Is it the end?

About a month ago I met my new oncologist, Dr. Wahl. She is taking over Dr, Kraemer's patients. I'm not good at new things, so this was kind of awkward. First, I couldn't see her in August like I wanted to because she didn't have an opening for a "new patient". I didn't think I was new. I'd been going to their office since 2009, I just never saw her. But then again their office was closed (that's another story). So I had my appointment in September. I'm not sure why this bugged me, but my yearly appointments have always been in August and I kind of wanted to keep it that way. I had a schedule and I didn't want it to break it. I even sobbed over this. It is always amazing to me how emotional I privately get over cancer stuff. I'm not talking about a tear escaping, I'm talking about hiding-in-the-shower-with-tears-streaming-down-our-cheeks-and-running-out-of hot-water-before-you-stop-crying emotional. (I'm sure my high school English teacher just grimaced with that sentence.) 

I met with Dr. Wahl and she and I discussed my medical history and unlike Dr. Kraemer who didn't insist I get my port out and left it up to me, she highly suggested that I get it out.

Her: "Think of all the free time you will have when you don't have to visit us each six weeks to get a flush." 
Me: "But when I do I ask for a blood draw and we are keeping tabs on the cancer." 
Her: "You don't need it, treatment is over."
Me: "But I'm afraid it will return and kill me."
Her: "There is a 2% chance it will return."
ME: "But there is a chance."
Her: "I sent the paperwork in for surgery. I see you like Evergreen."
Me: "But there is still a chance."
Her: "I declare you cured." 
Me: "I give up!"

So yesterday, Oct 18, 2016, I did it. I had it removed. If I had gotten it out in August 2010, it would have been a very simple five minute process in a sterile room. But because I have had it in for six and a half years, I had to be sedated and it had to be done in a OR room. Of course it took only a few minutes and I wasn't totally out (or so they say). I went in as 12:30, surgery was at 2, and I was home before 4. Easy! 

I'm just recovering now. No lifting for two days, No showers for two days (they didn't stitch the wound close--used some bondo for skin stuff). and then I should be right as rain. Except...Is this really the end?

I truly am so nervous. This has been one of the hardest things I've ever done. Physically it was torture. I've reread my journal during active treatment and I can't believe I lived through it. The memories of the physical pain make me cringe and cry.
"Like giving birth to an elephant,"
"I can't seem to catch my breath, "
"I can walk up and down the stairs twice a day, so I plan my day carefully." 
Emotionally, I still live it. I look at the marks cancer has left on my body every day in the shower and when I'm getting dressed and I thank my lucky stars it's not worse, but they remind me every day of the emotional pain I lived through.
"I can't believe I'm bald. My crown of womanhood is gone."
"Nothing prepares you to write your farewell letter to your children."
"Everyday I wake up and think, 'Is this my last?'"
"I want to see my grandchildren."
"Please, just let me live one more day!"
And I continue to say those things weekly, if not daily. 

On Monday night, I almost called to cancel the surgery. I cried myself to sleep.
While in the recovery room before surgery (funny but it was the same room I was in when I went back to have it placed in April of 2010), I cried because...I don't know why I cried. Thankfully the nurse understood; she's a breast cancer survivor. 
After being wheeled back into the room post surgery, I cried again.
And I'm crying writing this.

So I'm not sure I'm happy to have my port gone. It's only been a few hours and I'm still bandaged up so I'm not even sure what the new scar looks like. But I'm sure every morning it will remind me I have cancer. Maybe someday I will say, "I had cancer," but right now that is a dream, I can't say that right now. I can't believe it. I'm afraid to say it. Maybe it will jinx it, maybe it won't be true and right now, my faith sees that 2% chance and it scares me to death.

In the meantime, I'm going to fantasize about going to sleep and rolling over on my right shoulder and not have my port pinch me. I'm going to realize that I can hug someone tight (or them me) and my port won't pinch me. I wonder if that will happen....

I wish I could go back and have my 10 year old daughter whose head would nestle right there and hug her without grimacing. She never saw that face, but I made it each time I hugged her. That one I wish I could go back and redo. 

In the meantime, I might just go take a long hot shower because this has been a really hard road to travel. 
 

2559--a big number, sort of.

The other day I looked at my dayscounter. It's and app I have on my phone that countdowns days (or counts up days) to important events in my life. My favorite category is "Missionary". It tells me how many days a missionary has been out and how many days until he comes home (give or take a few). I really like that category. (BTW--it's about 550 days until Matt comes home).  I also like the "Running" category as it tells me who many days until my next race. Unfortunately I don't have a race in the near future; it's 319 days until Ragnar 2017, if you care to know. 

But there is one category I really don't like to look at: "Cancer". You see it reminds me of all sorts of bad memories. There are very few good memories associated with the word "cancer." I just lived through one of the hardest months associated with the word cancer. 

Back in 2009, I went in search for what was causing my back to ache. The search began in earnest in late June and by mid August a "mass" was discovered. I went in for a biopsy and then waited a very long time--OK, it was only five days, but that seemed like an eternity. 

So I'm not sure what exact date on the calendar you can call my "diagnosis" official, but it was the last week of August. I had the biopsy surgery on a Friday, went to a family reunion and then got home on Wednesday and there was a message on the phone that I had cancer. So was it that Wednesday (on the phone) or the Thursday when I sat in Dr. Kraemer's office and he said the words, "You have Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma"? I don't know and I don't think one day matters. But for me I put down Thursday, August 27, 2009, as my death date. The date that I was told I was going to die. Ok, Dr. Kraemer didn't exactly say those words, but this is what I heard...word for dreadful word...

Dr. K: "The blah, blah, blah, blah came back and it says you have Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma, a form of blood cancer. Blah, blah, blah, radiation, blah, blah, blah, chemotherapy, blah, blah, blah, treatment, blah, blah, blah, keep you alive until there is a cure. Blah, blah, blah, blah, ...."
Me: "So I'm going to die?"
Dr. K: "YES!!!" (in reality he said, no, but I heard yes shoulted from the top of the Space Needle.)

When August comes around each year I have to grit my teeth and hope that I don't let a wave of negativity flow over me. It get's pretty hard when you think of all the awfulness that August as brought into my life (I buried my sister and my mom in August and diagnosed with cancer--pretty awful month). But I also have to think of the wonderful things August has brought into my life. 

Here's a short list:
Baby boy #4
Baby girl #1 (Baby #6)
Annual camping trips--always fun
HOT SUMMERS!!!
Fall approaching (I love early fall!)
Soccer season  (my favorite sport)
Remission (August 5th--my new birthday!)

So it been 2559 since that day I sat in Dr. Kraemer's office and he told me I was going to die. Pretty good that I've lived for an extra 2559 days. I hope I have many, many more days. 

And since we are throwing out numbers:
2216 days since "remission" was said.
390 days since 5 year remission (BENCHMARK #1)
1437 Day until 10 years in remission! (BENCHMARK #2)

PS: Yes, I do cry in every August 27th. I usually do it in the shower. Quietly and alone. I mourn for the person I was, yet celebrate the person I've become. 

Four Years....

It has almost been four years that I have traveled this journey called cancer.  I have learned a lot, gained a lot and lost a lot.  I have cried a lot and smiled a lot.  These past few months have been a roller coster of emotions.  We are coming into what I want to call the longest year.  it is the year that leads up to the bench mark of five years.  Why is five years so important? Five years marks the spot where statistically the odds jump and are in your favor. A whole bunch of statistics start to be in my favor.

For patients 45 and younger (barely make that one) my survival rate goes up to 78% after the five year mark if I don't have a relapse. In fact that went up at the two year mark, but I didn't want to celebrate too much!

For patients with an agressive NHL (which I have) the survival rates go up and relapse go down after five years.  

(Now it should be noted that scientist and doctors use the 5 and 10 year marks as a marker but it gives patients hope and a gauge for recovery.) 

So here I sit within two months of my four year mark--August 2013, and I'm looking back at the journey I have traveled.  What a journey.  I'm not ready to close the book; I don't think that will ever happen until there is a cure, but I'm ready to face this next year. One that is full of anticipation and trepidation for me.  Every blood draw has a heavier sign of relief. Every scan is dreaded even more. "What if they find something?" is a question I ask. 

Well, I had my end of the three year scan and it did show something. I have a node in my right pelvic region that has grown just a bit. It went from 1 cm to 1.3 cm. Now that dosen't seem like a lot, but it is 30% bigger than it should be and that is a LOT. I know I shop for sales that are 30% or more!   

The first scan was back in March and then we did another scan the beginning of June and it showed the growth so I went in last week for the all telling PETCT scan. (This is the one where you are on a high protein diet--no carbs-- and then you drink a sugar drink--GROSS!--then they shot you with a nuclear medication and then they scan you. The nuclear medication will go where there is cell growth and it will "light" up the screen.  Well the results are in and the screen lit up on a very little bit.  Doctor Kraemer isn't alarmed just yet and he wants to just watch it and scan again in September.  

I'm not sure if that is a sigh of relief I just let out or a sigh of "not again".  Anyway, I can move forward with my life. 

I know many of you complain about the mundaneness of life, but enjoy it; there are far bigger worries out there.   

42

Well, I turned 42 a few weeks back and had publicly stated that I was going to run 42 miles (to Seattle and back) for my birthday.  Well, I sort of did it.

Here is the story:
One day while on a 4 mile run (those are easy now), I couldn't shake the email I got from a friend about a little girl with cancer who had passed away earlier that week.  Here I was celebrating one year remission while a little girl didn't get to celebrate her fourth birthday. I was going to be turning 42 in just weeks. That more than 10 times longer than that little girl got to live. I also was (still am) having a hard time raising money for my next run. I had to do something. I made up my mind to run the Burke-Gilman/Sammamish River Trail for my birthday. It had to be close to 20 miles there and back.  I've run almost every part of it, except the top part and I would like to do it from Marymoor (home) to the end (Gasworks). (I know it isn't the "end" but that is a good "end" in my mind.) That would make 42 or so miles.

Without talking to my husband I posted it. Now it was public and I was stupid ambitious. My husband of course read about it (I didn't want say those words to him) and he told me I was silly.  He didn't say much else (I think he knows better) and just let me go about thinking I was going to pull it off.  He didn't even offer to help me (no water stop etc), but pick me up when I died.  We sort of talked about it, but for the most part he just shrugged it off and never really offered any support.

When it came time to put rubber to the trail, things changed.  The day before my long run we held a family council. (Yes, we hold weekly family council; we have to, we have kids going every which way and if we don't...well, hell breaks loose anyway, I just don't want to see what it would be without it) and the kids brought up a few good points on why I shouldn't run 42 miles the next day.

1. No medical tent at the end of the race.
2. No water stops.
3. No coaches or teammates to push me (or stop me).
4. It was the last day before Kray went off to college and he didn't want to spend it in the ER with his mom.
5. We had promised the kids a day on the town and still hadn't paid it and it had been about three summers.
6. No one wanted to cheer me on or help me.
7. I had already run 26.2 miles and was going to add another 26.2 miles during the year I turn 42 and that added up to MORE than 42 miles.

So I compromised.

I got up at 5 and ran until I hit the detour on the trail. My fear of getting lost (I have a HUGE fear of getting lost) over came me and I called Steve to come get me.  I had spent 2 hours and 30 minutes running and covered 14.3 miles that morning. I truly felt like I could have run another two hours.  I was home before the kids were all up, showered and ready for our day at the EMP.

As I thought about it I decided that during my birthday month, September, I was going to run those 42 miles. So, here is my log so far (and I'm only counting my Saturday long runs):
Sept 5th 14.3 miles
Sept 10th 12.2 miles
Sept 14th 12.2 miles
So I have logged 38 miles already and this Saturday will probably get in another12 miles. So I'll be well over my 42 miles for my birthday month.

But the whole reason I did this was to raise funds for my run in November. I don't want to beg or plead, because I'm awesome and can run so far, do it because of that girl who didn't get to see her fourth birthday.  That's why you should donate, not because I can run, but because she won't ever.

Doreen's donation page

PS: just for fun my log books says that for the year of 2011 I've run over 575 miles!

A Hard Week

Some days are harder than others and today is just one of those.  It started about a week ago and I just can't shake this sadness in my heart.

First, you have to know that I had a blood draw on Monday and those always worry me.  I got a call back on Wednesday and although my white blood count is down to a 2.6, the doctor isn't worried and hasn't scheduled a scan. I just have to come in for my next blood draw and exam (two separate appointments). I should be happy about this, but for some reason, I'm just not. I think I'm a little scared.

Well that sacred feeling is the second and third thing I want to talk about.

On Sunday a friend of mine passed away after having an asthma attack. She was only 37 and left four children, the oldest just a year older than my oldest.  This just makes me check on my life even once more.  Then this happened this week...

A "twisted sister" who had four years remission until earlier this year, heard the news that it was back. Now what is so shocking is that earlier this year it came back and so they did a bone marrow transplant and thought they got it, but her test just came back (like last night) and her cancer is back.  I just have one year under my belt.

All this together and my emotions are running hills.  Up one moment (test was OK), down the next (Makala passed), up one (doc doesn't want a scan), down the next (CW's cancer is back), down even further (attend funeral for friend), down even more (argue with family members) and so forth.  Yes, most of them are down.

I just can't seem to get a hold of my emotions and therefore the days get harder and harder. 

Seven months and counting--but I still have cancer.

I posted on my Caring Bridge page that my MRI scan and blood work came back clean! That makes seven months and counting!!! But then again who is counting--ME!!!! That great news, but they still don't know why the pain. I hope it is "growing" pains and that my muscle is starting to heal.

I'm still running to help with the pain, healing (mental and physical) as well as raising money. It seems like that is the only thing I can physically do to fight my own cancer. There isn't much I can physically do, but this I can do!

I need to make something very clear; my cancer is not curable. Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma does NOT have a cure at this time. That is why it is so important for me to keep getting these clean scan and blood work reports. I have a very aggressive form of NHL and the reports of re occurrence aren't great, so I have to fight. I'm sort of sad that people I love and care for aren't as supportive as I thought they would be. I know I'm not in chemo anymore, but every day I wake to the fact that I'm still fighting for my life--every single day! Not a day goes by that I'm not fighting--FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE! I truly am running to save my life!

So to my friends and family who think the fight is over--YOU ARE WRONG! My fight will not end--it can't. I still have children to raise and grand babies to kiss! This is a very lonely battle. One I fight by myself every day. That's why I pray that my scans come back clean, why I run and why I raise money. My fight is not over--and yours shouldn't be either.

Yes, I did turn in my paper work and if I don't raise the money, it will come out of my pocket--I believe in fighting my cancer that much. Please help me. You can either donate here, send me a check and/or drop me a quick email to tell me to keep fighting. I save them or those days when I'm worried, feel really lousy or just need a pick me up--a reminder of why I should fight hard to stay alive long enough for a cure to be found. Remission is great, but cured would be better!

DIGNITY

Dig-ni-ty
noun
bearing, conduct or speech indicative of self-respect or
appreciation of the formality or gravity of an occasion or situation
worthiness
relative standing
a sign or token of respect

I don't have much dignity left after being subject to the medical horrors of body scans, X-rays, biopsies, surgeries, radiations, chemotherapy, and then being bald. But what little bit I have left, I would really like to hold on to. In the next 30 days I have to hop on a plane to travel and I'm not looking forward to the body pat down. See, I won't get a choice because I have a port. I will be probed once again and by someone who I don't have a relationship with nor with this person and I have any relationship after wards. I'm sure they will have little training and I'm sure it will hurt. My port hurts when I just bump it in the shower.

Rep. Sharon Cissna from Alaska knows exactly what I'm talking about. She opted for a 12 hour ferry ride from Seattle just so she wouldn't have to have a body search at Sea-Tac. I totally get it. I haven't even gone through it and I'm in tears already and I feel like I'm going to throw up. I don't like flying anyway and to add lemon juice to an open wound (yes that pun is intended) now they are going to pat me down like a criminal--all because I have a damn port in my chest!

What is so funny, is I'm not shy about showing off my port to those who want to see it. I just guess being forced to be patted down is something else altogether.

I hope I can pack my dignity in my carry on and pull it out once I land because right now I don't feel like I have any left.

I'm a W-O-M-A-N

It is hard to feel like a woman when you're bald. But after six months of growing out my hair I actually had enough to hit with a bit of bleach and then have my wonderful hair stylist trim it. She barely cut it--more like gave it a shape. Not looking too bad. I do feel a little more like a woman than before.

Six very long years

I tried desperately not to think about it. I really did and that is why I'm up this early thinking about it and now blogging about it.
In 2002 at 5:40 in the morning my life changed forever. I was hit. I was in an auto accident that could have and probably should have taken my life. But since I'm typing right now, it didn't and I have to live with the aftermath.
Physically it shook my world and until the day I'm resurrected with a perfect body I will probably feel the effects of the accident in my back and especially in my neck. I have been in therapy for six long years and have personally decided that I think I'm done. The only thing that brings relief are therapeutic massages and our insurance doesn't cover them. So I will pop pills when needed to control the pain and stiffness and be done with twice a month therapy.
Mentally I think I will always suffer from PTS for the rest of my life. I can't tell you what it does or when it will strike, but every now and then I just can't handle life. Every one is out to get me. Headlights are the worse thing for me and they make my heart race. To this day they still make me think. I hate it. I truly hate it.
I often wonder what my life would be like if I hadn't been hit. I know the positive things that have come out of this--OK, I can only think of one today and that is that I'm still alive and I don't take life for granted anymore--but I think of al the negative things that have been a result of this. All the thousands of dollars that we have personally spent on my healing. That one really hurts because here I sit six years later and wonder how much of that money was just thrown away because it did no good. What could I have done with it? Could I have put that to better use for my family. That is where the sting lies. As we struggle today to put food on the table, gas in the cars and clothes on our back I wonder how many thousands of dollar did I waste. Then there is the time I wasted chasing the ultimate cure. What I would give to have those hours back. I don't dare even do the math on how much time was spent on trying to heal my body. I know some of it did good, but what about the stuff that didn't do a darn thing? I will never get those months, weeks or years back.

But I sit here today surrounded by my loved one (who are still in bed or at seminary) and I'm thankful that the Lord sent His angels to protect me that morning. I wish I could do it all over again, but I'm just glad I'm able to be here with my children and husband. Through all the depression and PTS I've been through they have stood beside me and prayed for my well being. I know I'm still here because of them.

I'm grateful to be alive.

PS /thebackdor/2006/01/morning-that-changed-my-life.html is my post about the accident.

Seeing Inside

I have had a bad shoulder for a few months now. In fact I don't even recall when it started. I just know that I wasn't able to raise my arms over my head without pain in my left shoulder joint. That meant that I couldn't put dishes in upper cabinets, wash windows, throw a ball and hope that all the people I needed to hug were shorter than I. As any mother can testify, you need to raise your hands; mirrors don't magically clean themselves, dishes don't get put away and your sons soon get taller than you.

The pain got to be unbearable so I went to the doctor. The doctor sent me to physical therapy and it seemed to improve for a few months, but it then went down hill and it went fast. Back to the doctor I went. She was befuddled and didn't know what to do. After some pondering she wanted to have a MRI on my shoulder to make sure there wasn't a small tear in the muscles she was missing.

Off to the MRI machine I went. Thankfully the procedures isn't all that painful. I had some dye shot into the joint and then x-rays and the MRI done. It wasn't painful as much as it was uncomfortable. The joint was very sore the next day from all the excess fluid, and the pain was still there. She also referred me to a doctor who specialized in shoulders. The MRI film was sent to his office and the appointment was made.

As I this doctor examined me, he had me do a series of strength tests. I couldn't have failed worse! The slightest touch on my outstretched hand and down the arm would go. I was so weak. He ordered an x-ray and when the results came back he found the problem. I had a kidney bean size calcium deposit in my shoulder joints.

He took a long needle, filled it with stuff and then gave me a shot. He told me to move the joint around and that he would be back in 10 minutes. True to his word it was 10 minutes. He preformed the strength tests again and I did much better. He has to actually work a bit more to push my out stretched arm down. He told me to go home, use the arm as I would normally do, but recognize the it probably wasn't as strong as before the problem so be careful not to over do it, and then come back in 4 weeks.

I made that appointment and then went on my merry way.

That afternoon I had an enormous headache as the muscles relaxed and my shoulder was freed from being held together in a strange position. I just spent the day in bed, caught up on reading and tried not to think of the pain in my head.

The next morning I was able to shampoo my hair using both hands. Later that week I went swimming and for the first time ever I could do the crawl with both arms. I could do the racing back stroke. I could wash the mirrors in our bathroom (but I'm still going to assign them out) and I could put away a heavy dish above the counter!

I learned a valuable lesson that day. When things aren't going right and the things we are doing to make it right aren't working; look deeper. Look inside. You might be surprised at what you find. It also taught me that sometimes we need to go to specialists to find the problem. I also learned that some treatments just cover up what isn't working and never get to the root of the problem. We need to be careful as we examine what is wrong in our life. Why isn't it working? What might be the problem? Do we need someone else to look at it? Do we need to rest it, work through it or find an alternative? And how do we prevent it form coming back.

My calcium deposit might stay with me for ever, or it might break up and disappear. It could also require surgery to remove it. I haven't walked down that road. Right now I am just thankful to know what the problem is and that there are alternative solutions. I don't know what the future holds for me, but I do know I was taught a valuable lesson.

Anger and Frustration

WARNING: I'm going to rant! You could say this is my way of throwing a tantrum.

Three years ago some idiot (and I will call him that since he has gone missing and won't own up to what he did to me) hit me and has changed my life. I don't like what I've had to become. Ok, there are parts I sort of like, but for the most part the past three years have been hell. I want my life back! I want to go and do, not sit and watch.

These past few weeks we have been painting two kids' bedrooms. An easy task three years ago, but not now. I can barely even get the furniture out of the bedrooms without fatigue and pain. Because my husband is a slave at Microsoft he has very limited hours in which he can help me, so I try to do the preliminary stuff so he can do the painting. I taped, patched and primed Jessie's room and then paid for it by not being able to move the next day. A week later we are in Matt, Chris and Mike's rooms and this time I thought I would take it easy. I still did a bit and am paying for it. All I want to do is a simple stripe and before I get a three foot section done, my arm goes numb!

About a year ago I wrote a letter to the man who hit me and as I sit and read it again, nothing has changed. I still hate what he has done to me. I still spend four days a week in therapy--painful therapy. I have undergone surgeries to have pain taken away. They have worked, but when that pain is gone, they then find the next layer (where we are at today).

Things I can no longer do because it hurts: wash mirrors, water ski or tube, jump on a trampoline, garden, sit and spend hours sewing, spend hours surfing the web, mow a lawn, hold a baby, clean the house, iron a shirt, spend hours playing the piano, and I'm sure there are others that I can't remember. Believe it or not, but I love to do all these things. (I would add spend time cooking--but then I would lie because I don't like to cook.)

Shall I add the mental anguish: driving in fear (I still do--won't even drive Steve's car), depression, stupid hair styles, doctor's & therapist's conflicting advice, gaining weight, too much time spent on me not my family and the money worries.

I don't even want to start with how much this has cost us. We are close to $100,000 just in medical bills. If I was to add all the extras that this has cost us it would be frightening. I think of all the things I could have done to save us money but instead I was spending it on therapy and things to make my life easier. The hot pads, ice packs, frozen dinners, all those dinners out, all the yard work that doesn't get done or I have to pay children to do, ditto on house work (but that ok, we don't have money to pay the children anyway), etc.

But I think the thing that hurt the worse was last night when my husband came to bed complaining of aches and pains from his weekend of painting and working around the house. Those aches and pain shouldn't be there--those are mine. His worries are at his job, not at home. I'm the one who is supposed to take care of making our home a wonderful place. I just want to say, I'm so sorry Steve. I didn't want to get hit, I didn't plan on getting hit, I didn't want us to go through this hell and I'm so sorry that the 9 months they first told us has come and gone and gone again and again, and I'm still not better. This effects the whole family and I'm so sorry. I wish I could keep this from the family, but unfortunately I can't and we have to live with it.

Boy do I wish this would end! I want to do the things that I enjoyed. As I realized a few months ago while I was watching my kids have a blast on a slip-n-slide that when I sit and watch it is maybe a 3 on a scale of 1-10 (10 being the best) and 5 when I see that my kids are having a blast. But knowing that when I did it with my kids it was a 10--it HURTS!

Well, that was my major tantrum for the day. I've wiped the tears from my face, reapplied my make-up and I will sit and watch while my husband paints the bedroom, put up the closet organizer and try not to start crying again.

Doreen

Bronchitis

Four the last four weeks I've been fighting no voice. My voice would be here one day and then gone the next. My kids have been fighting something on and off since Christmas. I prayed a lot that our trip to Big White would be sickness free and it was. I prayed that I wouldn't get anything before my surgery. I guess I should have asked for the "not at all" blessing, but I couldn't be so lucky.

This past Monday (four days after surgery) I woke up with no voice again and that evening a terrible cough started. It has progressingly gotten worse. I was going to call the doctor but I would wake in the morning and feeling pretty good for being sick. I would pass off on calling the doctor. As the day would progress the cough would get worse but I would be too busy to call and then night would fall.

Well this morning it was way too much and I called. The diagnoses was bronchitis.

I guess I have to stay home for a few days.

I hate being sick!

Doreen

A Success

Yesterday I went "under the knife" so to speak. I had a procedure called a Nuerotomy. In layman's terms I had three nerves in my neck killed to stop the pain cycle so that I can heal.

Everything went fine and I'm still alive, but there was a hiccup in the procedure. In the middle of the procedure the ironing board size table I was on was bumped and I woke up. The trouble with that is that I'm a light-weight when it come to narcotics. Just a little goes a LONG way. But I'm so nervous going into things like this that they have to put me further under than most people. Well, they had to use a bit more to put me out after the bumping. This became a problem when they wanted me to wake up in the recovery room. It took me a bit longer to wake up and when I did my blood pressure dropped. It was a bit scary for a minute, but they pumped me with other drugs to counteract the narcotics used to put me out.

So it took a bit longer to wake up than they would have liked, but I made it home. I now have three small holes in my back where the needles went in to burn the nerves. I am very hopeful that what they did will help me break the pain cycle so that healing can progress.

I now must stop writing because the codeine from my pain killer is kicking in and I want to go to sleep.

Doreen

The Morning that Changed My Life

Throughout this blog I have mentioned a medical condition that I have and I should probably take a moment to explain myself because what happened to me on November 26, 2002 will forever be part of me for good or ill.

It was two days before Thanksgiving and I was on my way to an aerobic class in a small town about 13 miles east of my home. I had done this for the past eight years and there was nothing unusual about this day.

As I pulled up to the intersection to a highway I came to a stop. It was very early and very dark. I know the time to have been 5:40 because the radio station was doing "traffic and weather on the tens" and I left my home at 5:30. I was in my husband's very beautiful silver Lexus.

As I stopped I looked North to see if any cars were coming. I noticed a pair of headlights by the "llama farm" as my family called it. I then looked south. In my mind I said, "If no one is coming from the south then I can go when this other car clears the intersection. I saw no car coming from the south so I turned to watch the car clear the intersection.

As my eyes followed his headlights I noticed they were going to turn. There was no turn signal flashing and my thought was, "He is going to fast to make this turn. HE IS GOING TO HIT ME!" I do not remember anything after that for at least 10 full minutes.

The next thing I remember is someone "Tom" I believe his name was, asking me if I was OK. I don't recall much of anything else that morning. Somehow I talked to my husband on the phone. Somehow I talked the medical dudes to take me to the hospital by ambulance and not a helicopter. (There was no way I was going to admit I was that hurt.)

I had no idea how bad off I really was and in the giant picture of life, I was lucky and I was fortunate. Test have proven that the internal organs are severed of someone who is hit on their side by someone going 34 mph. At about 40 mph the spine is snapped. The guy who hit me was going 50-60 mph and driving a full size pick up truck.

I was released from the hospital at 10 and was in my own bed at 10:30. I didn't have a broken leg like they feared because it was trapped between the door and the steering column. I didn't have any internal bleeding like they had first thought. I had only bit my tongue really hard and blood had dribbled out of my mouth. I WALKED out of the hospital on my own two legs that morning. I was LUCKY.

But it only started a process of major healing. I was not only physically damaged, but mentally I was a wreck.

Physically I have major whip lash that to this day we are continuing therapy for. In fact in a little over a week I will go in and have a small operation called a Neuotomy that will burn the nerve endings in my neck. We hope that without feeling pain I will be able to strengthen the muscles so they can heal properly and I can get back to life.

I honestly do not recall what happened from the moments before the accident to December 31, 2002. I "woke up" while my family was playing games waiting to ring in the new year. Some how we had Thanksgiving and Christmas and I don’t' remember them at all. I have only one memory and I wrote about it for the LDS-NHA publication Quarterly Bulletin. Please take a minute to read that as it is very moving if I do say so myself. You can find it here

http://lds-nha.org/QB1205.html

Mentally I thought everyone else driving was going to kill me. I froze one day while driving my husband's brand new car (the old one was totaled of course) and killed the clutch. I had troubles just driving out of the driveway. How could I function as an adult without driving? I had therapies to go to (five or six in a given week) and six children to get to all sorts of places. I thought only crazy people say therapist, but I gave in and went to see one. Miracles upon miracles have happened. I wasn't so spooked when driving anymore. I was able to handle most of the relearning after my short term memory loss, but most importantly I was able to handle the anger I was feeling from having this horrible thing happen to me.

My anger was wroth as the other driver was a day-laborer who was uninsured. "How in heaven's name are we going to afford what happened to me?" I still ask that question and I don't know the answer. I do know that I'm getting better and I have to take one day at a time. I hate sitting on the sidelines and I hate watching other enjoy something I use to enjoy. I hate getting head aches just because. I hate having to spend so much time away from home in therapy. I hate the fact that my kids have to have a grouchy mom who looses it so quickly when she is in pain. I hate that someone didn't get enough sleep and decided to drive. I hate that I was the one in that car.

But with all that hatred. I'm so glad I was in that car, because any other car and I would have been dead. It has also taught me a lot about faith, challenges, walking in other's shoes (I understand pain now), humility, service, prayer, fasting, forgiveness, love and compassion. I'm not a saint yet, but I'm working on it and I have a lot more to learn.

This is the car I was in. The Jaws of Life ripped the door off. I was hit by a full size pick up truck doing about 50-60 mph and lived to tell about it.

I'm lucky!