorities, and your dignity.

That is where the Santa hats came in.  (I just said I had no dignity!)

Each week on my arrival at the hospital I would fling off my wig and stuff it into my suitcase.  (After all people expect you to look sick in the hospital.)    

My usual hospital head gear was a bright colored cotton bandana or baseball cap.  I had one that all my girlfriends had signed, and it always got comments from everyone on morning rounds. 

But at Christmas I donned a little more gay apparel:  a Santa Hat.  It fit all my criteria.  Bright because my skin was so washed out.  Soft because my head was sensitive.  Warm because my head was cold.  And SAUCY because if there was anywhere that could use a little Christmas cheer, it is the cancer floor at Christmas.  It always got a laugh when I walked  the halls or brought a smile to someone visiting a sick friend or relative. 

George asked me the other night is Santa was real.  I thought we had cleared this up last year, but remember George is the one with imaginary friends so he could totally buy into an imaginary big Jolly Present Bringer.  I fessed up and told him that it was really Mom and Dad who bring him presents on Christmas. 

 I was sad because I think a part of him really wants to believe. 

And while I haven’t believed in Santa since my big sister told me the truth while we were crouched behind the pleather chair in our 70’s den, I think I will hold onto believing in the Santa hat.  After all– I saw it bring some cheer one cold Christmas.

Autumn and I completed the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure on Sunday!  We ran the entire time even though Autumn was still recovering from the flu. She deserves a medal!!

We received all kinds of congratulations on FB.

All we did was run for 35 mintues straight.  It is not like we actually formulated a new cancer drug while we were panting uphill.

(I know you are all remembering when I couldn’t even get out of a chair by myself, but God is good!!)

We have actually been running since August. 

We started training with a program called to Couch to 5K which I downloaded to my iphone.  We began running 1 minute then walking 1 minute and worked our way up to running 30 minutes, walking none.

We hung out at the end of the race with a friend who lost her mom to breast cancer when she was just 5 and another mom from school who is a breast cancer survivor.

There is kinship there.  I  can relate to them.  We compared notes on our diagnosis and treatment.  We praised God for sustaining and upholding us in difficult times.

I am thrilled that there are events like this. 

We need reminders of how far we have come. 

We need to remember the experiences that made us who we are. 

We need to raise money to wipe out all types of cancer.

Life is precious.  Thanks to all the volunteers who coordinated this event that helped us remember God’s blessings to us.

I love to count the times announcers misspeak in October and declare that it is Breast Awareness month.  As if women and especially men need to be made aware of breasts.

In honor of Breast Cancer Awareness month, I want to offer an outsiders view. 

You see, I didn’t have breast cancer. 

Well, unless it was convenient.

Once or twice I just let someone assume that I had breast cancer.  I was tired of explaining what I actally had.  No one had ever heard of it and usually the only women they knew my age with cancer had breast cancer.  It is not that I lied, I just didn’t correct them.

So am I jealous that a whole month is devoted to eradicating their cancer, and no one even can pronounce mine?

No, not a bit.  In fact, I am running in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure this Sunday. 

Almost everytime I talk to someone getting chemo I realize that some of the drugs that they are taking are familiar to me.  For instance, adriamycin can treat all these types of cancer:  bladder, breast, head and neck, leukemia, liver, lung, lymphomas, mesothelioma, multiple myeloma, neuroblastoma, ovary, pancreas, prostate, sarcomas, stomach, testis, thyroid, uterus.

(Did you even know that there were that many types of cancer?)

So any new drugs created to treat breast cancer could be used to help treat other cancers as well. 

My sister asked me if it was OK to give me socks with pink ribbons on them when I was sick.  I said, “Sure.”  Yes, my feet were always cold, but there is some sense of community between all cancers survivors. 

So I am thankful for all the efforts to race for a cure.   After they find a cure for breast cancer, they can start spending  more time and money on curing all the rest.  And they may just find the breakthrough that cures them all.

Recently someone commented on a picture of me on Facebook that I looked good. No, in fact, I just  reread it and she said–”Dana looks great.” 

Now I do not in any way want you to think that I let this go to my head.  This particular picture was far enough away to not see all my wrinkles and various imperfections.

But you have to understand this.  After having cancer the bar has been moved way, way down.

Looking great=she’s not dead.

Seriously, some people look at me as if they have seen a ghost or  expect at least to see someone who met death and it rubbed off on her a little.

I think I look pretty normal.   Not too dead. 

There was a time when I was emaciated and bald. Weighing what you weighed in high school is not necessarily a good thing.  And although I have never had great hair, it does keep your head warm and prevents people from staring at you wondering what is wrong.

So one of the best perks of cancer is having people tell you all the time how good you look.  But don’t let it go to your head.  They had all been picturing you in a casket so standing upright is a major accomplishment.

Okay.  I promised you that there was an Elvis sighting on my trip through Cancerland.  It happened the last week that Karen was in the hospital for treatment.  We decided to have a hospital slumber party.  Now we had to pull a few strings (and try not to get our IV’s tangled) in order to work this out.  All the rooms on the cancer floor were single rooms even though they were equipped for two beds.  I was told this was in case of a disaster.  You mean there is something out there worse than cancer?  Scary.

So we decided that we would room together for her last trip to the hospital.  We set it up for our next visit and later realized why this is not a good idea.  One reason was that we were both hooked up to infusion pumps.  We had chemo and fluids running the entire time.  Bags and bags of stuff.  And, of course, our pumps never ran out at the same time, so there was constant beeping day and night.  We didn’t get much sleep, but this was a slumber party after all.

Then there was the pee incident.  We had to collect urine samples to measure something. No clue what they were looking for.   Not just one sample, but all of our pee for 24 hours.  We always had to measure our pee the entire time we were in the hospital and write it down on a little chart, but this time we had to collect it in a jug.  They never mention how gross cancer can be.  So we each had a pee jug in the bathroom.   We are pretty sure that these got switched during the night by a nurse, but we agreed not to tell anyone unless it came back that there was something wrong with one of us.  We were both a little sick at that point of being poked and prodded and peeing on demand. 

So my sweet friend Betty decided to provide us with some entertainment.  Apparently, Elvis comes to the hospital each Christmas to make sure the patients don’t have a blue Christmas. Betty asked him to stop by our room.  We heard he was coming so we threw off our Santa hats that we had been wearing all week and threw on our wigs.  He sauntered in all sequined up and sang several songs.  Karen knew all the words.  We laughed and danced and took pictures. 

Then today on the radio David Jeremiah was talking about grace and how God just pours it on.  I felt His grace that day.  It was almost tangible, thick.  I think the whole time I was sick I was surrounded by a bubble of grace.  Everything bad just seemed to bounce off.  It was all good. After all, Elvis never came to visit me when I didn’t have cancer.  Maybe that’s because before I didn’t need to see a vision from Graceland.  Before I didn’t need so much grace.

“And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need. . .”

2 Corinthians 9:8

So Matt and I drove to Wake Forest Comprehensive Cancer Center yesterday for my 4 month check -up.  There are 3 things that everyone who has been diagnosed with cancer needs:  a great wig (thanks Ellen and Greg), grape flavored kool-aid, and a fabulous and funny chemo buddy like my friend Karen.

I first met Karen when I was very sick. I had just returned to the hospital after my first chemo treatment.  I had spent about 5 days in the hospital receiving chemo.  All my chemo treatments were in-patient visits usually between 5-10 days.  I was supposed to be able to go home and rest and return a week later.  I never made it through the whole week.   

 I was mad.  I thought because I was young I would be able to handle it.  I was scared.  What if I couldn’t handle it?  I was lonely.  My sweet aunt who had just finished treatment for her own cancer had just left and Matt was flying in to be with me on his way back from a business trip.  Then my doctor asked if he could introduce me to someone. 

In walked Karen with her Bible and her Mary Kay.   We later agreed that we didn’t mind being  cancer patients, we just didn’t want to look like one.  That night I looked like one.  I was in a hospital gown which I later found out I didn’t have to wear.  I was still weak from surgery.  I was pouting and my eyes were all puffy from crying.  It is amazing what a little face cream and camaraderie will do for you.  We hung out on the 9th floor for the next 9 months.

Karen and I plan our check-up appointments on the same day so we can catch up between our tests.  Yesterday she was on a scrapbooking rampage, so we took pictures everywhere.  In the waiting rooms, in the bone scanning machine. We even got hard copies of our bone scan to take home as proof of our visit.  My 10-year-old took it for show and tell today.

But the thing that really hit me was how quickly I sank right back into patient mode.  For four months I had chosen to not think about  all the forms, the needle sticks, the waiting, the worry.  I even forgot to call my father-in-law to make sure that he remembered to pick up the kids from school.  I was in another place:  CancerLand.  I thought of a new t-shirt slogan:  “I am just here for the food and the ice chips.”  I am certainly not here to see more white coats and scrubs.  Outside I am not a victim, survivor, statistic or patient.  Here things are different. 

After a big steak dinner, we drove home.  On the way, I asked my husband what he was thinking about.  He hesitated and then said that he was trying to repress all the bad memories of driving back from the hospital.  We made the 2 and 1/2 hour drive over 100 times in those 18 months.  I was surprised at his admission, but it was all so much more vivid for him.  I was asleep and on drugs most of the time.  He was the one who had to catch me when I passed out and visit me in ICU. 

I thought about that for a moment and then decided that even though we don’t want to remember, it is very important that we don’t forget.  I reflected on one of my favorite passages in Deuteronomy 8:  “When you have eaten and are satisfied, praise the Lord your God. . .be careful that you do not forget the Lord your God.”  I don’t want to forget what the Lord has done for me.  It is good to look back so I can see how far I have come and remember Who brought me here. 

So thanks to Karen I will have new pictures to remind me of the good times we actually had in CancerLand.  Like the time Elvis came to visit us.  And we have the pictures to prove that, too.