Planning

Addy ran up to me oozing swirling-action-atoms around her like she always does and asked me "how many days until your surgery in the 'HOPital', Grandmum?"  And I didn't know immediately, so she shouted out "Eleven!!"

Every time the twins ask a question, they wait a moment, then look up at the ceiling and murmur, "tick-tock, tick-tock" - like you have a limited amount of time left to cough up an adequate answer.

I had my pre-surgical consult on Wednesday after my end-of-treatment mammogram and ultrasound.

I'm counting days and saying "tick-tock" in my brain - I am so ready to get this cancer tissue out of there and get on.  With everything.

I'm tired of being tired and bone weary still sometimes and tired of not doing anything.  I'm tired of when I do try to do something, it usually ends up in a heaping mess.  I'm "teasing" my brain to make it think a little better.  I am trying to get more than half a mile in on the treadmill any given day before my feet catch on fire.  I am trying to interact and do something I have not done in ever so long -- make plans.

Everything I have done since December 22nd, 2011, has been planned for me.  All I had to do was fasten my seat belt and ride the roller coaster.

I haven't had much say in anything except to answer the burning question of "how many warm blankets do you need today?"

So it's nice all of a sudden this week to be *planning* again.  I "planned" to stop in at my work office and say "hi!" - and to pick up my spare pair of glasses, which I left there in February, then forgot again - but I planned to stop in and say 'hi' to some dear, hard-working ladies - and I did it.

We planned to stay over night at Heidi's after the long day of appointments Wednesday night, and then Heidi and I "planned" to go out the next day - with absolutely no idea of where we might end up.  She took me to the first antique store that we visited over a decade ago when she first moved to Columbus as a sophomore at OSU.  The store was still there on High Street, still oozing its contents out onto the sidewalk holding the door permanently open, which made me feel a little better about being in confined, germy air with a population of people that gave me no prior knowledge as to what their "germ-status" could be.

That first step through that door was a little personal trial, but once inside it was like the galaxy had opened up and my eyes were given item upon item to look at and think about and wonder what it could be used for and to maybe "plan" some paint or decor around it.

I have not done that one favorite thing of mine in ever so long.  I wondered if we needed to paint the damaged hallway in our house.  I wondered what color it should be.  I wondered if I could introduce another complimentary color into the living room.  I had not thought about any *home-planning* at all since I helped put up the Christmas tree in December - which is amazing, because usually I can redecorate a room in my mind at any given moment just by holding one little $2 item in my hand.

It was the first time in a long time I allowed myself to touch some door handles and be around other people that I did not ask if they had an elevated temperature after saying "hi".

When I heard someone cough, I did my best not to flinch and run the other way.

Then, since Heidi's birthday was the next day, we headed to a small gluten-free bakery and had COOKIES!!  I purposely did not stare at the methods of the bakery staff to see if they were touching the cookies, or how many times a purchase was handled without hand sterilizer, I just made myself look the other way and enjoyed some pure sugar delight.

I haven't done that for a long, long time - either sat in a bakery and eat some fresh baked goods, nor not pay attention to other's use of hand sanitizer.  

I'm not doing it very well, and there is not that old calendar in my brain that I can pull up to remember what we are doing, but I am *planning*.

***

The appointments went well on Wednesday.  You might say I have a forever changed standard for measuring long medical days - if they do not involve chemo - I can endure almost anything else.  I had a mammogram on a new machine that was 3-D and you could see rotation.  It was awesome.

OSU-Stephanie Spielman Center-James Cancer Center all believe that "it is your treatment".  If I ask to see it, they show it to me.  There's no secrets about anything.  The mammogram ladies of course cannot tell me their opinion of the view, but they can show me everything I ask to see.  There's no doctor holding the information in their hand on one side of a desk, and you sitting on the other not able to see it nor understand it.  All I have to do is ask, and I see it and know exactly what they are talking about when they explain the results to me later.

She showed it to me and explained how the new machine worked.

I guess I just want to say a few good words about my "people" down there off of Route 315 - they are awesome.  And their equipment - state of the art.  You might remember me oohing and aahing over their digital mammogram the last time I had one to satisfy the study I was in - but this newer one was incredible and they were all excited about using it.

I have stood beside of veterinarians looking at X-rays a lot in my lifetime, and to be honest, I understand completely why you need trained eyes to see problems - they are not so easy to read at times when it comes to tissue.

With this one, even I could easily see the results before being told later.

I went to ultrasound, and after some trials, the lady finally found the tumors, and call me crazy, but I swear, I swear, when I peered at the screen there sitting masquerading as tumors were the shapes of two eyes - then a wicked, crooked demonic smile was under them - looking at me.

Crazy as all get-out I know.  But it made me a little nauseous.

I prayed the blood of Jesus over that view and told that evil, vile thing hanging out inside me that its days were numbered.  I prayed that the God of the universe would bless my body and my cells to eradicate that evil.  That wicked leaven that had taken over my life, knocked me into a corner not knowing if I would survive this or not was looking at me, scoffing, and I prayed that the Lord God Adonai, the One who hears, would remove it.

And that it would not be smiling any longer.

***

Dr. Povosky was cautiously optimistic.  The first such set of tests I had done March 7th, showed incredible results.  The second set had no change.  This set, this set - showed "minimal" tumors.

He said it was good news but that doesn't mean that we won't find cancer cells in the pathology after surgery.  He said the views looked good, but that doesn't mean the lymph glands will show clear.

When we talked in March looking at my results, I was informed I was going to have to do radiation after surgery.  I didn't want to, but they didn't really give me a choice.

When we talked in May looking at my results, they told me I might have to do another round of chemo after surgery as well.  I was pretty deflated.

If I get a green light after the pathology report one week after surgery - meaning no cancer cells in any of the tissue or lymph nodes - then I won't have to do the extra round of chemo.

I'm smiling as I type this, just like I smiled at Dr. P on Wednesday.  By nature, I have to foresee every possible problem and know the contingency plans to accompany them.  That's my job in life - to look at the problems and know what needs to happen with each event.  It has little to do with hope or faith or optimism, but everything to do with knowing the obstacles and "being ready".

Personally seeing my test views that day gave me a "release" somewhere deep inside me.  We still don't know what the pathology report will say, and I know there is still that evil intertwining inside me that can and has caused all kinds of chaos, but seeing that mammogram and ultrasound, released what has been on hold for seven months.

I'm still smiling.

***

The surgical nurse went over a fifty-two page booklet with me.  I had no idea of some of the side effects patients endure after losing lymph glands.

I should not move my left arm for three weeks.  No exercise for three weeks.  No movement that will use your chest muscles as well, which is almost everything.  Basically, because the lymph glands are not there any longer doing their job, they just don't want you to move for three weeks so you will not create a pocket of fluid that could, at worst, need to be surgically taken care of again.

If I'm really good and obey my surgeon's directions, I get one drain removed per week.  The drains are pretty cool, but I am thinking I am not going to like them a whole lot, making me a bit motivated to be obedient.

Actually, I told his nurse going over this booklet with us, that chemo had kind of put out any obstinate fire I had when it comes to medical issues.  I've been skooled.  Ejucated.

The next paragraph states that you should still "get out".  But don't lift anything with your arm.  Or move your chest muscles.  For like forever.   

I had no idea that you had to protect that arm the rest of your life.  It will get infection easier because there are no lymph glands to help take care of it.  If I cut my arm or hand on that side, I should start antibiotics.  I need to wear gloves when gardening or doing dirty jobs.

I can never lift over 15-20 pounds with that arm again.  For the first couple of weeks or months or however long he decides, depending on how effectively I listen to him, I can't lift over two pounds.

I can't fly, which greatly affects our ten year "places-to-go-bucket-list" we made up two years ago.  I have never been to visit my sister that has lived in Oregon for most of her life.  Never.  Apparently, flying is not the greatest thing to do to your non-lymph-glanded-arm - now or for a very long time.  You can, later, but it's not an ideal situation.

I never knew that.

I won't be able to lift my arm over my head for eight weeks.  She told me to get clothes that are button front, easy to get on without moving your arm or chest muscles and that will be big enough to allow for the drains.

Heidi and I looked for pajamas the other night - because I just don't have a proper button front pair - and it's more difficult to find clothing that will work than I imagined.  Button-front and over-sized is not to be found this year.

Scott might be missing some shirts......

***

They know that we have a long drive, so they try to cram as many appointments into one day as they can to accommodate us.  It is awesome that they do that for us, but the last time I saw my surgeon, my oncologist, did an ultrasound and did a mammogram it wasn't such a good day.  And then I went to chemo mid-afternoon and had the dreaded carbo on top of the other two chemos.

So Wednesday when it was all over, I kind of felt like I had a "get out of jail free" card.  After my last appointment, we left the building, got into the car, and drove away.

A friend of mine told me that when I got through the chemo, everything else would seem "less" in comparison.

I so agree.

***

As I am planning for surgery and collecting things that I am going to be needing, I keep praying, praying, and it's not so much for what I want - no cancer cells - but it more goes like this:

Blessed are Thou, Lord God King of the universe, that gives me breath today.  Blessed are Thou, Lord God King of the universe that blesses me.

Last night we went to our house church for the first time since December.  Lee Ann said that the idea of "blessing" is like someone that comes before you, and stoops down laying before you all kinds of gifts and goodness to give you pleasure and happiness.

This is my paraphrase, so I hope I got the idea correct.

But that idea is so filling my brain today and kind of how I have been feeling the last couple of weeks - it's not ideal - but then again it's been the best.  I feel like God is coming before me and laying before me all kinds of gifts and good things, giving me pleasure and happiness and soul satisfying connections with those around me.

He has been so good.

So I pray that my platelets and red blood cells come up and show strong on Wednesday when I have to get one more blood draw, and that nothing will happen to delay this surgery - but I still feel like there is a banquet prepared before me in the midst of the wilderness and in the presence of my enemy.

I spilled water all over me last night while they were doing a big videotaping of the house church and no matter how hard I tried to not be in the view, I have water dripping all over my shirt and dripping down onto the couch and I could feel it slowly soaking my jeans, and all I could envision was Steve Martin onscreen looking like Karen Gerwig, and I was horrified.

I say and do crazy things like forget my glasses and Scott thinks I am squirming too much and keeps asking me if I am ok and he cannot hear me when I say "I'm fine", he asks again and can't hear me again when I say "I'm ok - I forgot my glasses", and finally when he asked me one more time why I wasn't reading along, I hissed "I CAN'T SEE" because he wasn't hearing me and I'm sure half the room heard me.

So his care and concern was all good, my response - crazy.  I told Lee Ann last night that you would think that had all been burned out of me somewhere along the way......

Heavy sigh.

But, through all my slow integration back into society, and pressing myself up against germs that haven't seen me for eons, and getting over my OCD along with cautions from my doctor that I am not "there" yet, but don't worry so much, through all of this, God is so *blessing* me.

***

Even at Cracker Barrel.  On our way home from Columbus, we were stopped on Polaris for almost an hour.  Scott says it was forty-five minutes, I am inclined to tell you it was well over three hours.

When we finally got onto 71, we were hungry and discussing our dinner options which would now be very late by the time we got home and prepared something.  No tuna.  No frozen "quick" anything.  So I told him when I saw the Cracker Barrel sign, that we should just truly live on the edge and stop and eat.

I asked the waitress to please put my plate in the microwave for three minutes.  She did it very nicely.  A couple of people stared at me, but as I told Scott, we weren't in Columbus anymore Toto.  Women with cropped hair are not all that uncommon there.

I have not carried a purse because I haven't needed one for a long time.  I have a large bag that carries my drugs, medical information and my port registration along with a thermometer, and any number of things I need on days we travel to Columbus for appointments and treatments.

We haven't needed to buy a whole lot.  We didn't stop and get lunch, we didn't do any shopping while there, it was pretty much a get-gas, get there and get home kind of trips.

When I went with Heidi earlier that day, I asked Scott to give me his debit and credit card just in case I saw something......  I asked Heidi to carry it in her wallet.

As we get the check after our meal at Cracker Barrel, and start walking to the front feeling over-full and like we had succeeded in me walking in without a hat, eating and even enjoying it some, as we are laughing a little feeling like Dora the Explorer and saying "we did it!" - Scott pulls out his little stack of cards that he keeps in his pants pocket - his drivers license, Triple A card - then we look at each other and had a sudden realization of horror that we have nothing, nothing with which to pay for our meal.

Because I forgot to get his credit and debit card out of Heidi's purse before we left.

I had been trying to believe that my really short hair had not been such a big deal.  Then I realized I had to ask for a manager as Scott was outside desperately searching the car for any morsel of money or card or anything that he might find that would pay for our meal.

I have not had to sound like I was a vagabond trying to steal a meal ever in my life.  The more I talked, the more the two ladies listening raised their eyebrows and just looked at me like, "uh-huh".  Their eyes said "we've heard this before".

I think I was close to handcuffs when Scott came back in with a check - and the ladies suddenly happily said that yes, Cracker Barrel is one of the few restaurants left that do accept checks.

I probably took ten years off of each of our lives that evening.

I plan to find a purse this week that is light and easy to carry.  Scott is planning to help me.

But even so, I am reminded again how I am getting a meal in the desert before my enemy, and it is a gift that is brought before me with the hope that it will give me pleasure and comfort and peace and hope and encouragement and nourishment to my soul.

Cracker Barrel doesn't feel that way so much, but God does.