Pick Your Poison . . .☠️ (Oh, and yes, I do have cancer.)

Pick your poison.  That phrase has been turning around in my head for a solid 24 hours now.  Sometimes you don’t get to pick your poison, but you end up taking it anyway.  Did John pick his poison in this case? I suppose he did. When the nurse mentioned I'd be getting fentanyl on Wednesday my heart about stopped.  Can I choose?  That particular drug killed my son.  FENTANYL. I know there is a place for it in the medical world – in the world of pain, but how do you respond to a nurse telling you that you will be given fentanyl for your “pain” when they place your chemo port on Wednesday.  Wait, what??? I felt exactly the same when they offered it to Kate when she was waiting for her epidural . . .she declined.  Do I?  Can I decline that any more than I can decline the weeks and weeks of poison that I am willingly signing up for with Chemotherapy?  It sure makes me think.

 

Honestly.  I feel like cancer has ruled a good portion of my life.  My mom had breast cancer three times, my sister Ginger had lung cancer that metastasized to her brain, my dad is currently being treated for a tumor in his lung and other spots in his body – and that’s just immediate family.  The family tree I had to do for Mayo was very enlightening concerning cancer.  It seems to have taken several of our relatives.  And now it’s my turn I suppose.  Breast cancer.  But not in just one breast, but both, and they aren’t even the same type – which maybe I’m grateful for?  I’m not completely sure.  One is triple-negative, and one is HER2 positive.  Right – what does that mean?  Well, it means it’s super aggressive – in that the cells divide rapidly.  One is negative for estrogen, progesterone, and HER2 – so those hormones don’t “fuel” it, and the other one is negative for the first two, but positive for the HER2.  Luckily they treat them both with the same types of therapy.

 

The good news is, while it’s fast-growing cancer, it does respond well to chemotherapy.  Of course, it also has a much higher rate of reoccurrence.  But again, the good news is we have caught it early – it’s still in stage one and it so far it hasn’t left the breast.  The bad news is, it’s going to take a hefty dose of chemo of knock it out.  So, here we go.  

 

I’ve decided to go just go ahead with the double mastectomy when the chemo is over.  Since the chemo can damage my heart, which has clearly had enough trauma already.  So, I'll opt for surgery and skip the radiation part of it.  I’d have to have both areas radiated, and the left is over my heart, so they would ask that I come and stay at Mayo for 5 weeks of proton (only available at Mayo) radiation.  At this point, I’d rather have the surgery than the radiation and all the following mammograms.  Pick your poison.

 

So, poison it is. John, I’m so glad you aren’t here for this. (So sorry Kate, but so thankful for you). John, your sister has been so great - even making up a bag of pink things and being with me on the journey to kick this.  We are becoming even stronger women, and I know you'd like that.  I'm hoping that genetically speaking I am negative, so she doesn't have that extra worry - but the fact is, for whatever reason, we seem to be very susceptible.  Maybe it's all the secondhand smoke I inhaled as a child and not hereditary?  Who knows.  I'm doing my part to answer all their research questions. 

And I know that if there is a portal from Heaven that looks down here on this chaotic and troubled world we still live in, you and Grandma and Ginger would be telling me to go with the surgery.  So that’s the plan.  For eight weeks, the harder chemo – and then another dose of chemo and antibodies for 12 weeks.  A rest, and then surgery.  I think there may be something else I take after . . . but frankly my mind is overwhelmed with data.  I’ve had mammograms, biopsies, two ultrasounds, an MRI, genetic testing, an echo on my heart, meetings with many doctors (seems each doc at Mayo has a helper as well), and now the doc at the Willmar Cancer Center.  

 

So, how am I feeling about it all?  Well, indifferent.  As we told two of the doctors who shared their stories with us – one lost a son and the other one is fighting like hell to save his from substance use disorder, we have lived our worst nightmare.  At this point, the cancer word doesn’t seem nearly as scary to me as it used to.  Many people have gone through it and have offered to answer questions and they are on the other side – doing well.  Did I cry?  No.  Will I lose my hair?  Yes – in fact, I cut it off last Friday and it felt pretty good.  I can get ready to go pretty darn fast!  I’ll wear my sheepdog hats and try to have a sense of humor about it – remembering that terrible job of helping you shave your head – and be glad you aren’t here to take revenge.  I’d probably have your initials shaved into the back with a frightful mohawk on the top to start.  I’ll never forget your mohawk.  You came to the grocery store when I was shopping to “surprise” me with it.  I’ll see if I can find that picture . . . not going to lie, I wasn't very happy about it.  But I always went with the "pick your battles" and this one wasn't a big deal in the scheme of life.  You were a young man trying to make his own way and you didn't want to listen to us always, did you?

 

I’m not sure if it’s the 10 mg of depression medication keeping me calm through all it, or the prayers of the people – but it just seems to me to be another “trial” to overcome.  Ask me again in a few months . . .;)

 

I ran into Ben the other day – and it was so good to see him.  You would have been embarrassed.  I hugged him several times, in public, during social distancing – but with our masks on!  I couldn’t help it.  In a way, squeezing your friends is sort of like squeezing you, and that does make me cry.

 

I heard from another friend of yours last week.  She was a medic up in Alaska.  She confirmed what you told us about not getting seen by a specialist and why.  I felt like throwing up.  I started down that old "what if" path and I had to stop myself before I took on the whole Army.  Honestly, John. I fear for people who have no advocate.  Who are thousands of miles away from home and are hurt.  We trusted them to take care of your medical needs - we sent you in healthy.  I never expected them to keep filling you with opioids, and of course, you wouldn't tell me because you knew I'd be on a plane the next day.  Lord, give me strength.  She saw one of the articles I wrote for Love What Matters and recognized your picture.  I asked her if I could use a portion of what she wrote, and I haven't heard back - but I will include a few lines without her name, as she did publically post it to one of my blogs.  

The pain of losing you has not lessened with time.  It’s a raw dull ache that lives with us every day.  Our beautiful boy.  We still expect you to walk in the door.  

Tell Grandma I had a dream about her.  A dream where I could touch her and smell her and hug her.  Right there in the kitchen on Elizabeth Avenue.  It was amazing.  I bought The Passion Translation Bible and I’ve been reading through it.  Slowly, but very mindfully.  That day, as I read about all the dreams Joseph had, where God instructed him what to do . . .I was given that beautiful dream of her. 

 

We tell ourselves that the Bible is too hard for us mere mortals to understand sometimes – and we default to letting others interpret it for us.  But that isn’t what God wants for us all the time.  Yes, listen to sermons and read books, do studies and read your devotional, read commentaries and history, and the like – but don’t put off reading His words to you directly.  He uses those words to speak to us.  That book, while the top seller of all times, is not merely a book.  It contains power.  So much power.  If there is something good that has come out of this particular trial so far, it is that I am back to hungry to read His word.  He carried me for three years of brain fog and the deep grief of losing you, and now He has given me what I’ve prayed for.  A renewed hunger to dig in, to read, and to learn, to see the words jump out and to hide them in my heart.  

 

I need Him. We need Him.  I encourage you today, wherever you might be in your spiritual journey to let Him in.  Let Him speak to you and walk with you. You’ll never be alone again.  

 

God Bless and keep you all. Thank you for your prayers. Please continue to lift up my family during this current struggle. I believe it's harder on them than it is on me. John, you'd be proud of Dad.  He's been such a trooper.  This is incredibly hard on him, but he has been a rock.  You were right when you posted about what a great man and role model he is.  His faith has grown exponentially through all of this, and we look forward to that glorious day when we have all reunited again.