Haircut!

12"!  She cut off 12"!  I had no idea I had that much to lose!!  That is enough to donate anywhere!!

Afterward, here's the "radical" look:

That's my hairdresser, Katy, in the mirror as she takes a pic of the back before I leave.  The front?

I took a couple of selfies - the first is "unfloofed" the second is more "floofed."  Not too radical in the end - unless you consider that fact that it's been over 20 years since I had my hair cut this short!  The last time was when we moved to Mississippi, and Lotti was almost 2!!  We cut it so that it would allow the curl to come through or I can blow-dry it like normal for a "more polished" look.  It looks better in person than in the selfies, but I like it, and Steve says it is cute.  I'll probably get used to it just about the time it begins to fall out :D  Katy says she'll work with me as we go through the next year to make sure it's shaved when the time comes, then styled repeatedly again as it comes back in.  We had a great talk today, and she's an awesome stylist!!

Delays

Just so you know....the blog often seems to have a several hour delay between when I post and when the email is sent.  I signed up myself for the emails on a different email just so I'd know what to tell you guys to expect.  I don't know the reason for the delay....just that it exists.

From one of my morning devos

I am working through the "Psalms of Ascent" in one of my devotions right now.  Here's a part of what today's writer had to say:

"...walking through these hard seasons is often the best thing [that] could ever happen. Because it is there that we find Him. It is there that we learn that the strength of our bootstraps [the ones we use to pull ourselves up by] will fail, but the joy of the Lord won't. It is there that we learn that we don't need to put on a brave face, we simply need to seek His. And ultimately, it is there that we learn that He knows our suffering, because He suffered too. For me. For you. Maybe you and I will never be to the point in our faith walk where we're able to say, "Okay, Lord, trials? Bring 'em on!" But we can pray for each other to get to a point where we trust that we're just seeing a few brush strokes on the gigantic masterpiece He's painting.
Where we don't fear what's ahead, because we know it's already happened in the eyes of our Master Planner. Where we acknowledge that He shares in our sufferings, but He also shares in our comfort. Where we can remember that He's rescued us before and that He'll do it again, as many times as we need rescuing. (2 Corinthians 9-10, MSG)

And for that we can say thank you, even when nothing seems peachy keen. Because there is no pit we're in that is deeper than His love.

Let's give thanks that He is on our side. Today and every day."

Amen.  This was "a good word aptly spoken" this morning.  Some of my food may taste off, but these "apples of gold in settings of silver" are as sweet as ever.  If you are interested in tasting those golden apples of goodness, check out Psalm 124 and 2 Corinthians 1:7-11.  I am specifically mentioned in verse 9 of Corinthians, and you are all mentioned specifically in verse 11 of that same chapter.  Really!  Don't believe me?  Read it for yourself! :)

Thankful for His Everlasting Presence, His Omniscient knowledge of all I am going through, that He is willing to climb down into  the Pit with me before attempting to pull me out, and that He has given me you all to join in helping me,

Sherri

The "Verse of the Day" that popped up on my phone this morning

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High Will abide in the shadow of the Almighty. Bible.com/app

I needed that this morning!

Chemo - Day 1

9:05 a.m.  I sit in a large, quiet room.  It is spacious, with windows on all sides looking out on the mountains in Santa Fe.  It's actually a quite lovely setting.  They have me sit in an "industrial strength" recliner (it serves its purpose, but you wouldn't want to have one in your house, necessarily).  I am the only patient here currently, although when we came for the chemo ed class last week, there were 3-4 people here in various stages of treatment.  The nurse tells me my blood flow is good, and that my port looks really good - that the incision is healing well.  They begin with a flow of saline, and call to make sure the order for my chemo drugs is correct.  She tells me that  everything is "a custom order" - that my drugs are custom made for me.  I met wth the doc before coming up, and she had said something similar - that they are beginning today with a dosage based on my height and weight, but that she and I will meet next week to see how I feel and if we need to adjust the drugs or not.  The bag is placed on a rolling stand, and I a instructed to take the stand with me when I need to go to the bathroom.

In meeting with the doc, I also got the results of the PET scan - there is cancer in the lymph nodes under my arm, behind my sternum, and in my neck area above the breast with the tumor.  Having the cancer in the lymph nodes bumps me up to "Stage 3" cancer.  Although we weren't expecting the results in my neck, she said that having the cancer in these areas is not uncommon when you have breast cancer.  And we did know that my type of cancer is aggressive.  She went on to say that the cancer is not showing up anywhere else in my body, which is good news.  She said that this doesn't change the procedure or the plan for how to treat the cancer - she still expects that the chemo I will be taking will take care of all the cancer that now exists.  When I asked her if the cancer had spread to the lymph nodes under my arm, since these are the ones that had a biopsy and that came back benign, she said that the PET scan results put the biopsy results in question.  So much for that......

I won't lie - hearing that I am now "Stage 3" was a blow.  I managed not to cry (yes, Mom, I know it's okay to cry) - but just barely.  Knowing that the cancer is still (more or less) "contained" to the area in and around my breast is all that is keeping me sane at this moment.  My devotional this morning talked about the idea that God has known us and all our days from the time we were stitched in the womb....that nothing that happens to us in any of those days is a surprise to Him.  I take comfort in that - because today's news was certainly a surprise to me.  Knowing that this - ALL of this - has passed through His hands before it was ever allowed to touch me reminds me that He is still in control, no matter how out of control the situation may sound or feel to me.

10:00 a.m. - They begin the flow of the first drug (I learned last week that they give the drugs one at a time, not all mixed together).  She tells me it will take an hour, then they will observe me for an hour before beginning the next drug.  In the meantime, "Obie" has asked if I'd like a foot massage - I am delighted to find he is not kidding!  He gently massages my feet while talking with Steve and I about cactuses - I learn that there are several different colors of flowers on cactuses - not just red or yellow - that he has one that blooms white, and one that blooms bronze.  He is a cactus enthusiasist, and his interest is contagious.   The foot massage goes a long way to helping lower the anxiety I felt earlier when I heard that I have cancer in my lymph nodes.

11:00 a.m. - An alarm goes off on the machine that holds my bags of drugs - the first one is done.  We will wait an hour and than begin the next drug (there are four total).  As I've been taking the first drug, two other people have come and gone; another has had a consult on a wig; two others have come through for chemo ed.

12:00 p.m.  - They put the next bag of drugs on the stand.  It's supposed to take about an hour and a half.  It is the one and only drug I'll continue to get once I've completed the surgery - it is targeted directly for the specific type cancer I have.  The first drug burned a little going through the port - not a lot, but enough to make its presence known.  This one is completely unnoticeable.  As a couple more people have come and gone, everyone comments on how quiet it is in here today.  There are two volunteers who make the rounds every few minutes to check on you and see if you need anything.  They have snacks and drinks available, as well as pillows and warmed blankets.  They sit and chat if you give them an opening.  You can tell that everyone wants to make sure you are well-cared-for and as relaxed and comfortable as possible.

1:30 p.m. - They give me the anti-nausea meds and tell me it will take about 20 min.  She says it has steroids in it, and it may give me "more energy for the next couple of days" and make it harder to sleep tonight.  I am guessing that is also why they say it's hard to say when the tiredness will hit....

1:50 p.m. - They begin the 3rd med.  The nurse tellse me it will take an hour, and I'm "in the home stretch."  It is very, very quiet - we are the only ones here (Steve and I).  The nurse tells him he can use one of the recliners to lay down, so he takes a nap.  I look out the window and see that the clouds are building.  I wonder if we'll have another storm this afternoon.  This med doesn't seem to burn going in either, which I am thankful for.

2:50 - They begin the final med.  The nurse tells me this one will take 30-40 minutes.  So far, I've had no difficulties with any of the meds....but I don't know that that means much right now.

One Bad Thing, One Good Thing

Yesterday, I wanted to get on to post something, but I had a massive headache, probably due to little sleep the night before and having to miss my morning tea (and thus my morning dose of caffeine) due to the PET scan.  They put you on a high protein, no carbs or sugar, diet for 24 hours prior to the PET scan.  The only thing you can drink is water.  So, yesterday morning when I got up, I was mentally bemoaning the fact that I had so few choices, and especially bemoaning the fact that I couldn't have my morning tea.  But then I thought, "Hey, wait....this is turning into a whine-fest.  I've got to turn this around."  So, I decided to institute something I figure I will use a lot in the next year.  I'm calling it, "One Bad Thing, One Good Thing."

For each bad thing I want to whine about, I have to find one good thing to say too.  I know there will probably be a lot I will want to gripe about as this year progresses, but I don't want it to be my focus, and I want to keep the bad stuff in perspective.

So yesterday, as I came to this conclusion, I was able to find something good in my weird diet: it was only for 24 hours.  That helped me remember that although my diet was very limited, there are people around the world who would still consider those limits a feast since they have much less choice than I do....and that won't change for most of them in 24 hours.  Clean water is a luxury for many.   So, as bad as my "one bad thing" was to me, it still wasn't nearly as bad as life in general is for many in the world.

I am very thankful to live in a place with so many choices.  May I never  forget how truly blessed I am.

With gratitude for choices and great doctors,
Sherri

Thoughts on a Wednesday

So....this cancer thing.....yeah.

I continue to try and wrap my head around it.  Most days, I can almost convince myself it's happening to someone else....until I feel the pull of the glue they used to suture my port incision closed.....or accidentally bump the lump....or cough and feel the port catheter residing in my neck.  Then it becomes all too clear that I am the one in the middle of this....I am the one who has somehow contracted this disease, been given this diagnosis, become a woman with a label I never sought or wanted.

I have friends who've mentioned that I am now part of an exclusive club no one wants to join.  I believe that is called "understatement."

So....how do I deal with this?  How do I survive emotionally and mentally as I traverse what promises to be a very long road?  Like I have done all my life: with perseverance grounded in my relationship with my Savior. 

Writing has always been a way for me to process my thoughts and feelings....to express, even if only to myself, my fears, frustrations, joys, victories and defeats.  Often I have shared those thoughts with others, and often I find that in that sharing, others express their own identification with my personal struggles.  In that shared experience, we are then able to aid and strengthen one another.  It is my hope and prayer that that will be the case with the posts I'll make to this blog over the course of this journey.  

Please know that if you choose to follow me on this journey, or come alongside me, you will hear my heart.  You will hear the anguish when I have a "dark night of the soul." You may hear despair, sorrow, pain, and fear.  But you will also hear joy, encouragement, hope, and my testimony of my Father's faithfulness.  Because it is through His strength alone that I will not only survive but thrive through this experience.

If you are up for a wild and crazy ride....if you want to get an up close and personal look at one woman's journey through cancer....if you are open to hearing my hurts and heartaches alongside my continued praise of and faith in my Savior......I  invite you to join me.  It won't all be pretty, but it will be unforgettable.

Resting in His Everlasting Arms,
Sherri