Just thought I'd share some more of the cool aspects of chemo with ya'll.
The first is that I have a semi-permanent tan that won't cause me skin cancer. The obvious "downside," (if we must call it that) is that I had to get a blood cancer in order to be prescribed the chemotherapy that causes this side effect. Also, it's not exactly cheap. Retailing for around $3000 per session, it's just slightly more than your average tanning bed session, but at least you don't have to soak in the extreme heat to get the same results.
Another is that I have no need for 5-hour energy. I've seen a lot of commercials today (because I'm watching Spike TV's Star Wars marathon) and one that might have interested me pre-cancer would have been this particular energy drink. Now, thanks to chemotherapy, I have no need for it. When you're prescribed to get plenty of rest, it equates to a bounty of energy. However, now, I'm more interested in the commercials for Lunesta.
We also use less water now--and actually, to be truthful, I didn't even use shampoo at all this week.
One bummer is that my bras bother me now. It's kind of weird. Girls, you can probably relate to me on this one. Remember when you first started wearing them, how it just was awkward to have that pressure on your ribcage? I don't know, maybe it was just me. But I felt that. And now I feel it again. Except now it's to the point that it actually hurts. Hopefully not because I'm expanding. It could be though. It's uncomfortable enough that I've started unsnapping it in the car on the way home from wherever because I just couldn't stand it anymore. Like I said, it's odd, but it's real.
On the up-and-up, I get my scans this week! I meet with the ENT tomorrow for them to check out my ear tube, which is probably broken if that's even possible, because I have that kind of luck. Wednesday morning at 7:30 I go to get my Pulmonary Function Test done again to check and see how my lungs are holding up. Then I have to essentially starve myself (no carbs or sugar) from the time I go in for my Pulmonary Function Test until midnight, then literally from midnight until 7:00am Thursday morning in order for my PET/CT scan to read correctly. You'd think with all the snazzy technology we have they would figure out a way to do those things without tormenting people. Whatever. That's life right now.
Sep 5, 2011
Sep 4, 2011
Mush-Brain, Dribble-Face
Just a couple questions for other people who have undergone or are currently undergoing chemo right now:
- Do you have a hard time concentrating? Just today my mom asked me a question and apparently I gave her some nonsensical answer so she jokingly referred to me as Mush-brain. I'm trying to figure out if it's the chemo or the anti-nausea drugs...
- Do you constantly miss your mouth when you get a drink? Maybe this one is just me, but I think today alone I have missed my mouth at least three times--all of which resulted in me soaking my frontside.
That's all. Just wondering.
Sep 3, 2011
The Benefit
Many of you are probably wondering what happened with the benefit.
It's taken me a while to process the entire thing for a few reasons. First off, because I feel much more comfortable giving than receiving. Secondly, because of the amount of excess that we were blessed with.
Let me explain: Going into this benefit, I was hoping, PRAYING, that we would hit $3000 total. That'd be enough to cover our bills and my car insurance up to the point where (I feel) I should be able to get a job. You see, even though I keep being shown that the cards aren't really in my hands, I still had this plan.
I was still going to get through chemo before the end of the year. I was still going to get a job somewhere (hopefully at Sephora or Ken Paves) by February. And I was still going to be able to pitch in and cover the part of the bills that I was "responsible for" coming into the marriage.
So $3000 should be just perfect.
Except that God decided it wasn't.
I'm an extremely independent person and throughout this experience, I done my best to try and accept what was going on. I didn't fight, argue, blame, or even rebel. I've simply been content, rolled with the punches, and had a few emotional breakdowns.
But I hadn't been HUMBLE.
I had to dictionary.com it to find out exactly what that means. Growing up in church, you hear it all the time and like many "church words," eventually the sparkle wears off and it just becomes something you say at seemingly appropriate times. However, dictionary.com had something for me. Here's what I read: "to destroy the independence, power, or will of."
Alright. So. Apparently, not only had the sparkle worn off, but my mind had twisted the word completely. I had started to equate humbleness with contentment. NOT the same. I wasn't giving up my independence, power, and especially not my will! I guess I kind of felt like bending them in whatever direction God appeared to be bending them would be adequate enough. Not so.
In order to work on actually BREAKING my independence, God gave us more than I thought we needed--a little more than THREE times what I thought we needed. Now what?
I went through a few stages.
First was embarrassment and guilt. I felt the need to call everyone who donated anything and ask them if they for sure meant to donate as much as they did. I mean, we could get along with just the $3000 and if they wanted some of it back--alrighty!
Then I did some more thinking and realized how backwards that was. Who honestly gets blessed with a gift and tries to return it to the giver? Someone who is stuck up and too proud to accept the help they will likely need. Me.
More thoughts kept coming and I realized that many of the people who gave to us, didn't give out of obligation. They gave because they wanted to. They were excited to use what God had given them to bless someone else. Similar to how I get excited when I can bless someone financially. I'm just so happy and fuzzy that I can do something to help! If the person needing help slapped it back at me and said, "I'm fine, don't worry about it," I'd be confused and probably hurt, not understanding why they would reject something given to them at no cost--no strings attached even!
One of my later thoughts was that although I have "my plan" it doesn't necessarily mean that it aligns with God's plan. Who knows? Maybe there are some medical emergencies in the future that we will need the extra for. Or possibly we are meant to bless someone else with what's been given to us. There are a million and one possibilities and just because my little brain doesn't have the capacity to comprehend them all doesn't mean they don't exist.
So I want to thank you all. Thank you for loving us, for investing in us, for financially supporting us in a time where we really don't know what to expect. God has plans for what happened, and although I don't know what they are, I hope that we are good enough stewards to recognize and jump on the opportunities He places before us.
It's taken me a while to process the entire thing for a few reasons. First off, because I feel much more comfortable giving than receiving. Secondly, because of the amount of excess that we were blessed with.
Let me explain: Going into this benefit, I was hoping, PRAYING, that we would hit $3000 total. That'd be enough to cover our bills and my car insurance up to the point where (I feel) I should be able to get a job. You see, even though I keep being shown that the cards aren't really in my hands, I still had this plan.
I was still going to get through chemo before the end of the year. I was still going to get a job somewhere (hopefully at Sephora or Ken Paves) by February. And I was still going to be able to pitch in and cover the part of the bills that I was "responsible for" coming into the marriage.
So $3000 should be just perfect.
Except that God decided it wasn't.
I'm an extremely independent person and throughout this experience, I done my best to try and accept what was going on. I didn't fight, argue, blame, or even rebel. I've simply been content, rolled with the punches, and had a few emotional breakdowns.
But I hadn't been HUMBLE.
I had to dictionary.com it to find out exactly what that means. Growing up in church, you hear it all the time and like many "church words," eventually the sparkle wears off and it just becomes something you say at seemingly appropriate times. However, dictionary.com had something for me. Here's what I read: "to destroy the independence, power, or will of."
Alright. So. Apparently, not only had the sparkle worn off, but my mind had twisted the word completely. I had started to equate humbleness with contentment. NOT the same. I wasn't giving up my independence, power, and especially not my will! I guess I kind of felt like bending them in whatever direction God appeared to be bending them would be adequate enough. Not so.
In order to work on actually BREAKING my independence, God gave us more than I thought we needed--a little more than THREE times what I thought we needed. Now what?
I went through a few stages.
First was embarrassment and guilt. I felt the need to call everyone who donated anything and ask them if they for sure meant to donate as much as they did. I mean, we could get along with just the $3000 and if they wanted some of it back--alrighty!
Then I did some more thinking and realized how backwards that was. Who honestly gets blessed with a gift and tries to return it to the giver? Someone who is stuck up and too proud to accept the help they will likely need. Me.
More thoughts kept coming and I realized that many of the people who gave to us, didn't give out of obligation. They gave because they wanted to. They were excited to use what God had given them to bless someone else. Similar to how I get excited when I can bless someone financially. I'm just so happy and fuzzy that I can do something to help! If the person needing help slapped it back at me and said, "I'm fine, don't worry about it," I'd be confused and probably hurt, not understanding why they would reject something given to them at no cost--no strings attached even!
One of my later thoughts was that although I have "my plan" it doesn't necessarily mean that it aligns with God's plan. Who knows? Maybe there are some medical emergencies in the future that we will need the extra for. Or possibly we are meant to bless someone else with what's been given to us. There are a million and one possibilities and just because my little brain doesn't have the capacity to comprehend them all doesn't mean they don't exist.
So I want to thank you all. Thank you for loving us, for investing in us, for financially supporting us in a time where we really don't know what to expect. God has plans for what happened, and although I don't know what they are, I hope that we are good enough stewards to recognize and jump on the opportunities He places before us.
Sep 2, 2011
A Shi**y Way to Start the Day
Wednesday was chemo-day and I spent the rest of the day knocked out, trying to recover. Yesterday, I can't remember (which should probably be a sign) but I think I was knocked out all day as well.
...And then there's this morning. Mortifying is an appropriate adjective.
I feeling pretty good so when I woke up, I decided to update my calendar. There I was, standing in front of my dry-erase calendar that I chart my life on: updating it with upcoming events such as birthdays, people I want to pray for, and Chavel's wedding. As I was starting to erase some past events, I must have used a little too much uumph or something, because I had an accident.
Yes, an accident. As in, I pooped myself.
Even more unfortunately, I had a pair of my husband's boxers on, which are fantastically comfortable for sleeping in, but don't catch things quite the same as feminine undergarments. A spot of heat hit my left inner ankle and I glanced down to see a brown-ish dot starting to sag downward toward the floor. Realizing that what I thought happened actually HAD, I immediately ran to the bathroom to check the damage and debate whether to wash or toss. The boxers were actually pretty well protected from the damage, but I couldn't imagine Isaac ever wanting to wear them again. I debated a couple more seconds. To the garbage they went.
After cleaning myself up, I armed myself with a soapy wet paper towel and made my way to the scene of the crime, intending to nonchalantly clean the spot unnoticed and uninterrupted.
Wouldn't you know, that's not how it went.
"Ash, what are you doing?" asked Mom.
"Oh, just cleaning up a little spot."
"What happened?" she probed. I sighed.
Can't it just be between me and the carpet....?
Chin tilted at an angle downward, I squared my jaw before looking at her and answering. "I pooped myself, okay?" I'm sure I was shooting daggers at her.
"Oh honey..." I could hear the laughter being held back in her voice as she switched into mother mode. "Where did you put them?"
Embarrassed, I nodded toward the bathroom. "In the garbage." Things were awkward enough as it was and I couldn't imagine my MOTHER digging in our garbage for my husband's now-soiled boxers, so I dove in after them myself. I felt kind of like a dog unearthing it's buried treasure as I pulled them from the garbage. Doesn't this normally happen after people hit 60-something?
"How bad are they?" she asked. I unrolled and unfurled them for her to see. She examined them with a practiced eye. "Don't worry, I'll get a load of laundry started."
"What?? Don't we need to wash them by themselves? Won't they get poop all over everything else?" I asked.
"No, no, no. Just relax, don't worry about it. I've got it. Go take a nap or something."
I did.
And not only did she do the poopy laundry, she did ALL of our laundry. I guess that makes it easier, because now Isaac will never know exactly which pair it was. And really, if a person can't tell, can it even matter?
...And then there's this morning. Mortifying is an appropriate adjective.
I feeling pretty good so when I woke up, I decided to update my calendar. There I was, standing in front of my dry-erase calendar that I chart my life on: updating it with upcoming events such as birthdays, people I want to pray for, and Chavel's wedding. As I was starting to erase some past events, I must have used a little too much uumph or something, because I had an accident.
Yes, an accident. As in, I pooped myself.
Even more unfortunately, I had a pair of my husband's boxers on, which are fantastically comfortable for sleeping in, but don't catch things quite the same as feminine undergarments. A spot of heat hit my left inner ankle and I glanced down to see a brown-ish dot starting to sag downward toward the floor. Realizing that what I thought happened actually HAD, I immediately ran to the bathroom to check the damage and debate whether to wash or toss. The boxers were actually pretty well protected from the damage, but I couldn't imagine Isaac ever wanting to wear them again. I debated a couple more seconds. To the garbage they went.
After cleaning myself up, I armed myself with a soapy wet paper towel and made my way to the scene of the crime, intending to nonchalantly clean the spot unnoticed and uninterrupted.
Wouldn't you know, that's not how it went.
"Ash, what are you doing?" asked Mom.
"Oh, just cleaning up a little spot."
"What happened?" she probed. I sighed.
Can't it just be between me and the carpet....?
Chin tilted at an angle downward, I squared my jaw before looking at her and answering. "I pooped myself, okay?" I'm sure I was shooting daggers at her.
"Oh honey..." I could hear the laughter being held back in her voice as she switched into mother mode. "Where did you put them?"
Embarrassed, I nodded toward the bathroom. "In the garbage." Things were awkward enough as it was and I couldn't imagine my MOTHER digging in our garbage for my husband's now-soiled boxers, so I dove in after them myself. I felt kind of like a dog unearthing it's buried treasure as I pulled them from the garbage. Doesn't this normally happen after people hit 60-something?
"How bad are they?" she asked. I unrolled and unfurled them for her to see. She examined them with a practiced eye. "Don't worry, I'll get a load of laundry started."
"What?? Don't we need to wash them by themselves? Won't they get poop all over everything else?" I asked.
"No, no, no. Just relax, don't worry about it. I've got it. Go take a nap or something."
I did.
And not only did she do the poopy laundry, she did ALL of our laundry. I guess that makes it easier, because now Isaac will never know exactly which pair it was. And really, if a person can't tell, can it even matter?
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