A Heavy Blow

Yesterday I went with my Mum's to receive the results of her recent biopsy; the doctor said the C-word. She is understandably in shock. I am mad. Damn cancer.

We don't know much at this point. The biopsy finding was duct cell carcinoma. There doesn't appear to be any evidence of it being invasive. We are hopeful that we have caught it early. Like the mantra my oncologist told me: early diagnosis, excellent prognosis. We have an appointment with a breast surgeon on Thursday to get her read on the reports, and a game plan.

I do not like my Mum having to go through this cancer crap. I was tested for the gene and it was negative. There was no need for this. If the statistics are that one in eight women get breast cancer, then surely I should have been able to cover my own Mum. Cancer is a bitch.

This is my blog, not hers, so I'll not presume to make it be that. I will update as I find it proper to do so while respecting my Mum's own dealing with it all.

Please keep her in your prayers.

And sorry for the tone of this post. It is a heavy blow to me. I am not even done with my own treatment and just wish I was already done so I would feel stronger to be stronger for my Mum.

That said, I have this at my core that I want to be clear is at the core of even a difficult post like this:

Remember, [my] Message is not about [myself]; [I'm] proclaiming Jesus Christ, the Master. All [I] am is [a messenger], [an] errand runner from Jesus. It started when God said, "Light up the darkness!" and [my life] filled up with light as [I] saw and understood God in the face of Christ, all bright and beautiful.

If you only look at [me] you might well miss the brightness. [I] carry this precious Message around in the unadorned [clay pot] of [my] ordinary [life]. That's to prevent anyone from confusing God's incomparable power with [me]. As it is, there's not much chance of that. You know yourselves that [I'm] not much to look at. [I've] been surrounded and battered by troubles, but [I'm] not demoralized; [I'm] not sure what to do, but [I] know that God knows what to do; [I've] been spiritually terrorized, but God hasn't left [my] side; [I've] been thrown down, but [I] haven't been broken.

(From The Message, 2 Corinthians 4:5-9, with the pronoun personalized from we to me.)

Dos Mas = Peace

I cannot even believe that I am saying that I am down to only 2 chemo cocktails left! But I am! And all I can say is Thank God!

Had T-3 on Monday. The chemo cocktail lounge was unusually rowdy. The sisters were there. The other Julie was there. My new friend, Shelly, was there. Shelly's sister was there. The other Julie's son and girlfriend were there. My hub, daughter, and friends Jenn and Wren, were there.

And of course our chemo cocktail servers, our angels, were there. It was practically a party, as far as chemo lounges go.

Here's a pic of me and Shelly. We have been doing chemo cocktails together ever since my birthday this year, so I sort of consider her a birthday present. We have very similar stories and treatments, and have become chemo sis-tahs. We do Herceptin shots together, and she is still on Tax-ALL. Thankfully, it is not giving her the grief it gave me, so keep praying that all continues to go well for her. She did have some side effects of turning red after I left the chemo lounge on Monday, but it wasn't really clear to me if it was the Tax-ALL, or she was just missing me? ;) I knew I should have stayed until she was done. Anyway, thankfully they got it all worked out and she is one more chemo cocktail down too! Her light at the end of the tunnel is September. Go Shelly!

I also have a friend named Amy, who I would like you to be praying for. She is a survivor of thyroid cancer, and is currently on day 9 of 19 days of hell, I mean, treatment. Hang in there Amy! Tomorrow you'll be halfway there!

While I'm at it, let me ask you to pray for my mum. She has been having some health issues lately. She had a couple of questionable mammograms recently. They think it is just a sprinkling of calcified deposits, but because she is related to me, they are doing a biopsy tomorrow. Please pray for a good, as in, benign, report. She also is dealing with a chronic infection that has resulted in Bell's Palsy and a number of abscessed teeth. Please pray that we can get this infection and inflammation under control, and for her health. She has had a rough year, to say the least, witnessing my sickness and her mum's passing, and forgetting her own health. I am heading to Indy tomorrow, to sit on the other side of the waiting room for a change of pace. Not really the pace I like though, if you want to know the truth. I'm used to being on the other side, and hooked up with some happy juice. Let's hope I've at least learned some good bed-side manner through all this. See ya tomorrow, Mum!

The Countdown: Rewind to T-4 and a Preview of T-3

My answering machine was blinking its ominous light again yesterday. I haven't listened to the message yet but I already know what it is. A message on the answering machine on a Thursday means a chemo cocktail coming up on Monday.

Which reminds me, that I didn't update from the last chemo cocktail I downed three weeks ago. It was T minus 4, meaning I only have 3 left.

Here is the ominous blue sign that means turn left to the chemo cocktail lounge. I think the interior decorator made a good decision to have the sign match the blue recliners so we with mushy chemo brains don't accidentally drive past the oncologist office. It's also good advertising, in my mind, to have CARE highlighted, because honestly, the oncology part makes you want to apply a little pressure to the gas peddle, but then you see the word CARE, and you remember there are really nice nurses in there who you wouldn't mind saying hello to. Even if it is over a chemo cocktail. One last word on the sign, the word EXIT, is also a nice touch. I mean, I like Hotel California as much as the next person, but it really made me appreciate exit signs. Especially at the chemo cocktail lounge.

Here is my roller derby name on the back of my Whip It tee shirt. You might notice that in both pictures I am holding up three fingers. I am not signing a "W" and you do not have to read between the lines. It's just a simple three, silly. As in, I have three chemo cocktails left.

One of which, I will down on Monday! Wow, who would ever expect to see an exclamation point at the end of a sentence like that? This counting down thing rocks.

Plus, I have a chemo buddy that I am looking forward to seeing. Her name is Shelly. She and I have much in common with damn spots, a not bad bald look, a similar bar tab at the chemo cocktail lounge, and sweet children that help you somehow smile through it all. She is in the midst of her Tax-All flight. So please be praying for her whenever you pray for me.

Cheers,

Joules

p.s. If you haven't registered for The Army of Women yet, please do it. Not just for me and my pink Vespa. Although, you have to admit, it does seem meant to be. Go to www.armyofwomen.org. Click on Get Involved. Scroll down and fill in the registration form. Where it says, how did you hear? Choose Pink Vespa Contest. Then fill in my email address: julie@evanshire.net. Thanks.

p.p.s. If you haven't read my article on Christianity Today's Web Mag yet, please check it out at http://blog.christianitytoday.com/women/2009/10/cancers_mercies.html. Thanks again.