Posts tagged ‘breast cancer’

I am Moxie.

It’s too early for the plan post. That’ll show up Tuesday. Ish.

I’ve spent three nights in the hospital, mostly coming to terms with physical pain, and learning how to type with a blood oxygen monitor taped to my third finger. While I’ve been here,this silent group of ninjas have been working behind the scenes.

The first time around, I had no idea what to do, so being, me, I searched out my own support network. I had my treatment group on YSC, the Moxies, brave brave girls who all got cancer way too young and many of whom are gone too soon. I had my mothers with cancer, where losses have also been devastating. I had my knitting groups, wickedly smart women who to this day make me laugh on Facebook although I don’t make it to too many knit nights. My church. Family and friends who would just sit with me because I couldn’t do anything else. Moms and dads who would take my kids on a moments notice, family members who drove me to way too many doctors appointments. Planinas who gave me the gift of music when i thought the world was ending. And now all these people, and including, my Stott family, my Shelton Family, my Monterey Family, my neighborhood and I’m sure other families I’m forgetting have been stepping up, offering help while I’ve been in here as if no time has passed. As if I haven’t missed 1800 knit nights. Or it hasn’t been 20 years since high school. Or last week since rehearsal. 🙂

I am not ok. I have a ways to go. Still need the Plan.

But I am a Moxie.

And so are you. You are my Moxie Ninjas. (unless you are an original Moxie, in which case you can choose.)

You help me to know that no matter what the Plan ends up being, it’s going to be ok.

(Heartfeltblog post tip#2. Take the oxygen hose out of your nose if you’re going to cry. It’s drippy and messy.)


And yes. That’s the oxygen monitor that is going to go off now because I took off the hose. And the fact that it’s on my middle finger does not escape me. Take that bone mets.

I’m a Moxie.

Worst Monday ever.

I spent most of today in a Vicodin hazed denial waiting for my oncologist to call. And she did. And it’s bone mets. In my sternum, my ribs and my spine. I am devastated. I am angry. I am frightened. And I guess I’m going to need more hats.


So last night I got dizzy. Like I think I’m going to pass out, my heart is racing, I should probably pull over the car dizzy. Then it happened again this morning. Twice. I went to the doctor and after ruling out a DVT (tamoxifen makes a girl high risk for those), we still don’t have a good answer. The best guess is my naturally low blood pressure dropped even lower causing the dizziness. I guess that happens sometimes.

When I was in high school, I had dizzy spells like this. I carefully practiced not being afraid, breathing deeply and ignoring my hypochondriac tendencies, until I pretty much had it under control by my young adult years. I could get by with, “it’s probably nothing.”

Until it wasn’t nothing. And all that calm was gone. There are so many possible side effects from the treatment, even this far out, and the medicines, it can make your head spin. So now I freak out. Every time. Because I had cancer. And because I have a family. And so so much to lose.

It’s been 4 years.

So when does the fear go away?

What I learned at the surgeon’s office today.

Man.  What a difference a day makes.  Seriously.  Today I saw my surgeon and she helped remove the brick that has been in my stomach since Friday’s diagnosis.  The best words of all were “not lethal”.  (Odd word choice, I know.  Makes me think of Mel Gibson.)  Don’t get me wrong, it’s still dangerous and it’s still scary and it’s still going to be a long haul.  But not lethal.  She wants to do an MRI and some more biopsies on the calcifications to see if there is more cancer on that side.  This will determine whether I get a lumpectomy or a mastectomy.  So truthfully, all I really know that I didn’t know yesterday is that I’m going to have surgery and chemo for sure in the next couple weeks.  Wait.  I did kind of know that.  But now I have a plan!  And with a plan, I can deal and move forward.  I also have an appointment with the plastic surgeon tomorrow (Talk about the cart before the horse.  It’s not even gone yet!) and the oncologist next week.  Right now it looks like they’ll put my chemo port in at the same time as the surgery so I don’t have to be on the table twice.  Fine with me.

 By the way, I just have to say thank you to everybody for their support this weekend.  I cannot tell you how much it means to have so many people thinking and praying for me and my family.  I do believe in God and the power of prayer and faith and I just want you all to know that I believe it has and will make a difference.

And to just show I haven’t yet lost my sense of humor, here is a picture of my poor son.  He’s sicker than a dog.  And this is how he fell asleep this afternoon.  I didn’t have the heart to move him since he was finally sleeping.

Sleeping sickly J