After a hectic week of appointments and radiation everyday I'm so thankful for little moments like these...
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
Thursday, November 27, 2014
Pressure
It's Thanksgiving...but to be honest it feels just like a normal day. It was the first time in eight years that I didn't cook our Thanksgiving dinner. I'm very proud of Lisa, she cooked all the sides and Daniel handled the turkey. Lisa and Daniel have kept things going while I am sick, and I am very grateful for them. Since I was not able to do much because of my surgery, it allowed me to think and feel all sorts of new emotions. The first feeling I felt was Anger - Why did this have to happen to me and my family? Why have we had so much cancer thrown at us? I want answers but what I have learned is you don't get answers. You Trust, you walk in Faith, true gut wrenching fighting Faith. Once I got over the "why's and the poor me's," I felt something I've never experienced...the pressure was off of me. No-one expected ANYTHING from me. They were just happy to have ME present and eat dinner with them. I think that's the thing I've missed in the past; my family just wants ME. The real ME, not the pressure filled "everything has to be perfect" vision of myself I have created in past.
The feeling of no pressure was very liberating. What came to mind was the 60's "bra burning," and let's be honest it's not like I need a bra right now :) I still am trying to figure out what all this means. This morning I was asking myself "is all this worth it?" Not just cooking the Thanksgiving meal, but everything else, the spending hours in the kitchen cooking healthy meals during the week, keeping a clean house, worrying about my appearance, making the hard parenting choices, and just generally trying to be a good person. I felt like I did all those things before and for what...I still got cancer.
Tonight I went to set the table and Daniel had already set it. I looked around: dinner was cooked, everything was done, and all I had to do was sit down. I was the first one to sit at the table and Daniel served me my plate. Looking around the table and admiring all the work that went into making Thanksgiving dinner, I realized all MY hard work over the last eight years led us to this moment. I decided it was ALL worth it. I'm so proud of my family and how each one of them has handled the last few months.
Happy Thanksgiving!
"No matter how you feel, get up, dress up, and show up and never give up." -Regina Bret
In honor of choosing to "show up" each day and do my best, I posted my first picture of myself just as I am right now !
The feeling of no pressure was very liberating. What came to mind was the 60's "bra burning," and let's be honest it's not like I need a bra right now :) I still am trying to figure out what all this means. This morning I was asking myself "is all this worth it?" Not just cooking the Thanksgiving meal, but everything else, the spending hours in the kitchen cooking healthy meals during the week, keeping a clean house, worrying about my appearance, making the hard parenting choices, and just generally trying to be a good person. I felt like I did all those things before and for what...I still got cancer.
Tonight I went to set the table and Daniel had already set it. I looked around: dinner was cooked, everything was done, and all I had to do was sit down. I was the first one to sit at the table and Daniel served me my plate. Looking around the table and admiring all the work that went into making Thanksgiving dinner, I realized all MY hard work over the last eight years led us to this moment. I decided it was ALL worth it. I'm so proud of my family and how each one of them has handled the last few months.
Happy Thanksgiving!
"No matter how you feel, get up, dress up, and show up and never give up." -Regina Bret
In honor of choosing to "show up" each day and do my best, I posted my first picture of myself just as I am right now !
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| Helping Titi with the sides. |
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| Basting with Dad. |
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| Gracie and Daniel making rolls. |
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| So proud of my sweet boys! |
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| Happy to all be together! |
Sunday, November 16, 2014
Sunday, October 26, 2014
Time Out
When I had my three biopsies the medical team would always stop right before they started the procedure to take a "time out." They literally say "time out" and everyone in the room stops what they are doing and uses the break as an opportunity to make sure the patient and team performing the biopsy are prepared for the procedure.
This blog post is my "Time Out" to provide an update.
I finished my four rounds of TC chemo on October 6, praise God!! It goes without saying that chemo is the most physically and emotionally grueling thing I have ever completed. Last week (October 23-24) I had 2 long days at Duke that were filled with blood work, an MRI, a PET scan, and an echo. The MRI and PET scan will determine if the tumors have shrunk. If the tumors have not shrunk and if the lymph node tumor is still active, I will have to have a 3rd type of chemo. That type of chemo is referred to as the "Red Devil" because its side effects are so intense and there is risk of damage to my heart. I have an appointment tomorrow, October 27 to find out my results and "next steps."
The best result that can come out of tomorrow's appointment is for my Oncologist to tell me the tumors have shrunk and my lymph node activity has decreased. If these things have happened, then I will be cleared for my double mastectomy. (I tested positive for the BRCA2 gene, so I have to have a double mastectomy.) If my PET scan results show that I still have "active" cancer cells in my lymph node then I will have more chemo. The chemo is already scheduled for tomorrow just in case I need it to ensure I have a spot on the schedule. The TC chemo has already damaged my body. My veins aren't working – it takes multiple sticks to get a working vein – so I will need to get a Port if my chemo treatment continues. My body is tired and needs to heal. I need my body to keep up with my brain. My brain isn't tired, it's still going strong. I need my body to catch up!
I'm ready to go into surgery even though it's a big life changing surgery – surgery is closer to healing! It's time and I am ready.
Please pray for strength, trust, and surgery as the next step tomorrow.
Sunday, October 12, 2014
Cake!
We celebrated James' birthday on Sunday, October 5 because I received my last round of chemo on October 6. I knew I wouldn't feel up to eating cake on his actual birthday, October 8. We had a nice celebration. I'm so thankful for this sweet little boy. I love the young man he is becoming, and I'm so proud of the reputation he has already made for himself at school. I did make it to morning prayer on his birthday, it's the small things. He got to eat leftover cake everyday after school so I think he had a pretty good birthday.
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| Happy 6th Birthday, James! |
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| Family Picture |
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| Eating cake!! |
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| Morning Prayer. James was recognized for his b-day. |
Saturday, September 13, 2014
The Chemo of Good and Evil.
Chemo...how do I even
begin?
I hate this medicine, but love it at the same time. Fighting my breast cancer is impossible without chemo. I appreciate what it is doing to my cancer, but I hate it for what it is doing to my body. Chemo is hard. There is no other way to say it.
I have had two rounds of chemo; both infusions have been difficult. I had reactions both times to the chemo. The reaction usually happens within the first ten minutes of starting the infusion. I get flushed, hot, and then I can't breathe. It feels like there is an elephant sitting on my chest keeping me from getting air into my lungs, and I am just gasping for air – it happens fast. The nurses stop the infusion and pump me full of additional medicines to counter the reaction. After about 45 minutes they start the infusion again. This is also enough time for me to worry “what if I can’t get my chemo?” I never thought I would literally be “grateful” after receiving chemo, but every time that I've finished a round, I've thought “I’m glad my body could handle it.” A funny side effect to the chemo is my nose burns. I feel like I could blow out fire from my nostrils, but once the IV drip is done that side effect is over. I'm usually tired but get through the rest of the night fine. Chemo days are long days. We are usually at Duke for about 10 hours. I have blood draws in the morning, appointment with my main oncologist, maybe another procedure/appointment, then the infusion takes 4-6 hours.
The next two days are okay because I'm still on so many steroids I don't crash. But come Day 3 – I've been hit by a train. I'm off my steroids, and it's just me and the chemo. Chemo knocks me out to the next century. I spend most of the day sleeping, though it's not your typical restful nap. It feels as if my body weighs a million pounds, and all I can do is lie on the bed without moving because every time I do move it takes too much energy. I lie motionless, hoping and almost pleading to fall asleep so the exhaustion will escape me for just a brief moment. The brief moment turns into a 4-5 hour nap, but it only feels like 10 minutes. My brain tries to wake me up after about an hour of napping telling me "get up, you're sleeping the day away" but my body ignores the voice and continues to sleep and sleep. It's exhaustion like I've never experienced. I've never taken a nap to only wake up more tired than when I went to sleep. After I wake, I am in this fog of “chemo brain.” Nothing seems clear and it's hard to maintain a thought or even form a sentence. I look over at the clock and the hours are ticking by, but I haven’t accomplished anything during my day. My goal is usually to at least get up, take a shower, and get dressed. I am usually too weak to shower, so I just take a bath. I have been fortunate that I’m not throwing up, but I am very nauseous. Food tastes awful and even water taste like metal. This lasts for about 4-5 days. I know it’s over – usually on Day 5 or 6 – when I wake up and it doesn't hurt to get out of bed, and water doesn't taste like poison. Water has never tasted as good to me as that first day of feeling better. I savor its taste – so pure and clean. I can feel that first sip coursing throughout the streams of my body, hydrating me after days of deprivation.
My second round of chemo really decided to punch me when I was down. Friday at 5PM I was hit hard with a headache. Not a normal headache (the type you take some Advil and it goes away), but a headache to the point my speech was slurred and I was completely incapacitated. It was the Friday before the long Labor Day weekend and we had to page my oncologist at 6PM. She is an amazing woman. She is literally a world renowned oncologist, and I am continually amazed at her humility and gentleness. She was so apologetic for the fact that I had no other option but to go to the emergency room, and she was genuinely sorry I was in such pain. So off Lisa and I went to the ER at Duke while Daniel stayed with the kids. I was depleted, I was just done. I had suffered all week from the chemo, and this debilitating pain thrown in on top of my already weak body was just too much.
As Lisa and I were driving, I was trying so hard to just not throw up all over the car. I saw a convertible drive by on the other side of the road full of boys. They were laughing and the wind was blowing through their hair. They were loving life and here I was……First I have no hair to blow in the wind, and second I was going to the ER. How did I get here? I was supposed to be with my family going on a trip to the beach, camping, or at least at home eating pizza and watching a movie. Unfortunately, my special Friday night was going to be spent at the Duke ER. I just wanted to give up. It hurt to hold my head up, it hurt to talk, it hurt to have my eyes open, I had barely eaten for a week – there was nothing left in me. It’s like the world slowed down, and I was experiencing my Life in 3rd person. Then it hit me, and I was jarred back into reality with my next thought – it’s too early in my journey to even think these thoughts. I am just starting….in fact, it’s barely begun.
The emergency room at Duke was amazing. Again, we were met with such compassion and understanding. The team of doctors and nurses were very thorough and incredibly kind. They needed to do a CT Scan to make sure the cancer had not spread to my brain. There were a few minutes where I had to wait to be put into the CT scanner and was just lying on the platform, staring up at the ceiling in my painful existence. I just sat there, staring up at the ceiling, and I knew that within the next 3 minutes, my Life was going to go one way or the other. I was going to leave the ER with metastatic breast cancer in my brain or I was going to leave with the diagnosis of “headache/migraine.” For the first time in this whole journey (waiting for the news to go one way or the other), the results went in my favor. I left with clean brain scans and a diagnosis of “headache/migraine.”
I know this is just a time in my Life, but honestly, I'm ready to be done with chemo and this whole breast cancer thing. As soon as those words escape my thoughts, I realize I will never be done with “this breast cancer thing.” There will be a time when I no longer have cancer in my body, but my health is forever taken away from me. The day I got diagnosed, my life changed forever.
I hate this medicine, but love it at the same time. Fighting my breast cancer is impossible without chemo. I appreciate what it is doing to my cancer, but I hate it for what it is doing to my body. Chemo is hard. There is no other way to say it.
I have had two rounds of chemo; both infusions have been difficult. I had reactions both times to the chemo. The reaction usually happens within the first ten minutes of starting the infusion. I get flushed, hot, and then I can't breathe. It feels like there is an elephant sitting on my chest keeping me from getting air into my lungs, and I am just gasping for air – it happens fast. The nurses stop the infusion and pump me full of additional medicines to counter the reaction. After about 45 minutes they start the infusion again. This is also enough time for me to worry “what if I can’t get my chemo?” I never thought I would literally be “grateful” after receiving chemo, but every time that I've finished a round, I've thought “I’m glad my body could handle it.” A funny side effect to the chemo is my nose burns. I feel like I could blow out fire from my nostrils, but once the IV drip is done that side effect is over. I'm usually tired but get through the rest of the night fine. Chemo days are long days. We are usually at Duke for about 10 hours. I have blood draws in the morning, appointment with my main oncologist, maybe another procedure/appointment, then the infusion takes 4-6 hours.
The next two days are okay because I'm still on so many steroids I don't crash. But come Day 3 – I've been hit by a train. I'm off my steroids, and it's just me and the chemo. Chemo knocks me out to the next century. I spend most of the day sleeping, though it's not your typical restful nap. It feels as if my body weighs a million pounds, and all I can do is lie on the bed without moving because every time I do move it takes too much energy. I lie motionless, hoping and almost pleading to fall asleep so the exhaustion will escape me for just a brief moment. The brief moment turns into a 4-5 hour nap, but it only feels like 10 minutes. My brain tries to wake me up after about an hour of napping telling me "get up, you're sleeping the day away" but my body ignores the voice and continues to sleep and sleep. It's exhaustion like I've never experienced. I've never taken a nap to only wake up more tired than when I went to sleep. After I wake, I am in this fog of “chemo brain.” Nothing seems clear and it's hard to maintain a thought or even form a sentence. I look over at the clock and the hours are ticking by, but I haven’t accomplished anything during my day. My goal is usually to at least get up, take a shower, and get dressed. I am usually too weak to shower, so I just take a bath. I have been fortunate that I’m not throwing up, but I am very nauseous. Food tastes awful and even water taste like metal. This lasts for about 4-5 days. I know it’s over – usually on Day 5 or 6 – when I wake up and it doesn't hurt to get out of bed, and water doesn't taste like poison. Water has never tasted as good to me as that first day of feeling better. I savor its taste – so pure and clean. I can feel that first sip coursing throughout the streams of my body, hydrating me after days of deprivation.
My second round of chemo really decided to punch me when I was down. Friday at 5PM I was hit hard with a headache. Not a normal headache (the type you take some Advil and it goes away), but a headache to the point my speech was slurred and I was completely incapacitated. It was the Friday before the long Labor Day weekend and we had to page my oncologist at 6PM. She is an amazing woman. She is literally a world renowned oncologist, and I am continually amazed at her humility and gentleness. She was so apologetic for the fact that I had no other option but to go to the emergency room, and she was genuinely sorry I was in such pain. So off Lisa and I went to the ER at Duke while Daniel stayed with the kids. I was depleted, I was just done. I had suffered all week from the chemo, and this debilitating pain thrown in on top of my already weak body was just too much.
As Lisa and I were driving, I was trying so hard to just not throw up all over the car. I saw a convertible drive by on the other side of the road full of boys. They were laughing and the wind was blowing through their hair. They were loving life and here I was……First I have no hair to blow in the wind, and second I was going to the ER. How did I get here? I was supposed to be with my family going on a trip to the beach, camping, or at least at home eating pizza and watching a movie. Unfortunately, my special Friday night was going to be spent at the Duke ER. I just wanted to give up. It hurt to hold my head up, it hurt to talk, it hurt to have my eyes open, I had barely eaten for a week – there was nothing left in me. It’s like the world slowed down, and I was experiencing my Life in 3rd person. Then it hit me, and I was jarred back into reality with my next thought – it’s too early in my journey to even think these thoughts. I am just starting….in fact, it’s barely begun.
The emergency room at Duke was amazing. Again, we were met with such compassion and understanding. The team of doctors and nurses were very thorough and incredibly kind. They needed to do a CT Scan to make sure the cancer had not spread to my brain. There were a few minutes where I had to wait to be put into the CT scanner and was just lying on the platform, staring up at the ceiling in my painful existence. I just sat there, staring up at the ceiling, and I knew that within the next 3 minutes, my Life was going to go one way or the other. I was going to leave the ER with metastatic breast cancer in my brain or I was going to leave with the diagnosis of “headache/migraine.” For the first time in this whole journey (waiting for the news to go one way or the other), the results went in my favor. I left with clean brain scans and a diagnosis of “headache/migraine.”
I know this is just a time in my Life, but honestly, I'm ready to be done with chemo and this whole breast cancer thing. As soon as those words escape my thoughts, I realize I will never be done with “this breast cancer thing.” There will be a time when I no longer have cancer in my body, but my health is forever taken away from me. The day I got diagnosed, my life changed forever.
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| Chemo Round One |
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| Daniel ready to spring into action at any moment. |
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| Daniel had to spring into action...reaction # one. |
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| Round Two |
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| Reaction # two. |
Saturday, August 23, 2014
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
Eight Years
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| Photo Credit: Sarah Krepp |
"In sickness and in health"...when you say your wedding vows as 23- and 25-year olds, do you understand the belief and commitment of that statement? Can you comprehend the love and selfless sacrifice it requires to live out your commitment to each other in sickness? Daniel and I celebrated our eight year wedding anniversary this past Tuesday (August 12, 2014).
It was a good night but very different than what I anticipated for our eighth anniversary. We had dinner and then watched our wedding video as a family. As I was watching the video, I felt sad at times - it stung. I was looking at our younger selves and thought "you two have no idea what is in store for you." We have been through so much in our eight years and my sickness by far has been the most difficult.
I will never forget when I told Daniel the biopsy came back as cancerous. The memory of his face as he came around the corner is frozen in my mind. I knew it would break a little piece of his heart, and I knew our marriage would forever be changed. As a result of my diagnosis, our marriage has been given a chance to grow into a deeper, more intimate Love. I can't tell you how this will impact our marriage, but I can tell you that during the last month I have been reminded how serious Daniel took his marriage vows he made to me eight years ago.
I'm very proud to be Daniel's wife. He loves me with such deep love. I see it in the way he looks at me. He looks at me with such a unique and intense Love. I knew when we got married we would love each other, but I didn't understand the lengths that Love would stretch, and at times, carry us. Even in our wedding video our Love looks immature - it's cute love. Our Love now is a soulful, fighting, nothing-is-going-to-take-us-down partnership. I'm so thankful to have Daniel holding my hand as we fight this battle together. I know we will cross the finish line together and stronger.
Happy Anniversary Daniel, I love you.
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| Photo Credit: Sarah Krepp (She is wonderful, contact me if you want her info!) |
Monday, August 11, 2014
Big Sister
(Written on 7/29)
As I sit here on the plane headed home after a few days at Mayo Clinic (for Lisa's health), for just a minute, it feels normal. I am looking out the window of the plane and all I can see below me are clouds and the moon rising over the clouds. Lisa turned to me and goes, "it looks like heaven doesn't it?" For a second, I find myself absorbed by the craziness of it all. How do you have two sisters that are in their early 30's and both sick? I have spent some of my energy on the "why's" and the anger has crept in at times, but it's not worth it and I quickly let it go.
Lisa and I have fun together. Even though our last two "sister trips" were to Mayo, full of procedures and doctor visits, it's not obvious to people around us that we have just come from two serious days at Mayo with the hope of better news. The news is not awful – Lisa is not dying, but she's not better. Yet, we still laugh. Why can't the rest of the world laugh? Why can we face such seriousness, but yet still love and laugh so intensely? Whenever Lisa and I are together, multiple people will stop us and say "look at you girls laughing" and "so nice to hear the laughter." Last night in the elevator of our hotel, a guy riding with us said "you girls sure are having fun". Lisa took that chance to say "well, actually we both have cancer." Based on the guys response (he literally about fell over), I don't think we will be sharing that tag line anymore.
Sometimes I get tired of people enjoying our laughter...if they only knew what we have been through and what we are about to go through. I just want to say to them “you have no idea why we laugh. We laugh to not cry, to stay strong, and to overcome this dark cloud that has been over our family for the last 2 years.” Nothing makes sense about our relationship but the love of sisterhood. When I am around my sister, I know God knew what he was doing when he made Lisa my big sister. Even though I'm 31, got married first, and have 2 children (you would think that would earn me some sort of rank as "adult" in Lisa's eyes), she will always say "you'll never understand, you are just my little sister." She loves me more than anything; our lives don't work without each other. That's what is so awful about both of us experiencing this level of sickness – or is it a blessing to realize how truly and deeply we both love each other?
Lisa has taken a leave of absence from work to help me take care of my family and fight for my health. Her own illness has prepared her for this fight as she understands what I am going to face over the next year. I am going to miss parts of James’ and Grace’s lives as I fight for my own, and if I can't be with them most of the time, I am so grateful that she is the one that will get that time with them. I don't think I can truly express how much her friendship and sisterhood means to me.
Friday, August 8, 2014
We Survived
Our week was crazy.
All three of the adults had infusions, and Gracie had eye surgery at Duke. I wanted to document the week so when I look back in a year I can remember we all "survived!"
Monday, August 4 - I started chemo and spent the week recovering
Wednesday, August 6 - Daniel had his infusion for Crohn's Disease
Thursday, August 7th - Grace had eye surgery (I was not able to go with her because of my compromised immune system. Daniel handled this one on his own - he did AWESOME!!)
Friday, August 8th - Lisa had her clinical trial infusion for HES and hit the one year mark for treatment (she started on 8/8/13)
Wednesday, August 6 - Daniel had his infusion for Crohn's Disease
Thursday, August 7th - Grace had eye surgery (I was not able to go with her because of my compromised immune system. Daniel handled this one on his own - he did AWESOME!!)
Friday, August 8th - Lisa had her clinical trial infusion for HES and hit the one year mark for treatment (she started on 8/8/13)
Saturday, July 26, 2014
Ready For Battle
She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come.
- Proverbs 31:25
Chemo starts next week. I'm ready!
Friday, July 25, 2014
Letting Her Down
As a mother, our natural instinct is to protect our children. I remember when Grace was first learning to walk, I would follow behind her with my arms hovered around her so I could catch her the instant she fell. I didn't even want her to feel the pain from a scraped knee much less the pain from cancer.
Once I received the news that I had breast cancer, my heart went straight to Grace. What had I done to her future? I feel like I let her down. I put her at risk for something that can take her health away from her. My doctors have told me that she will need to start screening at 21 (10 years younger than I was when I was diagnosed). Her medical history has changed and it started with me.....she is not even three years old. The guilty feelings are very hard to get past. At 21, my hope for her is that she will be graduating from college with the world at her finger tips. I want her to be care free, and I don't want her to have to "interrupt her life" to go get screened -- or worse, treated -- for breast cancer. Instead, she should be worried about plans for a Friday night, not worrying 'is there something in my breast that is growing and could kill me.'
Gracie is so much like me. She sucks on her wrist just as I did as a little girl (who sucks on their wrist?). She changes her clothes multiple times a day, and she has the funniest facial expressions. She’s got a wide range of emotions and will go from 0-60 in a second! I hope breast cancer isn't something she gets..."just like me."
I am grateful that she is so little so hopefully she won't remember these awful days. On the other hand, I hate that she is so little because there have already been times when I can't hold her for a few days. It stings my heart when she asks me to hold her but I have to tell her "No, Mommy has a boo boo and can't pick you up." She doesn't understand, she just looks up at me blankly and holds her arms up and ask again. Why wouldn't I pick her? I always pick her up. I hope she doesn't think I don't love her anymore because I won't hold her.
My hope for Grace during this time is that she continues to be the "full of life" little girl that doesn't notice that she is only two. I hope that she continues to grow, learn, and conquer life. I hope I can look back in a year and see how she has matured, not because of my cancer, but just for the simple fact that she is growing up.
I love you, Gracie and her response would be "you're welcome."
Once I received the news that I had breast cancer, my heart went straight to Grace. What had I done to her future? I feel like I let her down. I put her at risk for something that can take her health away from her. My doctors have told me that she will need to start screening at 21 (10 years younger than I was when I was diagnosed). Her medical history has changed and it started with me.....she is not even three years old. The guilty feelings are very hard to get past. At 21, my hope for her is that she will be graduating from college with the world at her finger tips. I want her to be care free, and I don't want her to have to "interrupt her life" to go get screened -- or worse, treated -- for breast cancer. Instead, she should be worried about plans for a Friday night, not worrying 'is there something in my breast that is growing and could kill me.'
Gracie is so much like me. She sucks on her wrist just as I did as a little girl (who sucks on their wrist?). She changes her clothes multiple times a day, and she has the funniest facial expressions. She’s got a wide range of emotions and will go from 0-60 in a second! I hope breast cancer isn't something she gets..."just like me."
I am grateful that she is so little so hopefully she won't remember these awful days. On the other hand, I hate that she is so little because there have already been times when I can't hold her for a few days. It stings my heart when she asks me to hold her but I have to tell her "No, Mommy has a boo boo and can't pick you up." She doesn't understand, she just looks up at me blankly and holds her arms up and ask again. Why wouldn't I pick her? I always pick her up. I hope she doesn't think I don't love her anymore because I won't hold her.
My hope for Grace during this time is that she continues to be the "full of life" little girl that doesn't notice that she is only two. I hope that she continues to grow, learn, and conquer life. I hope I can look back in a year and see how she has matured, not because of my cancer, but just for the simple fact that she is growing up.
I love you, Gracie and her response would be "you're welcome."
Sunday, July 20, 2014
Why Cake in October?
It seems only natural that the first post should be about the title of the blog - Cake in October. Why did I pick this name for the blog? One of the first things I worried about when I was diagnosed was "how will this affect my children?" I am fortunate to have a strong support network and a good family (you all will never know how much you mean to me).
I think it is amazing how children process the world. James (my 5-year old) knows I am sick but doesn't understand what that means....his life hasn't changed that much. I have slowed down, and I have been to many appointments, but his everyday life has remained stable. As a Mom, I have always enjoyed experiencing Life through my children's eyes. My first experience with this "cancer journey" through James' eyes was during a conversation he had while at lunch with his teacher, Ms. Cathy. She was asking him questions and doing a quick check-in with James to see how he was feeling.
I think it is amazing how children process the world. James (my 5-year old) knows I am sick but doesn't understand what that means....his life hasn't changed that much. I have slowed down, and I have been to many appointments, but his everyday life has remained stable. As a Mom, I have always enjoyed experiencing Life through my children's eyes. My first experience with this "cancer journey" through James' eyes was during a conversation he had while at lunch with his teacher, Ms. Cathy. She was asking him questions and doing a quick check-in with James to see how he was feeling.
James: "My mommy is going to be so sick sometimes she won't be able to get off the sofa. I just hope she is better by October."
Ms. Cathy: "Why October?"
James: "It's my birthday and I really want my mom to eat birthday cake with me."
Ms. Cathy: "Well James, if your Mom doesn't feel good, do you know what you can do?"
James: "What?"
Ms. Cathy: "If your mom is too sick in October, you can freeze the cake and eat it later when she feels better."
James, happy with the explanation, skipped about the rest of his day. When we were eating dinner that night, he told me about the chat with Ms. Cathy.
Ms. Cathy: "Well James, if your Mom doesn't feel good, do you know what you can do?"
James: "What?"
Ms. Cathy: "If your mom is too sick in October, you can freeze the cake and eat it later when she feels better."
James, happy with the explanation, skipped about the rest of his day. When we were eating dinner that night, he told me about the chat with Ms. Cathy.
That's how I got the title Cake in October.
I'm not naive but I can pray and make small goals.
Goal #1: Eat Birthday cake with James in October:)
I hope and pray I will be well enough to eat cake with my sweet boy on his 6th birthday. I think it's so innocent and pure how James' five year old mind understands me being sick. I wish all he had to worry about through this battle was me eating birthday cake with him in October.
I'm not naive but I can pray and make small goals.
Goal #1: Eat Birthday cake with James in October:)
Picture of me with James on Jockey Ridge, Outer Banks June 2014.
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