Sunday, September 9, 2012

Seventy-Three

Seventy Three  9/9/12

Today is September 9. This day may not mean a lot to many people, but to me it's very special. It is my grandmother's birthday, her 73rd. Oh, what a day for celebration.

I don't know what it's like for people on their 73rd birthday, what goes through their minds, their reasons for celebrating or not celebrating, but I know how my grandmother's birthday made me feel. Blessed, overjoyed, thankful, and elated are just a few of the words I can think of. You see, in August 2004 my grandmother was diagnosed with Stage IIIC Ovarian Cancer. Stage III3 means the cancer is in one or both ovaries, and one or both of the following are present: Cancer has spread to lymph nodes (any T, N1, M0) Deposits of cancer larger than 2 cm (about 3/4 inch) across are seen in the abdomen (T3c, N0, M0). (Information courtesy of www.cancer.org). My grandmother's cancer was not in her lymph nodes, but her cancer deposits were over 2 cm in size. It was a scary time for our family. The matriarch who has eaten well her whole life is now faced with the battle of her life, just before her 65th birthday. It didn't seem fair. It wasn't fair. But Cancer does not discriminate. I wondered how she would get through, and morbidly, how long she would live. A couple months? A couple years? I had no clue. No one did.

This is a why today is SO big to me. It's been 8 years since that diagnosis, and she's still here to celebrate her birthday. Grandma is undergoing chemo again, so she doesn't know how she'll feel from one day to the next...let alone one hour to the next. With that in mind, we (my family and I) decided that we would periodically visit her throughout the day. Tom, Zachary and I went over to her house this morning, and she looked better than she had in months. She had color. She was smiling. She was herself. On Friday I called her to check on how she was feeling as she had just had chemo Tuesday. She's been suffering from terrible reflux and heartburn that was so crippling she could barely eat at all. When she went to the doctor, she told him about a medicine that my mother takes for a similar problem. He looked it up and said, "Let's give it a try." You know what...IT WORKED!! When I called her on Friday she sounded SO GOOD! She raved about all the food she was able to eat and keep down. She was so happy, and that made my day. Unfortunately that news was followed by bad news. With Ovarian Cancer patients, they monitor their CA125 levels. The higher the number, the more active the cancer is. When Grandma started chemo again her numbers were in the 30's. A month later they were in the 70's. This month the numbers were in the 130's. Fear shot through me, but she told me, "We're chasing it with the chemo. It'll be ok."

The past several weeks I haven't been dealing well with my grandmother starting chemo again at all. Fear set in, deep in my bones, and was crippling. I love her so much there aren't words adequate enough to express it, and she's sick...really sick, and has been for 8 very long years and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it. That sucks. It's so hard to watch someone you love so deeply go through hell and back and not seem to get better. In the last couple weeks I've shut down. I don't want to talk about it. I feel like I've told the story so many times and people are sick of hearing about it. I feel like I don't really have the right to be as sad as I am. I feel like I'm complaining, and while I don't mean to, I'm sure to some it may come off that way, and I don't have the right. I'm not the one who is sick. This past week has been the worst, largely because she was still struggling with eating, she was weak and not getting any better. All week my heart just felt heavy in my chest. I didn't want to talk. I really just wanted to be left alone. I even went to bed early...really early. I couldn't take the days anymore. I honestly cannot remember ever feeling so depressed.

As I was driving to work on Friday morning, something was nagging at me to call her, so I did. When she told me the medicine was helping her and she was finally able to eat I was overwhelmed with joy. I was so happy for HER.

It's amazing the things we take for granted, and I think being able to eat would have to be one of the biggest. Now my grandma, who absolutely loves food, can eat again, which means she can gain strength and continue to fight this cancer head on. Thank you Lord for the recommendation of the medicine, for the medicine itself, for the doctor who made the medicine and for her oncologist who prescribed it. If not for all these people, my grandmother's quality of life wouldn't be what it is on her very special day, and if you know someone battling cancer you know how special each and every birthday is.

Today I am overwhelmed with gratitude that my grandma had a good day. I know they're probably not all going to be like this, but I am so happy that on her day she was well and happy and able to enjoy her family.

Monday, August 6, 2012

Tomorrow

I've been thinking, knowing that I needed to put something down about what is going on, but I've been fighting it like I always do. My mind runs in cycles of thinking maybe it's good to let it out, and then the thoughts that it's really not a good idea. Some people already know, some all too well, and I feel like there are times when they tire of hearing about it. Not that anyone has ever said it, but it's gone on so long...it's a cycle of sickness and health. Pain and healing. Relief and frustration. And I feel dumb for feeling like I have a reason to be so upset.

I'm not looking forward to tomorrow. Tomorrow my beautiful, sweet, strong and courageous grandmother begins chemotherapy again. I can't even tell you how many times, how many different kinds she's taken. All I know right now is that it's been a lot. A lot.

This month marks 8 years since she was first diagnosed with Ovarian Cancer. I remember how I was told, my mother beside herself screaming, "My mother has cancer!" and feeling like the world was collapsing around me. Every second of that experience is branded in my memory, and every time she starts chemo again I feel like my knees go weak, the words escape me and the tears roll. Then I become this recluse not wishing to discuss it because it makes me extremely vulnerable. This woman I absolutely adore is sick and there isn't a damn thing I can do.

A few months ago my grandmother was on a different type of chemotherapy. She was on it for several months, and then it got to the point where she could barely swallow food or drink. She had a scope done and the oncologist didn't see anything that would cause this to happen. So she and my grandfather talked about it and they decided it was time for a break from chemo. She'd been on it for so long, it really was time. When she went in for her first blood test after stopping chemo, her numbers had dropped substantially...almost 20 points. I'd begun to wonder if she'd been on the chemo so long that it was inhibiting her immune system and now it was finally rebounding. There was a little sliver of hope that things were finally going to get better, but something told me not to get my hopes up too high. It was during this time that her oncologist's office contacted her to let her know that Doxil, the kind of chemo she'd responded best to, was now accepting new names for their waiting list for the drug and recommended that she try to get on that list just in case. (Yes, there is a waiting list for this kind of chemo. Crazy huh?) She got on the waiting list, and it was a good thing because the next time they ran her blood work her numbers had jumped up and she was beginning to feel bad again. She was having pain and other symptoms that are common in Ovarian Cancer patients. She is also having more difficulty keeping food down. So she is scheduled to start chemo tomorrow. One dose per month for six months.

Since learning this I have not wanted to talk about it. Not to my husband, my sisters, my best friend. No one. Actually I still have no desire to discuss it because I'll become a sobbing, babbling idiot and it's not a great sight. I've clammed up. I didn't call her for two weeks. I don't know what to say. I'm afraid I'll start crying and then upset her. I'm afraid of the cancer. I'm so afraid that I have completely let my fear take over. It's absolutely ridiculous.

Yesterday I took Zachary over to their house to swim and I talked to her for a little bit. She was tired and looked weak. She was so small when I gave her a hug. It's so hard to see her like that. I don't want her to have to deal with this crap anymore. I wish there was something I could do that would make it better. I'm working on talking to her more. I hear all the time how lucky I am that she is so close, and they're right I am beyond blessed. I just wish I knew how to deal with this better. I seem to always shut down when she gets sick. I know I am so lucky. I have friends who have lost mothers and other family members to Ovarian Cancer in a shorter amount of time than this. Eight years is a long time to live with Ovarian Cancer. I don't negate that for one second. I know how blessed we are that she is still here with us and continuing to fight. She's the strongest 5 foot tall German I will ever know. She is amazing.


 
So I need some help. I need prayer in a big way. First, please keep my grandmother in your thoughts and prayers. Her name is Irene. Please pray for her strength and healing through this entire process. Second, please pray for my grandpa, Dean. I know this is very hard on him no matter how much strength he feigns. Last, please pray for our family. We are all dealing with this differently, some better than others, but please pray for us to be uplifting to her, and that we would be able to help her with anything she needs emotionally or otherwise. Please pray for strength in spirit because this is very emotionally taxing at times. Please pray that we can overcome our fear so that we can be fully present for her and help her in any way that she needs.  It really means the world to me. 

Saturday, May 12, 2012

Guardian

Sometimes, not often, but sometimes songs reach me at the exact moment in which I need them.  Wednesday I was online and I learned that Alanis Morissette is scheduled to release her newest album, Havoc and Bright Lights, this fall.  The first single from the album is "Guardian."  I have listened to this song several times and it reaches out and grabs me at this precise moment on multiple levels.

Being a mother is the toughest and yet most rewarding responsibility a woman can face.  This small face looks to you for everything, every need, love, guidance, etc.  I believe that our maternal instincts reach beyond our own children.  Whether these instincts touch the children of our nonnuclear families, children we meet in passing, or those we never encounter, our need, desire, craving to protect them is held sacred in the core of our humanity.

As I listened to "Guardian" my mind wandered to thoughts of children I will never meet, children whose lives are traumatically lived and exposed to the most disgusting atrocities.  These are the children that I pray will be helped by our efforts through Stop Child Trafficking Now (SCTNow www.SCTNow.org).

Music reaches people on different levels, and songs have different meanings, perceptions to every single person who lets the words soak into their heart.  For me, "Guardian" speaks to me as a story of someone who has been through hell and back, the people who weren't there for them, and the people who made the brave decision to stand up for them and offer comfort as their guardian.  The chorus especially speaks to me and encourages me on a level I never anticipated.

I feel compelled to do more for victims of sex trafficking in conjunction with fighting the demand by volunteering with SCTNow. To be there for these people who have been broken by those who couldn't care less.  To be uplifting.  To think beyond what people tell me I am capable of doing. To be present and active in changing lives one step at a time.  To be a guardian.

xoxo,
Kelli



GUARDIAN
By: Alanis Morissette

You, you who has smiled when you’re in pain 
You who has soldiered through the profane 
They were distracted and shut down 

So why, why would you talk to me at all 
such words were dishonorable and in vain 
their promise as solid as a fog 

and where was your watchman then 

I’ll be your keeper for life as your guardian 
I’ll be your warrior of care your first warden 
I’ll be your angel on call, I’ll be on demand 
The greatest honor of all, as your guardian 

you, you in the chaos feigning sane 
You who has pushed beyond what’s humane 
Them as the ghostly tumbleweed 

And where was your watchman then 

I’ll be your keeper for life as your guardian 
I’ll be your warrior of care your first warden 
I’ll be your angel on call, I’ll be on demand 
The greatest honor of all, as your guardian 

now no more smiling mid crestfall 
No more managing unmanageables 
No more holding still in the hailstorm 

Now enter your watchwoman 

I’ll be your keeper for life as your guardian 
I’ll be your warrior of care your first warden 
I’ll be your angel on call, I’ll be on demand 
The greatest honor of all, as your guardian