Surgery- Take Two

Dee and I talked shortly after I left Dr. President that Friday afternoon. She has been my sounding board through all of this.  She shared with me that after the PET Scan she felt strongly that I had an additional cancer.  At the start of all this, when Todd, Dee, Doug and I sat huddled up in our living room talking during that first long night, Doug shared with us that he felt my road may be long.  After the phyllodes was removed we assured ourselves that the skin graft and subsequent reconstructive surgeries must be the long road of which he spoke.  None of expected another entirely different cancer to be discovered in my other breast.  I sort of feel like I need to thank that crazy, fast growing, malignant spindle celled neoplasm. That giant tumor was the catalyst which led us to discover this other, menacing growth.  I have to be honest, I'm not much for mammograms. Okay, I'm ashamed to admit it but I had only had one prior to this ordeal.  Reflecting on that makes me realize had I not had the insta-tumor it may have been a year or more before I had a mammogram. Scary stuff right?
So about this second surgery, you would think I would be a pro, right?  Wrong! This time I was about a bazillion times more nervous than I was during the first go round. I'm guessing it's because this time I wasn't in shock.  Looking back at round one I recognize I was in some sort of shock for the first few days.  I'm not sure what shock does to, or for a person but I feel like it served as a sort of protective shell for me.  This time I was aware of what was happening.
Monday was a long day.  After surgery number one I started working on a little family history project which blossomed into a four hundred page recipe/ family history book complete with photos and numerous stories.  That book kept my mind completely occupied while I healed.  I can't wait 'til my hardbound Mecham Family Cookbooks arrive so I can give one to each of my kids for Christmas. That Monday I sat down to work on the book and Doug went off to work.   It's hard for me to avoid being superstitious.  I know, it's silly, but I really struggle with that.  So on Monday while I worked on this incredible labor of love it  occurred to me, "Am I doing this so my kids will have all of these recipes and these stories if I die?"  I looked around at the little old house we live in.  Last summer I spent every waking moment and many moments when I should have been sleeping, painting our old cabinets, hanging new drapes, I even put in a new floor and kitchen backsplash.  "Was that all part of God's way of easing me out of the picture? Take care of everything that needs to be taken care of, and then I'm gone?"  As I went through my parents old photos I realized that in the years before my mother died- years preceding the onset of her battle with Alzheimer's disease- my mother had gone through all of her old family photos and written a detailed description on the back of each picture.  I was sure she  must have been prompted to do this before it became impossible for her to do so.  I was equally as certain that my frantic work on this sure to be family heirloom was much like my mother's effort to scribe handwritten details on the backs of the photos of my ancestors.  That day was a hard day.  Lots of time spent thinking about the "what ifs."   Not to mention the worry I had about pain this time up to bat.
When I saw Dr. President  on the Friday before the surgery he told me after doing the mastectomy  he would do the skin graft on my leg.  I was looking forward to having the shark wound patched up. (More about the care of the shark bite later) The only problem is skin grafts hurt like the dickens.  Dr. President didn't try to sugar coat it.  He said, "It hurts.  You'll be okay."  I knew he was telling me the truth- it would hurt, but I would be alright.  Then he told me what felt like the worst part of this whole ordeal.  He said I had to have four shots into the area around my nipple- while I was awake- without any local anesthetic.  SAY WHAT?    After being admitted and brought to the surgical waiting area,  I would be taken to the nuclear medicine department. There a specialist would inject a radioactive dye into that area which would in essence map out the route to my sentinel lymph node.   Dr. President took one look at me, tears spilling down my cheeks, and said, "I'm sorry."  I felt so bad that he felt bad.  Here this wonderful guy has done so much for me, made every effort to ease my burdens and I'm blubbering over four lousy shots.  It was pathetic but I just couldn't stop feeling sorry for myself. All I'm  thinking at this point is, (and forgive my salty language) my boob is getting cut off tonight and my final memory of the old girl is going to be this.  Weird, right?  I mean does anyone have a final memory of their boob?  Probably not, but at the time I felt very justified in hating the little mound of flesh.
Monday evening came and Doug and I headed off to the hospital.  We waited downstairs for Dee and Kristie and then the four of us headed up to the third floor.  During my first surgery the waiting room and the holding tank were busy and alive with people.  Tonight we had the pace to ourselves.  After they suited me up, (again the gown with the paw prints)and got my IV line in an orderly came to take me down to nuclear medicine.  My crew followed but once we got down to the department the technician informed us that I had to go it alone. I was scared and a few tears may have slipped from my eyes at that point.  Well,I will spare you the details but it is sufficient to say that trip to nuclear medicine went exactly as everything else has gone.  Two incredibly kind people, a  chatty technician and a gentle doctor, helping me through a rather painful ordeal.  I made it back to the surgical waiting area where my posse sat waiting, Dee, Kristie,  my old friend Jamie who had arrived while I was gone, and of course, Doug.  I impressed upon them to never, no matter what, get a nipple piercing. I hope they took me seriously, but with that crew, you never can tell. Later,  Ari and Derek also dropped by and were able to come back to see me in the surgical holding tank.
Next entered my anesthesiologist. Doctor Vollers.  I. LOVE. HER.  Remember my fist surgery, how I woke up, threw up, felt sick for days?  Yes?  Well I told Dr. Vollers about all that.  She sat with me for maybe twenty minutes and went over what she planned to do to ensure I would not feel that way again. ( I didn't by the way- woke up without any side-effects whatsoever.)  Dr. President appeared and  talked to all of us for a few minutes.  Kristie offered to go suit up, but he assured her he had things under control.  We all had  a good laugh.  Minutes later I was being wheeled back to the O.R.. Dr. Vollers walked along side me.  Angel nurses moved me to the operating table effortlessly. Again they stretched my arms out  and wrapped me up in warm blankets.  Dr. Vollers calmly spoke to me as she started some sort of feel good medicine.  Again I searched the room for my hero.  There he was- head bowed.
Peacefully I drifted off.
The surgery took some time.  Doug had lots of company in the waiting room.  Suzie and Brent and a few others had joined those waiting. Later Suzie told me she could see just how nervous Doug was. As the night wore on she said  he removed himself from the group.  Unlike me, lots of talking does not comfort my husband.  He is far more comfortable in quiet places.  I know he was grateful, so grateful, for the support though and cherishes our friends for their kindness.  Dr. President  emerged after surgery to tell them all went well.  Everyone who was there said they could see that Dr. President was happy, genuinely happy.  I wish I could have been there.  I'm envisioning a moment similar to those one Grey's Anatomy:

Doctor emerging from the surgery suite. Those waiting for the news jumping up to meet him. A huge sigh of relief from the Doctor as he takes off his cap.  The family and friends burst into happy tears. Roll credits while  we hear Meredith's voice-over saying some dopey stuff about how everyone has pain.

I don't know if it was like that, but that's how I picture it in my mind. A couple hours later I was home on the couch watching my recording of the season premier of the Voice.  Take that you nasty cancer.  You can't beat me.

No man is a failure who has friends

Remember the movie It’s a Wonderful Life?  Of course you do.  If you know me you know that I’m crazy about this movie.  At Christmas time it’s a toss up for me between It’s a Wonderful Life and Elf.  If I had to pick just one though, I think George Bailey and his sidekick Clarence would take the prize.   One of the most memorable scenes  in the movie comes at the very end when George finds a copy of  Tom Sawyer among the hundreds of dollars his friends and neighbors collected to help him. With Mary at his side and ZuZu in his arms George opens the book and  reads the inscription from his friend Clarence,  “ Dear George, Remember no man is a failure who has friends.” This has always resonated with me. So much so that a couple of years ago the theme of my  Christmas card and letter was It’s a Wonderful Life. I ended our family letter with the inscription George found in the old  book.     Friendships are important to everyone to some extent I suppose.  My father was a great friend. Always willing to go the extra mile for a friend, neighbor or even an acquaintance. I think I take after him in this respect.  I endeavor to be a good friend and strive to keep in touch with the friends I have made over the years. A long time ago a teacher told me something along the lines of, “People won’t remember what you said, but people will always remember how you made them feel.”  From then on I’ve honestly attempted to make people feel good about themselves when they are around me.  

Find a job you love and you'll never work a day in your life!

Over the past two months Dee has mentioned to me more than once that my determined effort to be a good friend is evidenced in the outpouring of support I have received from so many.  I’m certainly grateful for my father’s example.  He knew life was better, sweeter, richer with friends to share the joys and hardships.    On Sunday the 18th of September I woke up excited for the day ahead.  At church I serve in the Primary and today was the final practice for the Primary sacrament meeting  program.  I had missed some meetings recently due to my circumstances and my counselors had done the lion’s share of the work getting this program pulled together. I was excited to see the children as they prepared to perform.   Now that my own kids are grown and gone, I am usually pretty early for church. On this Sunday however, I was running a little behind and was going to arrive only about five minutes prior to church starting. . Doug had meetings that morning so he was already at the building.  When I arrived and entered the back of the chapel I saw my friend Kelli from work.  Before I could process this I realized many other friends from Lied were sitting together in a middle row.  They all turned to greet me with enormous smiles.  It took me a second but I then noticed they were all dressed in pink.  My heart felt as if it grew an inch in my chest. Here were these wonderful women and men, most of faiths different than my own,, sacrificing their Sunday morning to be with me in the place they know I hold the most dear, second only to my own home. There were hugs all around and introductions galore.  Many of the youth in our ward attended Lied so the kids scurried over to say hello to their old teachers. When it was time to begin we all took our seats. .As we sang the opening song my eyes filled with tears.  I was so touched by this gesture.  Again I reflected on the giving of one’s time- how precious a gift it is. I saw a great poem in my oncologist’s office.  It’s called, What Cancer Cannot Do.

It cannot cripple love

It cannot shatter hope

It cannot corrode faith

It cannot eat away peace

It cannot destroy friendship

It cannot suppress memories

It cannot silence courage

It cannot invade the soul

It cannot steal eternal life

It cannot conquer the spirit

When church ended, I stood in the foyer surrounded by my friends- more hugs, more tears , more promises of prayers- and realized that cancer truly has no power over me.

PET scans and biopsies

I got myself worked up into a tizzy about getting the PET scan.  No, not because I feared the results. Well, I did fear the results, but more on that fear later.  I was afraid to do the actual scan.  Somewhere between the start of junior high and adulthood I convinced myself I was completely claustrophobic.  I say it came on in junior high because I know in elementary school the idea of crawling into my brother's accordion case and letting him carry me around the house thrilled me.  Anyhow, the thought of the PET scan was freaking me out. I looked at pictures online of the long white tubes  and thought, "There is no way I won't lose it in there."  I called Steinberg Diagnostic and they told they could medicate me.  No way.  I was not interested in any drugs.  After the three days on pain meds following the first surgery I had sworn off any drugs that weren't required for saving my life. They told me to come a little early so I could check the machine out.  Turns out, I had nothing to fear.  I'm pretty small so the tube was actually quite roomy for me.   I had an IV injection of some sort, drank a gross chalky drink and then sat quietly for about 45 minutes. Okay, I tried to sit quietly. The gal doing my scan was darling.  So kind, and when I had a chance to talk with her, she shared with me how much she loves her job.  She even had some tattoos on her arms that paid homage to her work. By the time she slid me into the tube I was enjoying a great book on my audible account and I might have even dozed off for a minute or two during the process. The PET scan itself was a breeze. When I was done, I studied the tech's face as she looked at the machine in her office where I was sure the results were displayed.  I tried to read the look in her eyes, but she, like so many other technicians have a poker face that could take down Steve Wynn's empire.
The  next day I had a lunch date with my friend Teri Stolworthy.  I really wish someone would record one of our get togethers.  You see, both of us can talk. Not like regular talking, no, we can both REALLY talk.  Our lunch dates last for hours and often when we finally say goodbye we are both rushing off to get dinner for our families. It was the perfect way for me to kill the time before seeing Dr. President that afternoon.
At 5:00PM Doug and I found ourselves in the same exam room we had been in when we got the happy news about the phyllodes tumor.  This time Dr. President entered the room with a little less spring in his step. Uh oh, where was Dick Van Dyke? The PET scan revealed something suspicious- high metabolic activity in my right breast.

At 10 am the following Tuesday I was back at Steinberg Diagnostic for a biopsy.  I am completely over my fear of needles by the way. I have been poked and stuck so many times in the past two months I hardly even wince anymore.  This biopsy was nothing like the first.  The first biopsy, on the gigantic phyllodes tumor was a breeze for the doctor.  I mean, it was like hitting a beachball with a baseball bat.  The technician during the first biopsy took about two minutes to get the necessary ultrasound pictures and then one, two, three, the biopsy was done in three quick clicks. Oh, for those of you that have never had a biopsy, they aren't too bad.  I mean it hurts, but really the most uncomfortable thing about it is the noise the needle makes when it's doing its thing.  It reminded me of a the noise an electric stapler makes.  That noise, coupled with the fact that you are probably at least a little bit anxious due to the fact that something irregular showed up on an earlier test, makes the entire process nerve wracking.  This biopsy was going to be more difficult to do than the "one, two three, and done" on the phyllodes I had experienced the month prior.  Just like last time though, the technician performed an ultrasound to get a clear look at the lesion.  If you have ever had an ultrasound before you know the wand and jelly routine.  When you're expecting this experience can be pleasant. When the technician is searching for cancer, instead of a baby it's dreadful.  I knew after a minute or two something was wrong.  This sweet technician did not have the poker face of the gal I had met during my PET scan.  She left the room to get the doctor.  A gentle middle aged man came in.  He informed me that the ultrasound showed two lesions. What? Two lesions?  How could this be possible?  I had a mammogram just weeks ago when the biopsy was done for the phyllodes tumor.  He explained that sometimes women with dense breast tissue get inaccurate reads on mammograms.  I already knew this as Dr. President had explained it to me the last time I saw him, but I let this nice man explain it to me again as tears tumbled down my cheeks.  He told me he needed to call my insurance to get approval to do two biopsies instead of the one that was ordered before he could go on.  He and the technician left the room and I lay alone there crying miserable tears.  After what seemed like an hour they came back and the procedure was over in no time at all.  I was sick with worry as Kristie drove me home but I tried to keep myself on the sunny side of the street.
Last time I had a biopsy it had taken three days for my doctor to get the results.  If the same was true I would hear on Friday afternoon.  I had an appointment with Dr. President Friday morning and hoped he would have the results when we met.  I didn't want the news of the results to come from anyone but him.
Can we take a minute to think about Dr. President.  Can you imagine going into a room and telling a friend, anyone, for that matter, that he or she has cancer?   Can you imagine trying to deliver that horrible news? Sometimes when a loved one or we ourselves our ill, I think we forget about the health care providers and the terrifically difficult job they have. In times of a health crisis we are so caught up in our own cares that we might forget how painful this process must be for them, particularly in cases involving a friend. Sitting there in the exam room as he explained the results of the needle biopsy to Doug and I,  we could tell he was clearly saddened.
The biopsies on the right breast produced two different results.  The first, a benign  mass. (Finally my fibroadenoma arrives at the party.) The other, the one Dr. Thummala was concerned about, was cancer.  Not a phyllodes tumor, but a more commonly had breast cancer.  The needle biopsy indicated a ductal carcinoma.  We learned from Dr.President 80% of all breast cancers are ductal carcinomas. We discussed my options, lumpectomy or mastectomy.  Again, I was thinking, "Can you go get your scalpel and take care of it right now?"  I already had my shark bite where the phyllodes had been, I didn't care at this point about aesthetics, I just wanted that stupid cancer out of me. We quickly decided I would have a mastectomy on the right side. Dr. President had his surgical scheduler look for an opening in his schedule. There weren't any, so instead of having me wait, he decided he would perform the surgery after a full day of work the following Monday. (Again can I get a holler for Dr. Presdient?  I don't even want to grade papers at night and here he was willing to work well into the night for my benefit.)We would be headed back to Mountain View in just a few days for my second surgery in three weeks.
When we were driving home I shared with Doug that I had been praying for Dr. President earlier that morning.  Something in me knew that he would be delivering bad news to me that day and I wanted nothing more for him than peace that day.

Oncology, pathology and a bunch of other stuff.

August 31
My first post op checkup with Dr. President.   Wait, no, let me say that again.  My first post op checkup with Dr. President at his office.  Y'all don't know how good I got it- my surgeon makes house calls.  All kidding aside that wonderful, brilliant, kind hearted, busier than anyone I know, guy stopped by my house to check on me once or twice during those first few days after surgery.  To say I'm blessed really is an understatement.
Anyhow, the afternoon of the 31st found me and Doug sitting in one of Dr. President's exam rooms.  Doug in a chair, me on the exam table waiting anxiously for Dr. President. He has a way of bursting into the room.  His entrances  remind me a bit of the opening of the Dick Van Dyke show.  Do you remember that?  Dick would come through the door, a huge smile on his face, filling the room with cheer. Well that's how Dr. President enters. He doesn't trip though, for the audience. I wonder if he could work that in for me at some later date. That day his smile was broad. He shook Doug's hand vigorously and announced, "The tumor was a phyllodes tumor."  This was the best bad news a person in my shoes could get.  The tumor was still cancerous, it was still a malignant sort, but it was a type of cancer that afforded me great survival odds.  What's more, the margins were clear, meaning no little sneaky cells had been left behind when he operated and, as would be expected with a phyllodes tumor, my lymph nodes were clear.  All of this great news was more than I could handle.  I burst into tears and jumped up and hugged poor Dr. President.
Following an exam of the shark bite Dr. President told us next up would be a visit to Steinburg for a PET Scan to make sure no other cancers were lurking in my body.  Just a precaution.  He also gave me some instructions to raise my arms, my left arm in particular, over my head each day to ensure proper healing.  Let me tell you this arm lifting is hard stuff.  Don't ever take for granted the amazing work Heavenly Father did creating you.  Our bodies, and their ability to function, are truly remarkable.  As I walk my fingers up the wall each day in order to stretch those muscles fully I find truly myself grateful for the body I have been given.

A few days later I met with my oncologist, Dr Thummala.  Can I just take a minute to say, I love her. Dr Thummala is a short, pretty Indian woman who speaks with a touch of a Hindi accent. Sunny was with Doug and I at this appointment and the entire time the Doctor was talking to me I can see Sunny smirking. I know it is because she is thinking my oncologist looks like Mindy Kaling, the actress who plays Kelly, on the Office.  I know she is thinking that because it is exactly what I am thinking. Of course we can't have that discussion until we are in the car so I'm up on the exam table trying to play it cool while Sunny is in the chair suppressing a giggle. Doug was none the wiser, bless his heart .   Dr. President really likes Dr. Thummala.  He said her goal in life is to stamp out every cancer cell on the planet. I believe it.  Her bedside manner is great and don't forget how spoiled I am by Dr. President. He's a tough act to follow but she did not disappoint.  She talked with us about the pathology findings and told us she was going to have another lab look at it for a second opinion.  I worried aloud, "Do you think the phyllodes diagnosis is wrong?  Could it be one of the more sinister cancers we were worried about?"  She assured me it was just good practice to get a second opinion, "It is, after all," she said, "cancer." While she examined my shark bite and then my right breast I told her that  Dr. President had ordered a PET Scan.  While we were talking it became obvious to me she had found something in my right breast that she did not like.  She continued to examine me and finished with, "Yes, go have that PET scan."  I asked her about what she found and she confirmed my suspicion.  There was something, barely there, that felt wrong to her. She didn't appear overly concerned but she also ordered an ultrasound to be sure. I left her and made a handful of appointments for the next few weeks and honestly didn't give too much thought to that little something she found on my right side. Leaving her office that day  I tried to read into every comment she made but mostly fixated on why  she want a second opinion on that pathology?  I don't remember being too worried about the little something she found on my right side. C'mon, it can't be more cancer.  Can it?

Time is free, but it's priceless

August 28-September 10
Do you know how many great chefs  there are living in Las Vegas?  I'm not talking about those working in 5 star restaurants on the Las Vegas strip. I'm talking about members of the San Miguel Ward, the Shadow Mountain stake and the Highland Hills stake.
The day I came home from the hospital the food started to arrive.  Delicious meals,  hearty soups, fresh baked breads, cookies and cakes, succulent fruits, healthy nuts, and sumptuous cheeses. It was as if we were living in a giant buffet.  Doug and I were fed so well it kind of seemed like Christmas around here.  You know when all your neighbors and friends are dropping off yummy treats.  It was like that, but better, because  along with the treats we had delicious home cooked meals.  Seriously, it was such a relief to have dinners taken care of during those first few weeks.  How blessed we are to have so many wonderful friends.  We were indeed well fed.   To be honest though, I wasn't too hungry.  Pain medications and the worrisome thoughts kept my appetite at bay.  I was hungry for a different kind of food though, and let me tell you, those same folks who brought over meals and many others brought me just what I needed most. Friendship.  I arrived home from the hospital on Sunday afternoon and within minutes visitors began dropping by.  I know for some a string of guests might have been overwhelming, but for me that constant stream of guests provided joy.  At the risk of sounding trite, I am a people person. Okay, if you know me, are you laughing. I love to meet new people, I love to contact old friends and mostly I love to talk to people.   My mother had professional pictures done of me of my when I was a baby.  I was fat and bald  and because she had four sons and only one daughter she taped a pink bow to my head.  I'm not joking.  Funnier still is the prop she gave me for those photos.  A pink phone rattle.  I was probably two or three months old but I have that little phone positioned just right in those pictures as if I am talking to my best girlfriend.   Even then I knew where I was headed. Give me a couple of friends and a few hours to kill and all is right in my world. So in those days that followed the surgery the visits brought me just what I  needed.   Friends from church, from work, and the neighborhood dropping by to assure me I was in their prayers.  These words lifted my spirit as I knew of their sincerity.  Friends from across the miles and oceans away sending messages via email, snail mail and facebook. Almost all of them ending their note with, "My family is praying for you," or "You are in my prayers nightly."

On Monday Doug had to go to work.  I was still pretty messed up. Pain medications making me foggy and a shark bite (as we jokingly called it) where my left breast used to be kept me somewhat sedentary.  In came my girls.  Just when I thought I couldn't possibly  be the recipient of another blessing I was told I wouldn't be alone while Doug was at work.  I would have my girlfriends with me to pass the time. Gloria and Kristie had the day shift, followed by Dee during the after school hours. Every day these angels came and attended to my every need.  Flora Fauna and Merryweather come to mind. I could never do enough or say enough to thank them. Talk about laying up your treasures in heaven.  These women are true examples of Christlike love and service.

My friend Jori placed my name on every operating U.S. Temple's prayer roll.

As I have gotten older I recognize the sweet truth in something my father used to tell me, "Time is free, but it's priceless."  When I was young I didn't really understand what he meant and thought he just wanted me to slow down and spend more time with him and my mom.  That was probably in part true. Now, I realize the subtle implications of that phrase.  When a person gives you their time they are giving you something they can never get back or replace.  It is a real and personal sacrifice to give in that way.  When I think of the countless prayers said in my behalf, the countless temple roles on which my name was placed, the meals prepared, the notes written, the thoughtful posts made on facebook, the friendly visits- the sum of those accumulated minutes overwhelms me.  How can I live my life in a way that truly expresses my thanks? I am not sure exactly, but heaven knows I will keep trying.

The simple secret is this, put your trust in the Lord, do your best, then leave the rest to Him

Probably the hardest part of a cancer diagnosis is telling your kids.  All of our kids are in their twenties now.  When we got the news, Millie was still 19.  How do you make that phone call?  "Hey guys, I have cancer." I couldn't do it.  Doug called each of them and broke the news to them individually.   Each reacted in a way that we expected.  There were no surprises. Recognizing their individual personalities we knew there was going to be a need for support particularly for our two youngest.  Bret had just returned from a mission.  His tender heart was ill prepared for the devastating news and Millie, my sidekick, was immediately, like me, imagining a world in which I no longer lived.
The days and weeks that followed found me thinking about my kids and the relationship I have with each of them. How different their personalities were.  How unique were the talents and challenges. I worried -had I taught them enough about adult life?  They are all college-aged so each was making their way on their own, but I still heard from them most every day.  Sometimes just to chat but often times to ask for much needed advice or something as simple as a recipe.

My sidekick

Pretty quickly I came to the conclusion that the two oldest kids, Joey and Jenna, would be okay if the worst case scenario were to play out.  Both of them are happily married, confidently starting their own lives, and thankfully keeping the sacred covenants they made in the House of the Lord. And while I love Jenna and our third in line, Bret, with all the love of a biological mother, I recognize they have a loving mother to whom they are bound eternally.  While I know both Jenna and Bret love me deeply and would of course mourn the loss should I die, they would be okay.  Don't get me wrong, none of the kids would be good.  None of them would be unscathed or left without a gaping whole in their life that only I could fill. Of course not.  We are a family and as such we each play an important, no crucial, role in that intricate web.  What I mean to say is each of the three older kids would find a soft landing eventually. The memories of our life would sustain them and of course the knowledge they have of eternal families would buoy them up in times of grief.    That left Millie. Millie knows, as do the others, that our family is forever but she is just 19.  Forever is a long way off when you have your whole life to live.  Millie and I have a close bond, as many mothers and daughters do. We talk several times every day and most big decisions and small decisions she faces involve a chat with mum prior to a verdict.  We do this little thing that started when she was a very small girl.  I reach out and take her hand and give it three small squeezes.  She returns the squeezes adding one more.  For a long time neither of us said anything about it, we just did it whenever I dropped her off at school, or at a friends.  At night before bed it was always the same- three squeezes from me answered with four squeezes by her.  When she was  attending the  middle school at which I taught we would do this if we saw each other during the school day.  We never really discussed it but we both knew, my three little squeezes meant, "I love you."  Her return squeezes meant, "I love you too."  Thinking about Millie trying to navigate all the future has in store for her without me by her side was more than I could bear.  Try as I might to think positive thoughts, the image of her sitting in the bride's chair without me by her side flooded my mind.  My mother died when I was 43 years old and not a day goes by that I don't wish I could talk to her, be with her, hold her hand.  Would Millie  have to live her entire adult life without a mother?   As depressing as these thoughts are a cancer diagnosis makes one think about the reality of mortality and the fact that none of us are guaranteed a tomorrow.    I could list a million similar things that trapsed through my mind late at night.  A million things Millie would have to do on her own; things a mother does with her daughter. I will spare you the agony, because it's agony, I promise.
About two weeks after the first surgery, I went to temple with Kristie. Sitting in the celestial room I had time to think.  Recently in our ward President Johnson had talked about calling down the powers of heaven on our children when we are in the temple.  As I contemplated this I begged God to be with my sweet Millie.  "I am." came the answer. Right there, right then, it was confirmed to me that no matter what was to come, my children, all of my children, would be okay.
In the October 2008 session of general conference,  Elder Joseph Wirthlin gave one of my favorite talks of all time, "Come What May and Love It".  In it he recounts a time in his daughter's life when she was very ill.  He gave her a note that read, "The simple secret is this, put your trust in the Lord, do your best, then leave the rest to Him."  If that is all I can teach my children during the rest of my life, be it 4 or 40 years, I will have accomplished all I need to accomplish as their mother.

Tears, Tears and More Tears

October 27
 Did I mention to you that I'm not an overly emotional person?  Well, I guess that isn't entirely true.  I do have emotions.  Strong ones.  I just don't usually do sad.  It is a bit of a problem really, you see, my go to negative emotion is anger.  If I am sad, disappointed, shocked, dismayed, anything negative, I usually find a way to turn those feelings into good old anger.  Yup, lame, I know, but it's true.  I have been working on this for years.  Angry Mum is probably an image all my kids can conjure up without too much trouble. Big things don't usually make me angry though.  My anger is usually born of things like, dishes in the sink, disagreements amongst our little brood, a lost shoe, stuff like that.  So as far as my cancer is concerned, there hasn't been any anger. There hadn't been too much sadness on my part either. Some tears, mostly related to fear I would say.  Things like, "If I die, who will help Millie pick out her wedding dress?" haunt me every now and then , but mostly I have been positive. Positive I will survive, for sure, but just positive overall.  I have looked for the blessings in all of this and have found them, because they are so many-  innumerable really.  Last week I went to see Dr. President.  It is  always good to see him because even though the majority of our visit focuses on my healing process, we talk about other things too; our families, the stake events that are happening, books, the list goes on.  All of that is smattered in between the usual doctor stuff.  (Another blessing, right?)  Anyhow, last week when I visited him he shared with me something I have heard before, but never much considered, he said, "You're positive attitude is one of the reasons you are healing so well, so quickly and so thoroughly."  He said patients with positive attitudes in all of the medical world fare far better than those who are pessimistic.  This only reaffirmed my desire to focus on those blessings I am receiving during this trial.
I have been taking Tamoxifen for about three weeks and haven't felt any of the horrid side effects some experience. I have been awoken a few nights with night sweats and have felt a little nauseated, but it's nothing I can't handle. Then came Thursday. I felt tired all day, but more than tired, I felt sad.  That kind of sad you can't get out from under. Suzie took one look at me when I arrived at work and asked me if I felt okay.  Later in the morning Suzie's husband Brent stopped by to bring her lunch.  He too inquired.  Brent always knows when something is up.   I stayed late at work hoping to get a bunch of student work graded and helping some students with a writing assignment that was due the next day.  By the time I got home, it was close to 4:30. Doug beat me home by a few minutes.  I knew this because when I walked through the door I could hear the sounds of glasses being placed in the dishwasher from the morning's breakfast and the cats were still crying for food..  Normally I would make my way to the kitchen and we would talk about the day's events, but I couldn't bring myself to go to him.  I walked straight to the back of the house, dropped my bags and fell onto our bed.  I didn't even bother to take off my shoes. Immediately,  the tears came.  I don't even really know what I was crying about.  Everything I guess.  I cried about my body and the loss I felt there.  I cried about getting older.  I cried about my kids being older too, and how I missed those days of chaos when they were all young.  I cried because I missed my little dog Friedo.  Mostly though, I cried because I missed my mom and dad.  Poor Doug came back to the bedroom and found me, my face, and hair soaked with  tears.  I was crying so hard I was doing that weird breathing thing that little kids do when they cry.  It wasn't pretty, I'm sure.  He knew better than to ask me what was wrong so he just sat beside me and listed to me shudder and weep.  Then a remarkable thing happened. As I lay there desperately missing my parents I had an epiphany. Really I did.  You see, in my faith we believe that after we die we will be with our family again.  This is one of the reasons Latter Day Saints do Temple work.  We are taught that our families can, and though our efforts, will be together forever. This is something I have believed since joining the church.  But believing and knowing are a little bit different, aren't they?   As I lie there sobbing the most peaceful  feeling came over me assuring me that I will see my parents again and  that they are aware of my circumstances now.  It was exquisite. The tears still came and missing them still pained me, but suddenly I knew, not believed, but knew, I will be with my parents again.  Further I understood that this truth applies to my little family and that one day we will all be together again.
I have to tell you that cry felt so dang good.  It is the first time since this whole thing started that I cried tears of sadness. Those tears served as a sort of catharsis.  After the release of all that sadness a more welcome emotion flooded over me. One that I have felt throughout my journey-  Gratitude.

Pain Meds and Visitors.

August 28
Can I ask a daring question right now?  How does anyone get addicted to pain medication?  The stuff is gross.  I mean grossity- gross, gross, gross. It's like being semi conscious and underwater at the same time. I may have been in pain.  I'm not sure.  All I know is I was out of it and what's worse, I was nauseated.  Everytime I tried to sit up the hospital room would spin and I would throw up.  I couldn't wait to get home.  I had lots of visitors, I guess.  Again, the memory is not too clear.  I know Dr. President came to see me after his morning church meetings.  He brought along Presidents Stucki and Johnson. I'm sure I completely embarrassed myself talking about how I was part shark now that Dr. President used Integra- shark cartilage on my open wound.
As loopy as I was I do know I was grateful that these three great men would come to see me during my hour of need.  The best thing about the visit was Dr. President gave the okay for me to go home. Shortly after his visit we were checked out. It felt so good to be outside.  Doug and I both felt as if we had been cooped up in the hospital for weeks.  Before we pulled into the driveway I could see that my little house had been heart attacked.  Paper hearts covered my doors, windows and garage doors.  My yard had been dotted with hearts and a giant pink ribbon was wrapped around the old pine in our yard.  My heart swelled as I looked at the hearts written on by the primary children, youth and adults of our ward.  My house (sparkling clean thanks to Theresa) was filled with hearts, all holding messages from friends and loved ones.   A little while later, still as loopy as can be I was propped up on my couch gratefully receiving visitors.  People energize me and give me strength.  Those who know me well know this about me, so they came.  I am so glad they did.
Doug and I knelt together to pray that night. Again gratitude filled my heart as never before.  No matter what came, I was blessed.

My People

An old photo of my people ~ Us, 2002~

August 27
Waking up from surgery is a strange thing for me.  Because of the drugs I always think I haven't yet fallen asleep.  My first thoughts are, "they are not going to know I'm still awake.  I'm going to feel this."  This must be a common line of thinking because when I woke up there was my dutiful nurse and the first thing he said was, "Your surgery is over."  Maybe it wasn't the first thing he said, I can't be sure because I was really out of it, but it is the first thing I remember.

If you know me you know I am naturally a pretty friendly gal.  I like to make new friends and can pretty much strike up a conversation with anyone. My kids used to be so embarrassed by me.  In the grocery store I always talk to everyone around me.  "Mom, do you know that lady? Oh my gosh stop talking to her." Medicated me is even more friendly.  While being wheeled to my room I talked to everyone we passed in the halls.  I even invited a few friendly workers up to visit me.  Oh well, It's who I am. 

I really don't remember much but I do remember being wheeled into my room.  The sun was shining through the window and in the light I could see Doug, Dee and Todd, Sunny and Kristie.  "My people!" I exclaimed as they pushed me into the room.  I guess I did some sort of gangsta sign with my hands, but I don't remember that.   I was in and out of sleep for the rest of that day.  

Surgery

Nurse=Angel

August 27
Saturday morning found Doug and I driving to Mountain View Hospital.  Just as we were told, we took the elevators directly up to the surgical floor and after a short wait I was escorted back to the pre op area.  I was suited up (for some reason the gowns at MV hospital have paw prints on them), given an IV and after about five minutes Doug, Kristie  and Sunny were with me in the holding tank.  We prayed, took photos and generally drove the nursing staff crazy with our laughter.  Actually the surgical nurse joined right in with us laughing so I guess we weren't driving anyone crazy really.
When it was time to go I was wheeled into the operating room and my posse went out to wait in the waiting room. I have given some thought to how hard it must have been for Doug to sit and wait. He is always my fix it guy, my protector, and all of this was completely out of his hands.   Dr President had just been in to see me and my entourage in the holding tank before I was wheeled back to the O.R.. He was now in the operating room along with quite a few others.  The anesthesiologist spoke briefly to me. I nodded as he added something to my IV that made me feel just fine.  My arms were outstretched by the angel of a nurse who assured me he would be there when I woke up. (He was.) So much was going on and I was fading fast. I looked around and found who I was looking for- Dr. President.  I am not sure but his head was bowed and he was still.  I think he was praying.

Prayers

I believe in the power of prayer. I believed our Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers before this chapter in my life.  It isn't something I came to as a result of this, but my testimony of this principle was certainly strengthened during this ordeal.  Kristie Lytle and I joke that she is a prayer Ninja.  She is.  She taught me to pray specifically for things that I need.  Not general prayers but for specific and exact things.
During these weeks and months I have asked for very specific prayers. I am grateful that so many were able to pray with such intent.  I have felt the love and outpouring of support from family and friends far and wide.  My phone, facebook, and email were all filled with inspiring messages and the promise of prayers. It was an experience like none other.  There was so much love being directed at me.    I have never felt more gratitude in my heart. Never.  I felt at times like my heart my explode.  Don't ever doubt what prayer can do.
The night before my second surgery Doug and Todd gave me another blessing.  The blessing afforded me a better understanding of my situation.  Doug said  I agreed to this trial before I came to the earth. I understood that I would suffer but our Father in Heaven had many choice sons and daughters who had ceased communicating with him.  Through my trial many who had not called upon or cried out to God for years would commence speaking with him again. He also said this trial would bring people closer to God. That it would cause many to reflect on their circumstances and would propel them toward their families and toward their Father in Heaven.
During the weeks that have followed my surgeries and treatment I have had many friends tell me just that.  Things like, "I never pray, but since you asked..." or, "It's been years since I have said a prayer..."  Many have said, "Your situation has helped me to put into perspective what is really important in my life."
I believe we all agreed to do hard things during our time on earth.  My path is nothing compared to some. In fact, I dare say, my journey is nothing compared to most.  The greatest thing I have though is a sure knowledge of God's plan.  I believe God has a plan for each of us.  He is always aware and perfectly cares about us each individually. For that knowledge I am grateful.  I know, in the end, no matter what happens, everything will be alright.  

No Small Thing

August 26

Before we knew it was serious- Me and the girls laughing at the lump.

Did I mention that the tumor in my breast went from the size of a pea to the size of an orange in less than a month?  It did.  It was the freakiest thing. When  I was young I used to joke that if I ever had breast cancer I would know immediately because my chest was so small it would surely stick out like a sore thumb.   At the end of June, 2016 I felt the tiniest little something and by the time it was removed on August 27 it was the size of  a small grapefruit.  No joke about the sore thumb- this thing protruded out the side of my left breast  so much so that anyone looking at me would surely think, "Wow that poor gal is lopsided."  It happened so fast.  So fast.   You might be wondering how is it I had this huge mass in my breast and didn't suspect cancer.  Simple, I was told again and again that everything about this mass indicated a fibroadenoma.  I was told this by my doctor's nurse practitioner when I saw her at the beginning of July."It's likely a cyst or perhaps a fibroadenoma."  I was told this by the first ultrasound tech I saw a week later.  I was told this again when I saw the nurse practitioner  to get the ultrasound results.  "It's got all the hallmarks of a fibroadenoma."  She ordered a mammogram.  Unfortunately the first available mammogram by our covered provider was in September.  I couldn't wait that long.  Doug and I decided to call on our dear friend Carol White who is a mammogram tech at a local imaging clinic.  It was a Friday afternoon and I would be in to see Carol the first thing Monday.  Carol was the first person to show any sort of genuine concern over the size of the mass. After she finished with the images the doctor told her, "The patient needs a biopsy done."  Again I had to go back to my doctor's nurse (thanks insurance) so she could order the biopsy.  A week later  I got in for that.  Again, the Doc who did the biopsy mentioned a probable fibroadenoma.
Let me make this clear none of the Doctors or nurses were downplaying the possibility of something more sinister than a fibroadenoma.  Each cautioned that it could be something more, but each was hopeful, as was I, that this was going to be a  small side step in my life. One in which I might need a little surgery to remove this intruder, and then back to the day to day business.
After the phone call on the 25th my hope for a quick removal of some weird lump in my breast was dashed. "malignant, spindle celled, neoplasm..."
The morning of the 26th Doug and I got ready early.  Thanks to Todd's quick thinking Dr. President had been able to call in a sleeping pill for me. I didn't get much sleep, but I got some.  We tried to keep the mood light, but both of us were weighed down with fear.  We prayed, cried, prayed some more.  I didn't eat or drink in hopes Dr. President could lie me across his examining table and just cut the whole thing off.  Crazy, right?  But that is what I hoped for.
We arrived at his office at about the same time he came over from the hospital.  Doctors, I learned, have a network and by the time I arrived he had already spoken with Dr. Swainston, Dr. Paul and the pathologist.  Dr. President was his usual happy self. Before he examined me he even said something along the lines of, "You're going to be alright." I took such comfort in those words.  After he examined me both Doug and I noticed his demeanor change.  The room grew more serious as he told us he would operate on me  the very next morning.  There was lots of talk about what the surgery would entail.  The size of the mass and the my small frame lead him to think it was likely he wouldn't be able to close me up.  I would need a skin graft later.  I didn't care, not one bit.  Just get the malignant, spindle celled, neoplasm thing out of me.
We left Dr. President's office. His wonderful surgical scheduler gave us all we needed to get registered at the hospital and she made some necessary calls to the insurance company to get the ball rolling.  The process at the hospital took some time.  An old student of mine's mother was the lady checking me in.  I wish I remembered her name, I don't. But I do remember her kindness. As we waited we were told the insurance had not yet approved the surgery.  I called Kristie who sent out the alert to the sisters in my ward.  Dee texted and called women from the stake and asked that they spread the word.  I needed their prayers.  It was Friday afternoon at about 2pm when I talked to Suzie, my partner and crime at work.  She told me the staff at my school, my wonderful work friends, were holding a prayer circle in my behalf in just a few minutes.  I asked her to have them pray specifically that the insurance would approve the surgery.  Doug and I sat and waited.  About twenty minutes later Suz called me back to tel me about the prayers that were offered and to assure me they had prayed about the insurance.  While I was talking with her Dr. President called Doug and said the insurance had approved my surgery.
This tumor, well, it was no small thing. It was immense and forbidding.  But I had something more powerful on my side.  If you have ever wondered, "Does God really hear and answer my prayers?" I can assure you he does.

I Need a Hero

Dr. President at the trek site.  

August 25

Before the night of the 25^th was over, Todd had the foresight to ask Dr. President to prescribe me a sleeping pill.  Dr. President called in that prescription.  He knows of my sleeping problems when I get overly anxious.  He learned all about that side of me in June this past summer.

Two years ago I was visiting with President Stolworthy to renew my Temple Recommend.  After we finished the interview he asked me if I would accept the assignment to chair a pioneer trek for the youth of our stake.  I gladly accepted.  President asked me to think about a co-chair and before I even left him that night I asked if it would be possible to have Todd as my co-chair. Todd had served as our stake president and during his tenure his plans for a trek were to his disappointment, dashed.  I knew his heart would be in this from the word go. I raced home to tell Doug about the trek and my new exciting assignment.  Pioneer trek reenactments are a Latter Day Saint youth activity.  These activities are designed so the youth can experience firsthand the faith and determination of the pioneers.  When I told Doug about the assignment he asked me if I felt overwhelmed.  I said I didn’t, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal, would it?  He replied, “It’s like girls’ camp. Except you get up and move the entire camp every day. Oh, and you have to bring the boys too.”  I swallowed hard and at that moment realized the magnitude of the assignment I had just accepted. 

After some significant work locating a trek location and getting approval Todd and I were ready to create our committee. President Jones, the stake second counselor, was assigned to be our go to guy.  As we crafted a list of names to submit to the stake we spoke about each of the men and women we were requesting be a part of the momentous event.  When it came to our medical chair both Todd and I agreed Bishop Lee Reese would be the right man for the job. I had very little interaction with Bishop Reese up until this point.  I knew of him from my days as YCL leader and Millie had interacted with him as a member of the youth committee, but mostly I knew his sweet wife.  Cathy was a teacher like me and she had also worked in staff development for years.  I told Todd that I didn’t really know Lee, but loved his wife.  Todd laughed and said because of his busy schedule as a surgeon for many years lots of people only knew Lee as "Cathy Reese’s  husband".  Todd shared with me his love for this great man and further assured me that despite his insanely busy schedule he would likely be the one person who attended every meeting. He did attend every meeting and often arrived in scrubs, racing in form the hospital. 

The next year of planning consisted of monthly committee meetings in which lots of discussion took place as to how we could best pull of such an event. At Thanksgiving time I remember telling Doug that I felt like the trek was ready to go.  I remember telling him there  would still be some intricacies that would require much attention, but the big stuff was pretty much in the bag.  The trek was ready to go and if something should happen that I couldn’t be part of it, I could hand it over to another person and it would be just fine. 
In early December of 2015, President Jones called me and instructed me to stop planning for the trek for the time being.  I was broken hearted.  We had heard rumors that there would be changes in our stake, but they were just that, rumors.  Members of our stake and of another stake were asked to attend a meeting in which new ward and stake boundaries would be announced.  The week before we met I ran into Cathy Reese at Target.  It was good to catch up with her.  We talked about kids, school and the likelihood of a new stake. Our conversation in the aisle between the brightly colored sports bras turned to the youth trek.  At this point I had anticipated our new Stake would not be participating. We talked about the many hours of work that had been put in and the unlikely chance a new stake would still be part of the event. Little did either of us  know at that time that her family would soon find out the Lord had some big plans for her husband.   Stake Conference that week found her bearing her testimony as the wives of newly called presidency members do.  Our new stake leaders had their work cut out for them.  Making numerous callings, arranging meeting times, planning the year's activities are just a small part of all that needs to be done when a new stake is formed.  Sunday night after our first official meeting as the Shadow Mountain Stake I got a call from newly ordained President Reese.  "Is your husband home and would it be alright for me to drop by in just a little bit?"  I had a feeling I knew why.  Sure enough he sat down with us and asked if I was willing to continue in my role as trek chairperson.  He said they weren't yet sure exactly how it would work between the two stakes, but that we would figure it out as we went forward.  After that night my point person for the trek was President Reese.  Over the next six months I texted, emailed and spoke with him regularly.  His attention to detail regarding the ins and outs of the trek astounded me.  We had hundreds of people in two stakes attending the trek and somehow he could remember each name and each assignment without referring to his notes. I mentioned his somewhat peculiar ability and attention to detail to Doug who said, "Well he is a surgeon.  If he was operating on you you would be extremely grateful for that  don't you think?"  I agreed and we both laughed, never imagining that one day soon I would close my eyes in an operating room with him standing over me.  As the trek date drew near I found myself having daily conversations with this busy  man and growing more and more fond of him and his leadership style.  How lucky I was to call him my friend. 

The trek was finally upon us.  Like I mentioned earlier I can have problems with sleep.  I work myself up into a frenzy.  I do that thing in which I look at the clock every few minutes and calculate exactly how much sleep I will get if I were to fall asleep at exactly that moment.  It's embarrassing really.  This happens to me every year the night before the first day of school.  Occasionally it'll happen a few days in a row but on those sleepless nights I am home and can busy myself into the wee hours reading or writing, even cooking.  The night before we left Las Vegas for the trek I was up all night.  Literally, all night.  I told Doug and prayed that our first night at the trek site I would be so exhausted I would just pass out when I crawled into my sleeping bag.  The staff arrived at the trek site in Mosida, Utah a day before the youth and the Mas and Pas.  We worked hard- so hard, all day preparing for the arrival of our 300 or so trekkers.That night, even though I was exhausted when the staff all slipped into our tents at about 1:00 AM  I knew I was sunk.  I had taken a Tylenol PM and instead of feeling drowsy I felt like I had just slammed a few diet cokes and a bag of cookies. I lay awake, wide awake, until the sun came up.  My mind raced with all that needed to be accomplished that day.  I was panicked.  Doug is well aware of my quirky sleep problems so he went immediately to President.  "Did he have anything that would ensure I got a good night's sleep  that night?"  He did and sleep I did for the remaining two nights of the trek. 
Throughout the days trekking I got to spend a considerable amount of time with this man who worked alongside the Mas and Pas, staff and youth, laughed as often as anyone and was quite possibly the most deeply moved by the spirit during each of the activities.  The more I got to know him, the more I admired him. His work ethic was remarkable. Whenever anyone needed anything, there he was.  At our stake conference months earlier it was revealed by our new Stake President that he called President Reese to be his counselor despite the fact he had never met him.  He was stranger to him.   Doug and I had talked about that during the ride home from conference.  We both agreed Heavenly Father must have really wanted him to serve our new stake in that capacity.  I made a joke and said it was if President Stucki "Pulled a rabbit out of his hat."  Doug added, "President Stucki pulled a rabbit out of God's hat." 

When the trek ended and we packed up to go home I laughed with President Reese that I promised I wouldn't call, text or email him for at least six months.  After the amount of communication we had in the days leading up to the trek, I was certain, I joked, that he was sick and tired of me. A few days later I came home and found cupcakes and handwritten note from him thanking me for my involvement in the trek. 

Fast forward to the evening of August 25 when the lump that everyone thought was a fibroadenoma turned out to be a fast growing, malignant, spindle celled, cancer.  I don't remember much of the events that transpired that night, but I do remember talking with Dr. President on the phone.  "... Meet me at 9:30 tomorrow morning at my office. I'll take care of you." and somehow I knew it would all be okay.  The man with the easy laugh, extraordinary work ethic and undeniable spirit was on my team. He certainly wasn't a quitter, and neither was I. 

Winning the Gold

My crew- just a few weeks prior to my diagnosis.  

I think I should back up and tell you about myself, my family and the wonderful life we have.  I'm a Massachusetts girl living in Las Vegas, Nevada.  My husband Doug and I have four kids between us. We are members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, or Mormons and consider ourselves blessed to know that we are children  of a Heavenly Father who loves all His children.   We married 15 years ago after both of us suffered divorces that left us raising two kids a piece.  My little family- they are my joy, and the summer of 2016, prior to D day (diagnosis day) was  filled with  events that were like the proverbial feathers in my cap. I had a son returning home from a mission to Guatemala and another son to be sealed  (married) to his sweetheart in the LDS temple in Salt Lake City.  This is the stuff I spent years dreaming of and the stuff that I prayed for each day.  Another exciting piece of my summer involved a youth trek for our church.  This youth trek was big endeavor that I had been working on for close to two years.  It is easily the biggest thing I have ever organized and was something I also prayed about each day.  Summer 2016 was slated to be a highlight in my life and it did not disappoint. When school let out in June  (both Doug and I are teachers) we jumped in to this happy time headfirst.  The youth trek kicked things off  in June.  This is something I will write more about later as the people I worked with, one in particular, play a key role in my cancer story.  Less than two weeks after the trek we headed up to Salt Lake for an extremely joyous occasion; the marriage of our oldest son.  Following his marriage Doug and I spent a week visiting family in Idaho.  For the next few weeks we waited patiently for the newlyweds to return to the states so that OUR ENTIRE FAMILY would be there to welcome our Elder home from his mission.  It had been two years since we had seen Bret and the reunion was as sweet as honey.  Seeing our kids together again and spending time with all of them including our son-in-law Neil and our new daughter-in-law Kendall added to the happiness.  Doug and I are truly blessed beyond measure. In fact, at church during the first week of August I felt impressed to share my thoughts.  As I spoke to our congregation I compared the events in my life to the Olympics.  The Rio Olympics had just begun and Olympic fever was high in my house so the analogy seemed perfect to me.  Athletes, from varying backgrounds, some from very unlikely beginnings, work their entire lives, sacrificing much and giving all they have, to try and earn a gold medal. Doug and I were unlikely candidates for any sort of parenting awards.  We had both suffered divorces that left us raising our kids on our own.  How on earth did we qualify for these incredible blessings? On August 7th as I spoke to the congregation  I was filled with joy!  To me, there is nothing better than my little family and our simple life.  Several weeks later, after I was diagnosed I got a letter in the mail from my dear friend Joi. Joi has a dynamite family. Over a decade ago her oldest daughter was in a nearly fatal car accident in which she was struck head on by another driver.  Her daughter's recovery was long and difficult. Her pain and suffering were unimaginable. Joi knows all too well of the uncertainties of life.   She wrote:

Christine, 

I just heard about your diagnosis. Needless to say I am blown away.  My hands are shaking so I have to type this note or your won't be able to read it.  I Just want to share an experience I had when you bore your testimony this past Fast meeting.  The joy and happiness you spoke of, "Winning the gold" is how you put it.  As you spoke of your blessings, gratitude and love for God and His Son, I felt so strongly that his moment would be something you would lean on in the future. 

I'm no prophetess.  Let's make that crystal clear, but I even commented on this in Relief Society. Her is what I said,

"What Christine Said today, the love and gratitude she expressed, that is oil in her lamp. When hard times come, she will be able to lean on that confirmation of God's love for her. It can get us through the toughest times." 

When you bore your testimony it took me back to our life eleven years ago. Our son was on a mission, our girls were killing it in HS and our little boy was a surprise, but a wonderful addition to our family.  I felt that same gold medal feeling.  I still do!  And THAT is what got us through.  It just reminded me so much of us.

I don't know why I wanted you to you to know.   I almost pulled you aside that Sunday to remind you to never forget how you were feeling, because it's going to help you through tough times, but I thought that sounded crazy.  Anyway, I just want you to know we love you so much and are praying for your mind to  be at peace.

Joi was right.  I have oft considered how blessed I am and throughout this entire ordeal have never forgotten to find gratitude for all I have been given.  This week I saw Dr. President for a follow up exam.  As we talked he shared with me the power in positive attitudes.  He said, "Patients live longer and healthier when they remain positive.  They are more likely to recover and fare better during treatments." I'd be lying if I said I've been able to stay positive throughout this ordeal.  I haven't.  I've been unhappy some and endured a few sleepless nights, but overall I have been able to rely on that oil in my lamp that Joi mentioned.

Courage, dear heart

In C.S Lewis'  The Voyage of the Dawn Treader Lucy and her shipmates sail toward what they believe to be an island. As they draw closer they realize it is not an island and is in fact, nothing but darkness.  Lewis describes the scene like this-

About nine that morning, very suddenly, it was so close that they could see that it was not land at all, nor even, in an ordinary sense, a mist. It was a Darkness. It is rather hard to describe, but you will see what it was like if you imagine yourself looking into the mouth of a railway tunnel - a tunnel either so long or so twisty that you cannot see the light at the far end.

The fear of the unknown gripped all on the ship as they "gazed from the bows. But there was nothing to be seen by gazing. Behind them was the sea and the sun, before them the Darkness."

On Thursday, August 25, 2016 I was busy in my classroom well past my school contracted hours. New students would arrive Monday be I ready or not so I had planned for work into the evening hours. I sat at my desk trying to figure out the ins and outs of Google classroom.  My students along with the rest of the children at Lied Middle School would be receiving Chromebooks as part of a grant our principal had written.  Along with that addition, a new school-wide reading text had been purchased making me feel like a first year teacher despite my twenty plus years of classroom service.

It was a little bit after five when my phone rang.  I didn't recognize the number and when I picked up a pleasant voice asked me if I would please hold to speak to Dr. Swainston. I was expecting the call and was hoping it would confirm what everyone had suspected - the biopsy of the large, rapidly growing mass in my left breast was what is called a fibroadenoma. When Dr. Swainston took the phone he wasted no time in telling me, "...The biopsy revealed the mass was not a fibroadenoma, but was a malignant, spindle celled neoplasm- a rare cancer that is not usually found in the breast.  I needed to see a highly trained specialist as soon as possible and he would begin making after hour calls to reach out to some of his colleagues who could expedite..."

At about that point my memory gets a little foggy.  I was with my dear friend Suzie, who like me was working late to prepare for the upcoming school year. She looked on while I scribbled the words he said to me on a manila folder that contained some of my school year starters.  I looked up to meet her gaze.   I remember tears formed in her eyes and probably mine too, although I don't remember feeling anything at all while I heard him say, "I am so sorry," before he hung up.  I left my classroom and walked toward the parking lot. I don't remember much.  I know I called my boss to say I would not be in the next day.  I know I called Doug and told him the news as I drove home.  I also called my friend Dee.  By the time I got home both Dee and Doug were at the house.  Dee is a crier, let me just say that right now.  She hates to cry, but her tears were good for me that day.  I was unable at the time to feel emotion and was dull from the inside out.   As I sat on the couch phone calls telling family and friends of my plight were being made. Todd, Dee's husband arrived and within an hour I was called back by Dr. Swainston and our friend and Dr. Swainston's associate, Dr. Sheldon Paul. Plans were being made between these two wonderful men for me to see several doctors. Names of oncologists and surgeons were spelled out so that I could make the necessary calls during the following day in hopes one of them could fit me in sometime over the next few days. "Comprehensive Cancer associates, Dr. El-eid, Dr. Cantino, oncology, hematology..."names I did not know, specialties I never wanted to know about were scratched out in my planner.  I prayed I would be able to see one of these folks quickly but was told it may be Monday or Tuesday before I would be seen.  Amidst all the confusion and fear Dee thought to call our friend and member of our stake presidency, Lee Reese. Dr. President as I have come to call him, is a general surgeon.  Dee figured he would be a calming and reassuring voice who could help me make sense of  the diagnosis, help me map out the next few days of appointments, and hopefully weigh in on the recommended doctors.  Since neither we nor the Moodys have any medical background all of us were unaware that Dr. Reese was able to perform the type of surgery I would need.  While Dee spoke with him I made mention to Dr. Paul that Dee had him on the line.  Without a moment of hesitation Dr. Paul said, "You know Lee Reese?  Go see Lee."   I said thank you to Sheldon and instantly felt a calming peace.  I spoke briefly with Dr. President and all of the chaos and confusion was wiped away.  We had a plan.  It was decided Doug and I would meet him the following day at 9:30 AM at his office.

As the night moved forward more and more calls came in.  The news spread quickly throughout our ward and amongst my friends from work and those in the neighborhood.  Dee made a post on facebook requesting prayers so messages from friends far and wide began to flood my cell phone and my inbox. 

As I tried to make sense of what was actually happening I recognized my need for a priesthood blessing.  Although I do not remember much of what was said I know that a serenity enveloped me and all those in the room.   Although things appeared to be very grim, my soul was comforted. We read my patriarchal blessing which acknowledges that I will have "times when my health is challenged," and we read some powerful scriptures in chapter 24 of the book of Mosiah. In fact, I have reflected on these scriptures each day since-

13 And it came to pass that the voice of the Lord came to them in their afflictions, saying: Lift up your heads and be of good comfort, for I know of the covenant which ye have made unto me; and I will covenant with my people and deliver them out of bondage. 14 And I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs, even while you are in bondage; and this will I do that ye may stand as witnesses for me hereafter, and that ye may know of a surety that I, the Lord God, do visit my people in their afflictions.

After Dee and Todd left I sat silently wrapped up in Doug's bear like hug and gained strength from his love. Peace washed over me and I relished not only Doug's love but the love of our Heavenly Father.  Somehow, amidst the anxiety and dread, I felt the hopeful feeling of imminent victory one might feel before going into battle.  I was certain this was a battle I would win. A particular verse of the hymn Come Come Ye Saints played again and again in my mind:

Gird up your loins, fresh courage take,

our God will never us forsake.

and soon we'll have this tale to tell.

All is well, all is well.

Lucy looked along the beam and presently saw something in it. At first it looked like a cross, then it looked like an aeroplane, then it looked like a kite, and at last with a whirring of wings it was right overhead and was an albatross. It circled three times round the mast and then perched for an instant on the crest of the gilded dragon at the prow. It called out in a strong sweet voice what seemed to be words though no one understood them. After that it spread its wings, rose, and began to fly slowly ahead, bearing a little to starboard. Drinian steered after it not doubting that it offered good guidance. But no one except Lucy knew that as it circled the mast it had whispered to her, "Courage, dear heart," and the voice, she felt sure, was Aslan's, and with the voice a delicious smell breathed in her face.

As Doug and I prayed before going to bed I felt the unmistakable presence of the Holy Spirit of our Lord as he whispered to me, "Courage, dear heart."