Stupid old boobs

April continues to not disappoint with her unpredictability in both weather and life events. Supposedly this week it will reach 80, though the nights slither down to 35 and 40. So far this month I've lost my last grandparent, our youngest has finished testing for and earned his black belt in karate, and I've been freshly diagnosed with breast cancer.

Winner, winner, chicken dinner. That's right, I'm now one of those one-in-eight women who will receive a diagnosis of breast cancer in their lifetimes. And what a wild and crazy ride that begins!

Once upon a time, a gal went in for what she figured would be a routine mammogram as she was officially of age to get things like that checked out. She received the letter in the mail informing her that she had dense breast tissue like a lot of other women, and it would require further tests because the density makes it harder to see trouble spots. A spot compression was ordered, which meant that another mammogram was performed with an additional section clamped onto the machine to focus on a specific area. Once that all was finished, an ultrasound was ordered. Based on the results from all of the tests, and the fact that I'd been feeling what turned out to be an enlarged lymph node in addition to an actual lump that the doctor found while doing a breast exam, an ultrasound guided biopsy was recommended. The surgeon told us, "I've been doing this long enough that if the results come back saying it's nothing, I wouldn't believe it." 

 Well, biopsy means needles. I am much tougher when I am pregnant than when I am not. As I am not, I passed out during the beginning of the biopsy to awaken and find a masked man (the surgeon) "yoohoo"ing me, which sent my brain straight to "Frozen" where a wet and chilled Anna crunches into the Swedish vendor's hut as he waves cheerily and calls, "hoo hoo!" It's a bit odd to me how it can take forever to fall asleep and dream but I can get there in a matter of seconds when fainting. 

So we pick up the chitchat where we left off, finish the biopsy, and they send me back to get another mammogram to make sure that the titanium chip they'd inserted as a "we were here" marker made it into the correct spot. They do this because, interestingly enough, scar tissue from surgeries (which a biopsy is considered) can look the same as cancer on future screenings; hence the marker which means the scar tissue was deliberate. 

Things got a little sparkly here too. I sat down after the first set of images was achieved and thought I was ready for the second one, but as I woke up on the floor, I guess I wasn't quite 100% yet. My new BFF in the women's center told me, "you did great. You held your breath, I got the picture, I told you to breathe, your knees went, and I caught you before you hit the floor." Isn't she super? 

The surgeon came in to check on me, pronounced that it was probably anxiety over the procedure (y'think?) combined with dehydration as they tell you not to eat or drink anything including water for the 4 hours beforehand. I was nervous (see needle notes above) and thirsty as I usually drink plenty all morning long. My sweet new nurse friends gave me cranberry juice and graham crackers like I was a little kid and when I was ready, I was wheeled out to the car and sent on my way. 

We headed back in the next week to go over the results with the surgeon we'd already met with. He told us that based on the results he had, I have ductile (starting in a duct) carcinoma (big scary cancer word) invasive (has already spread out from where it began), that I could have already had it for 5-8 years (!!!), that because of my age they will probably treat it aggressively which most likely will mean a port for chemo before they do any potential surgery/radiation.  We asked as many questions as we could think of and made the poor surgeon wince a little as he said, "again, you're at the outer edge of my expertise, but that's a great oncology question."

I perhaps mistakenly understood that we would not meet with an oncologist until after they had the MRI results in hand. An MRI couldn't happen until 7-14 days after the start of a menstrual cycle began. I was beginning to freak out a bit thinking that this process was taking longer and longer and we would be looking at the second week of May or later. I felt like I would never get answers to my questions unless I googled them and would end up scaring myself out of my mind.

Then God tapped me on the shoulder. "Remember my faithfulness." The phone rang on Friday morning. It was the oncology office and they wanted to set up an appointment. Was I free on Monday? (But Monday will come before the MRI!) Yes, I was free Monday! Then I was to bring the usual driver's license and insurance card and any questions I might have to meet the doctor on Monday. We'd start discussing treatment options even though we were waiting for tests. We would start blood work and no, fasting will not be necessary so go about your normal Monday morning and we'll see you then. 

Are you kidding me?! Wahoo! God, you're amazing! I don't have to fast?! I can drink all morning long to have nice juicy veins to tap! I can write down all my questions that I can't wait to have answers for: what should I be eating? What should I stop eating? Do I have to quit sugar? What should my exercise program be like? How wiped out am I going to be? How often will chemo happen and for how long and how long will the breaks be between them? Can I buy my summer pool pass? Will I be allowed to get in the pool with a port or am I benched? How much hurking will be involved and what can I safely take to avoid as much of that as possible? I don't have to wait until after the MRI to ask questions! Yippieeeee!

Granted, we won't know what stage I'm in until after the MRI because that is apparently the test to determine size and whether any cancer has spread to the lymph nodes. They're also still waiting on the part of the biopsy which gets sent away to determine whether or not I am Her-2 positive. If I am, from my understanding, that gives them an additional avenue with which to treat me. I am estrogen and progesterone positive, so those are other pathways to treatment. I am walking that fine line between spouting what I've heard thus far and not knowing what anything means, so my apologies to those of you who know more about this than I do and to those of you who think this is all TMI. 

We've been already just about bowled over by the waterfall of love, prayers, offers of help, encouragement, and devotion shown by friends and family. Say what you will about social media, but it is a good tool with which to keep multitudes of people informed.  

Stupid old boobs. I never wanted them in the first place! ;)

It is almost Monday afternoon! We will keep you posted. Thanks in advance for the prayers and love. Our support system is immense and not afraid of hard work. Like I told our camp friends already, I can envision some poor, pathetic demon who'd been assigned to attack me sniveling to Satan, "it's too haaaaard, she's covered too well, you won't believe who has been praying for her, I can't do this!" Satan will sigh, send him back to work, and they will both be miserable. God is so much bigger than this and I have absolutely no doubt that what looks like a huge, snarly, knotted mess to me is something fantastic and interconnected and breathtaking on the top of the tapestry; I am merely on the mortal underside. 

So expect updates here and on Facebook because this is going to be one long road of good, bad, and ugly. I'm sure it will  get worse before it gets better. After all, I'm already pretty good at living with cancer. The new temporary normal will be learning to live with cancer treatment, which is a whole different game show, complete with some zany host. If I had my choice, I'd request the cast of "Whose Line Is It" because man, anyone who can make up a song about plumbing using words given on the spot by the audience AND make it sound good is my kind of tribe. 

If you'll excuse me, I have to go pee again, but I will be working the Southwest corner of Hot Mess for the foreseeable future, so you'll know where to find me. Make today a fabulous day!

He did it!

The Damonater is now a black belt in karate. Yay! The last test, this "fun" one involving sparring and grappling, happened yesterday and the entire class passed. They worked their behinds off:

Damon's second grade teacher popped in for awhile and commented, "I think I've lost weight just while I've been sitting here..." and "they're making me tired just watching them!" His face lit up when he saw her. Our buddy Myron also made an appearance for "mortal support" (yes, I know it's "moral", but if you haven't seen "The Gods Must Be Crazy" then you should and you'll catch the reference).

Of course we celebrated with ice cream afterwards, because that's how we roll. Graduation will be Saturday, May 12 at noon if anyone wants to come see him actually get his belt, the ceremony, the fun after all the hard work, and so on. 

Woohoo, three cheers, hip hip hooray, and way to go!

Black belt test, part 2

April also hosts two of the three black belt tests. All candidates passed both tests so far. The final challenge is this Saturday, where they face grappling and sparring and "sharks", which are some of the krav maga and black belt students from previous testing cycles.

These pictures were of the self defense test. They were to be working on their punches and kicks until they were "attacked" and then had to defend themselves. I took many more pictures, but figured these ones gave enough of an idea. 

Our Adorable Richardses are testing for their second degree black belts as Damon tests for his first. I love that that girl just dives right in!

If you're in the area on Saturday, pop on in and cheer everybody on! Graduation is May 12 at noon.

Something for everyone

It has been some month. April is known for throwing curveballs and I'm not just talking about the ridiculous weather. This April, my 90 year old Nana passed away. That means family gathered together, road tripping from all over North Carolina, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and who knows where else. Fortunately, it was a beautiful, warm, and dry weekend so there were fewer traveling hassles than there could have been. Though we've been married for 19 years, there were still family members Dada had never met. Some of these were my cousin Ruthie, her husband, and sons. Our boys all hit it off and were quite the sight:  

After a concise service including music that Nana had preselected which had been written by a relative, there was a little bit of time to spend before the lunch would be served. Cousins being cousins and it being way too long between times spent together, some Shenanigans ensued, which may or may not have involved our kids and my cousin's kids, Cora and Blake. 

I remember thinking that it was the perfect kind of spring day: some clouds in a blue sky, a slight breeze, warm sun on our shoulders. I think Nana would have enjoyed all of it except maybe our "monkeying around" at the cemetery. I know there are other pictures on Dada's phone so I will have to see what I can track down to share. 

It's bittersweet that she is gone. I don't think she ever had any desire to be the world's oldest living person, so to make it to 90 is quite an achievement. I'm so glad that we saw her last summer while we vacationed with her in good health; that those memories of sunshine and her interacting with us and the dogs and her nurses are the ones closest to our hearts instead of the ones where she sat wretchedly on the alarm pad of her bed in the nursing home while taking multiple medications. I'm glad she got time with all of our kids and that they'll remember her. 

I'm glad we have fun family that takes advantage of opportunities to get together and make more memories. I'm sorry that we won't get to see Nana at the beach this summer. It will be odd to not have her coming out of her room with her walker to ask us if we've eaten yet or what we're up to that day. I'm glad that she didn't linger a long time through her pneumonia, being miserable. I'm glad that we got to celebrate her life. I know it will be a process, and the kids have already mentioned missing her, and that's how it should be as she held a special place in our hearts and lives. 

Nana Carrie, 1927-2018, we love you.

Hotel pool time

Anytime there is a hotel involved, there had better be a pool. These fish kids could not wait to get in the water and release some energy. The first time we used it, we had the whole place to ourselves. Liam beelined for the hot tub while Carrie and Damon made visits back and forth between it and the pool. The second time we went there were at least two other families, so Damon got adopted into some games with those kids. Liam discovered a three-hole putt putt course just outside the pool area, so he befriended a boy about his size and did rounds. I mentioned to Dada, "that boy looks just like Blake did when he was that size." When Carrie got out of the pool to dry off, she spotted Liam and his friend and commented, "he looks just like Blake!" When Liam came in to help us check out of the room, we asked what the boy's name was. Liam said, "I dunno, but I thought he sure looked like Blake!" Must have been a dead ringer for everyone to notice.

Care Bear and the art show

Heavens, these are from the second of April during the art show at the high school. Care Bear had a few submissions and we got to see some of her friends' works as well. The displays were very well arranged and we had rather a challenging time keeping some younger brothers from investigating too closely.

Carrie's piece is the container morphing into the squid.

The giraffes below are not hers, but are for Muggin. The boys were quick to find them and insist on pictures for her.

There are some very talented kiddos putting forth some great stuff! I liked how there was so much variety to inspect from the jewelry to the pencil drawings to paintings and sculpture. I wish they could do expos once a month; I never get tired of kid art!