Alright, I suppose I've avoided this long enough. I'm not even sure why I haven't posted about this. Take your pick of reasons: it's not a fun subject, it does not involve anything funny that my kids have said or done, I'm awful at updating the blog anyway, no pictures to include, too long of a blog post, etc., etc.
Just a warning right now to anyone reading this. THIS IS GOING TO BE A RIDICULOUSLY LONG POST. With no pictures. Which I'm basically including only because it is a significant event in our family's history that should be recorded somewhere, and that's what this blog is supposed to be, if I could ever get to the point where I updated it regularly. If you choose to continue reading, keep in mind that you've been warned!
I don't even know really where to start with this. I suppose I should mention briefly that I am terrified of cancer. Did I put enough emphasis on that? Maybe I need to go back and use italics, bold, and underline on the word "terrified". Or maybe I'll just have you ask my husband sometime how I feel about the disease and see how he responds. You see, this poor man has been living with me for more than 12 years and has been dealing with this neurosis of mine for 10 of them.
I didn't always have this fear. When I was 19 I noticed a new freckle on the palm of my right hand. It was oddly shaped (kind of like my own little Florida right in the palm of my hand), oddly colored (light in some places, dark in others), and in a strange place (when was the last time you saw a mole on the inside of someone's hand?). Other than spending a few minutes thinking it was chocolate and trying to wash it off, I didn't think much about it. It was small, and I had bigger things to worry about in life, like my brother taking the missionary discussions and trying to get myself down to BYU. My brother noticed it at one point and asked me what it was. "I don't know," I answered dismissively. "Just a little freckle." "Dude," he answered (my brother was an 18-year-old boy), "that looks like cancer or something." I brushed him off and went about my life. See? Look how well I handled that. No neurosis yet.
When Tori was a few months old, I went back to school to finish my last year at BYU. One of my classes was a health class, and for one of the lectures an oncologist came to talk to us about skin cancer and try to scare the entire student body into wearing sunscreen. As he was going through the checklist of warning signs for skin cancer, I noticed that the little "freckle" on my hand seemed to fit most of them. A slight unease set in, but I calmly waited until after the class finished and made my way to the front of the room. I held out my hand to the professor and flippantly asked, "this isn't anything to worry about, right?" The man grasped my hand, pulled it toward him for a closer inspection, and looked up at me with a worried expression. "How long has this been here?" he asked me gravely. My unease crept up a few notches. I told him that it had been there for a few years, and he immediately scribbled down the name and number for the oncologist at the university's health clinic and told me to get in to see him as soon as I could. I went home and made the appointment. During the appointment, the oncologist seemed just as concerned as the guest lecturer had been, told me he thought we were looking at Melanoma, and sent me home with a biopsy date scheduled one week out and a bunch of literature about Melanoma and how deadly it is. That same week, we received a phone call telling us that Chip Abrams, a dear family friend and a sort of second father to Todd while he was growing up, had been diagnosed with melanoma and given six months to live.
Enter the neurosis.
My "freckle" turned out to be a pre-cancerous compound nevus. Basically, not cancer, but dangerous. However, it took me three weeks to get that news. Three weeks in which my over-active imagination let me see my own quick and untimely demise. Let me imagine my own funeral. Every time I looked at Tori, I imagined her telling people, later in life, that she didn't know her mother because her mother had died when she was just a baby. I imagined Todd marrying a much prettier, much skinnier woman who would be to him all that I had failed to be. Enough of the macabre. Basically, I ended up on anti-anxiety medication for several months, went through some counseling, and while I was eventually able to wean off of the meds, I was never quite able to wean off of the fear of cancer. Over the ensuing 9 years, every headache that I got was a brain tumor. Menstrual cramps were ovarian cancer. A sore throat...well, you get the picture. It was exhausting for
me, but also for Todd who had to live through my fears with me and talk me down from countless proverbial ledges.
They say that people who suffer from anxieties do so as a subconscious way of protecting themselves. For example, those who are terrified of earthquakes are sure that if they stop worrying about it, "the big one" will strike in the next minute. So in my case, psychologists would venture to say that my brain believed that the moment I stopped worrying about cancer, I'd be diagnosed. Though I have a psychology degree myself, and can see the fallacy of this reasoning, I still should have knocked (hard) on some wood when I told Todd earlier this year that I hadn't worried about cancer in a long time and that I thought that particular fear was finally behind me. Silly, silly me.
In May I was finally given the green light from my Orthopedic specialist to start trying to get pregnant. Todd and I had wanted to try for our third child for some time, but because of the back injury I sustained in November of 2010 (herniated a couple of discs in my lower back during a stupid lifting incident at work) I was told that a pregnancy was a bad idea until I could heal a little. So I was thrilled when I got this news and scheduled an appointment with my OB to have my IUD removed. Sorry if that's too much information for some, but there it is. During the appointment, in June, my doctor (Craig Smentek, the same doctor who delivered Aaron...LOVE HIM) moved behind me and put his hands on my neck almost like he was strangling me, and asked me to swallow. I did, and he paused and asked me to swallow again. Again, I swallowed. "Huh," he said, finally releasing my throat and coming around to sit at his desk. "You've got a little nodule on your thyroid." The old neurosis roared back to life and I may have started shaking. Just a little. "A what?" I asked, sounding very intelligent, I'm sure. It's all my brain could come up with at the time, even though I know what "nodule", "thyroid", and every other word in the sentence mean. It was the overall implication my mind was trying to reject. Dr. Smentek told me that thyroid nodules are very common and that only about 5-10% of them are "anything to worry about." Silly doctor. He was obviously underestimating my talent in the worrying department.
I had the scheduled ultrasound, and in early July I met with a surgeon, Dr. Renu Sinha, to go over the results of the ultrasound and discuss whether or not surgery was necessary. She walked into the office (a tiny, middle-eastern woman with no accent but with a witty, dry sense of humor, I would come to find out) and shook my hand. She sat down and motioned to her laptop, where she had an image of the tumor pulled up. She indicated that there were both fluid and solid areas, as well as some calcium deposits, and then pointed out the box of Kleenex on the desk next to me before she informed me that while we had to wait for the biopsy results to be certain, that based on her experience and what she saw on the ultrasound, she was almost certain that we were dealing with cancer.
And there it was. The c-word. In one breath I had just come up against one of my biggest fears. For a couple of minutes I was sort of emotionally numb as she began discussing the prognosis, which is very good for most thyroid cancers, and the possible treatments and side effects. I was surprised, actually, by how well I held it together. And then I started asking questions. Reality closed in and my throat closed up, and I found that I really did need that box of tissues after all. She surprised me by asking me if I believed in God, and I told her that yes, I did, very much. She told me she had found there's a great deal of peace to be had in turning things over to Him and trusting in His will. This was a concept I thought I already knew, but would find, in the next few months, that I still had a lot to learn about. She also asked me what my "gut" was telling me, whether I
felt that it was cancer. At this point I laughed a bit and told her I felt that EVERYTHING was cancer and that my gut wasn't a particularly reliable source on the issue. I told her about the experience with my "freckle" and the fear it had started. "Well," she told me, "it sounds to me like a young girl faced an uncertain situation and got scared. But you want to know the good news? You're not that 23-year-old girl anymore. You're a woman now, and you're stronger now than you were then, and you're going to beat this." How can you not love this woman??
Dr. Sinha performed the biopsy in her office that day and called me two days later to confirm that I did, in fact, have stage one papillary thyroid cancer. She went over the options, and in the end Todd and I felt that a total thyroidectomy was our best choice. Surgery was scheduled for August 2nd, and the phone calls began. The calls to tell everyone in our family that I had cancer. Trying to answer all the questions that I still had no answers for. Trying to reassure people that I'd be okay when inside I was still pretty shaken up myself. I was so thankful at this time for Todd's brother Sean. He is an ENT and was very reassuring about how treatable the disease is. Dr. Smentek, Dr. Sinha, and Sean all told me that if they had to hand-pick a cancer to have, that this would be the one they'd choose. Though I'd never want to "hand-pick" any kind of cancer, that gave me quite a bit of comfort. Sean knows all about my fears and spent quite a bit of time on the phone with me answering a bunch of questions.
The next few weeks were a whirlwind of x-rays and tests to make sure that the cancer had not spread. It had not, thankfully. The day of the surgery came, and the surgery went off without a hitch. I fell asleep on a surgical table under some bright lights and woke up missing a thryroid and two lymph nodes. I had to spend an extra day in the hospital because my parathyroid glands were bruised and were not regulating the calcium levels in my body properly, but other than that, it was fine. I was pretty sore for a few days after I got home, and
exhausted for about a week. By mid-August I was feeling almost back to normal, and had my radioactive iodine treatment scheduled for the 21st of September. I was actually almost looking forward to the required 6-day seclusion at the cabin. I envisioned sleeping in, reading as many books as I wanted, watching some movies, reacquainting myself with my old friend "quiet" (whom I hadn't seen in
years), and eating some chocolate.
On September 9th, I was walking outside when I stepped down and noticed a sharp pain in the ball of my right foot. I thought I had stepped on glass, or maybe been stung by one of the ten thousand yellow jackets around the house. Looking at my foot, I couldn't see anything wrong with it, but the pain persisted. I babied the foot and hoped the pain would go away. That night, I woke in the middle of the night feeling like I had scraped the second toe on the same foot across concrete. The tip of the toe felt completely raw, and I limped to the bathroom in the dark, expecting to see a bloody mess and wondering who on earth had put a cinder block in my bed while I was sleeping! I turned on the lights, and was surprised to see that my toe looked completely normal. Totally confused, I popped a couple of ibuprofen and hobbled back to bed. Over the next few days, the pain spread to my other foot and worsened, making my feet and toes ache and throb. Only ice made them feel better, and I started to get worried about going to the cabin by myself.
I made an appointment with my family doctor and he ran some blood tests and ordered x-rays. Everything looked normal, and he diagnosed the pain as neuropathy, scheduled an appointment with a specialist, and prescribed some stronger medication. So, up to the cabin I went, narcotics and ice packs in tow. The week ended up being a miserable one, as the pain continued to worsen to the point that I could not sleep for more than about 30 minutes at a time, could barely stand to walk, and had to have ice on my feet almost constantly. One night got particularly awful and I found myself sobbing and screaming, even yelling at God, doubting that He even existed. The next morning, two of my friends, Syd Kearnes and Heather Otte, felt inspired that I needed a visit and came to see me, risking exposure to radiation and bearing a care package that contained small gifts from several of the sisters in the ward. I truly believe that Heavenly Father knew that I was almost out of my mind with pain and that the whisperings of the Spirit could not get through to me in that place and so He inspired these women to come comfort me. This experience was such a blessing and is one I will treasure forever.
Needless to say, my week at the cabin wasn't quite what I thought it would be. By the time I got home I was in so much pain that I was rocking, crying, writhing, and clawing at the floor. When Tori was born, my epidural stopped working just as I was going into transition, giving me a taste of natural childbirth. I truly would have preferred that pain to the pain I was enduring with my feet. It felt like there were invisible knives digging into my feet under my toenails, and under the balls of my feet. The pain became so intense that I could neither eat nor sleep and began to quickly lose weight. Even the slightest touch, even
air brushing against the skin of my feet, was excruciating. During this time, friends who came to see me later told me that they truly were worried that I was on the brink of insanity. At times, I felt dangerously close to that ledge, and was tempted to slip over it if doing so would mean a release from the pain.
My doctor finally prescribed me some heavy doses of morphine, and that, combined with a powerful priesthood blessing and some laser treatments that are supposed to stimulate healing in the nerves in my feet, eventually brought a measure of relief to the pain. Gradually I got to the point where I could stand, and then finally take a few steps. I was able to move from using a wheelchair to using a walker, and was able to sleep for longer stretches at night. While I am still dealing with the pain, it is now mostly in my right foot, and for the most part it feels tingly, almost like it is asleep. If I am on my feet too much, pain will begin to shoot through them, and the pain tends to be worse in the evenings and in the morning. I still have a hard time wearing shoes, and have not been able to exercise or be as active as I'd like. The doctors have run numerous tests and are still puzzled as to what caused the pain to start and what to do to heal me completely. At this point, the doctors and I are just thankful that it seems to be getting better and not worse. As for the cancer, it will still be two years before they decide whether or not I am cancer-free. Between now and then I have to go in for ultrasounds and blood work every 3-6 months to monitor my thyroid levels and to see if there are any signs of the cancer returning. Other than that, I simply take a pill each morning to replace the thyroid hormone that my body can no longer make.
Throughout this whole trial, our family has had some pretty amazing spiritual experiences that I should make note of. To do so, I need to first back up a bit to April. One day I noticed that while I had been doing everything I should, it had been a while since I had felt really close to the Spirit and to my Savior. I distinctly remember kneeling down and saying a prayer and telling Heavenly Father that I missed that closeness. Two months later Dr. Smentek found the tumor. One of the things that I have truly gained a testimony of in the last few months is that Heavenly Father uses trials to refine us, to teach us, and to help us feel close to Him if we choose that closeness.
A few people have asked me if I was ever mad at God, and I can thankfully say, other than that one night at the cabin, that no, I was not mad at God. I was encouraged in one of the blessings I received to study the atonement. I thought that was strange counsel, as I've always thought of the atonement as something that helps us when we need to repent because of a transgression. As I followed the counsel, though, I realized that the atonement is also meant to cover our spiritual, emotional, and physical shortcomings. I'm a pretty independent sort of woman, and I don't like needing help. When Todd and I decided to move back to Spokane so that he could go back to school, I had a plan as to how we were going to do that. However, my plan never included the struggles we've gone through this year. I think Heavenly Father had to hit me with one thing after another until I couldn't get back up on my own. I hit rock bottom at the end of September and finally reached the point where I said, "Okay, I give up. I can't do this by myself. I need your help, and I'm turning this all over to you, trusting in your will." And I
truly felt that faith in His plan for me. It was so liberating and peaceful, and I learned things about the atonement that I never could have learned had I not been in such a low, painful, scary place. So no, I'm not mad at God. These past few months have been the hardest of my life, and this has been a horrible trial, but I honestly feel that it has also been a personally sacred experience that I would not give up for my life.
When we found out about the cancer, I panicked not only because of the health implications, but because of the financial burden it would be on our family at a time when we were already stretched, and because of what it would do to my family to have me out of commission while I healed. As this fear nearly choked me, I had a sudden feeling of peace come over me and felt very strongly that people had been prepared to help us through this and that we would not be alone. Time and again, as people have appeared when we most needed them, I have felt the Spirit testify to me that they were some of the ones He had prepared. Some instances may have seemed small to those who were serving. Shortly after I came home from the hospital, I was so sick to my stomach from the drugs I was on, and nothing sounded appetizing. I needed to eat in order to take my medication, but even the thought of food turned my stomach. I was reading my e-mail and there was one from Mim with a recipe for homemade cinnamon bread. Finally, something sounded good! I don't know if I have ever wanted anything as much as I wanted cinnamon bread in that moment. I was tempted to crawl upstairs and make some, but I was so tired and sick I couldn't bring myself to actually do it. A few minutes later, there was a knock on our door and Jessica Romney showed up with a loaf of cinnamon bread. I almost broke into tears. There was no possible way she could have known that I wanted that, other than the promptings of Heavenly Father. That he had forseen my wants and prompted her, hours before, to have that loaf of bread ready when it was needed and to prompt her to bring it to me, and that she was in tune enough with the Spirit to act on those promptings was a beautiful lesson to me about how much our Father in heaven loves us and has the ability to provide for us. It also made me want to strive to be more in tune with the Spirit so that I might be the answer to someone's prayers when needed.
At another particular time, some friends of ours (who wish to remain anonymous) rendered us a service so great that it has become too sacred to share. Had it not been for another whispering of the Spirit that this was part of His plan, yet more care that Heavenly Father had prepared for us ahead of time, we could not have believed such generosity and selflessness existed. I have been humbled as people have prepared meals for our family, cared for my children (Jenna became their second mother for a while, as well as Shelley for a couple of days), cleaned my house, taken my kids shopping for school supplies, sent us money for a much-needed date, held my hand, cried with me, laughed with me, taken me to doctor's appointments, helped me shower (I'm now
much closer to Sharee), done research on strange medical conditions and brought me hopeful cures (Heather), offered to take family pictures before surgery, asked me how I'm
really holding up and been interested in the
honest answer (Heidi), watched our children while we attended the temple, made me a quilt (thank-you, Julie Craig!), prayed for us, and fasted for us. As I read about ministering angels in the scriptures, I now believe that many of those angels are here on earth. I have truly felt loved, provided for, and that Heavenly Father was aware of me at every turn during this crazy journey.
My kids have held up amazingly well during all of this, which I see as another great blessing. I was worried, especially about how Tori would handle the news. While talking to Sean, he mentioned that I could simply tell her that my thyroid wasn't working properly and so they were removing it, and avoid the scary "c-word" altogether. I thought this was a brilliant plan and sat down with them to do just that. As I was speaking, a little scenario played out suddenly in my mind. I saw, quite vividly, one of Tori's cousins saying something to her about "your mom's cancer" and saw her become very upset and distrusting of the information we gave her. I saw us trying to comfort her but she would no longer believe us. In an instant, I felt very strongly that we needed to be honest with our children. I told them about the diagnosis, as well as the fact that it is a very curable cancer and that I was probably going to be perfectly fine. Again, I feel that this was a tender mercy as my Heavenly Father prompted me to explain something to my children in the way that He knew was best. Really, how do people go through life without the gospel and its blessings?
On the subject of blessings, I must say a few words. At the risk of being irreverent, I've often called myself a "blessing junkie" because blessings, and attending the temple, have the ability to calm me when nothing else can. I received several blessings during this ordeal, and each time they brought insight and peace that were vital to my soul. President Sorensen visited us during the height of the pain, and I told him that one particular blessing had promised me that I would be able to resume my matriarchal responsibilities in our home. I told him that it occurred to me that many women fulfill this role from a wheelchair and that I had made peace with the fact that I may be asked to do the same thing. He looked at me with such power that I felt his gaze even in the distant places of my soul. He told me that I would fulfill those responsibilities and that it would not be from a wheelchair. He also told me that all of the scary scenarios and possibilities I was worried about that were potential causes of the pain would not come to pass. As the doctors tested me for rare but life threatening diseases, as well as additional cancers, in the coming weeks, his reassurance and the power of the the Spirit confirming their truth to me was the only thing that comforted me. I replayed his words repeatedly, clinging to them like a life preserver. I shouldn't have been surprised as they proved to be true. Again, I ask, how do people go through life without the gospel and its blessings??
Before I end this mother-of-all-posts, I must write something about my sweet husband. He has been such a steady support for me. It kills him to see me suffering and feel helpless to do anything to "fix it". Because of this, he has spent a lot of time working around the house or up on the property. However, when I've needed him, he's been there every time. He's taken care of the kids, let me sleep, and rubbed my back. He's made ice packs, stayed with me in the hospital, and made me delicious food. He's held me and told me that it's going to be okay in a way that actually made me believe it. And most importantly, he's been a worthy priesthood holder and has given me blessings when nothing else could help me. I am truly a very, very blessed woman. I love you, Sweetheart!
And on that note, I think I'm done. :)
