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.