Chicken Dog, Watch Cat, and Snail Trails

Today on my walk I saw some things that brought back memories of Verlin.  I love memories.  They help us stay connected.  Memories are like following trails.  If we let them in and follow them, one thing leads to another until we are in quite a different place from where we started.

My first step into my memories today was when I was on my way home from the cemetery.  I noticed a dog across the street who was chasing some chickens in the yard.  At first I thought he was chasing them with evil intent.  That reminded me of a dog we had when I was a kid who chased--and killed--chickens.  So I was a bit worried for the dog across the street.  But as I watched, it appeared that he was not trying to harm them.  He seemed to be coaxing them to stay in their yard in much the same manner that a sheepdog herds his flock of sheep.   Chicken Dog does not sound like a position of high esteem but he seemed to be content.

Thinking of Chicken Dog reminded me of Watch Cat.  Yesterday when I came home from running errands, I noticed that the house was empty.  I didn't pay much attention as I walked through the front door, but upon rounding the corner into the kitchen, I glanced over at the kitchen window with a small degree of alarm as I noticed the "guardian of the house" that Heber had placed in the kitchen window before they left.  It only took a second to realize it was not a real cat, but its remarkable size and likeness to a jungle cat would be a phenomenal deterrent for any burglar.

What a marvelous Watch Cat.

Back to my morning walk and memories...It is not uncommon to see occasional snail trails on the sidewalks in the neighborhood.  This morning was no exception.
 In fact, there were more than usual because of the heavy rain of the previous evening.  But this morning there was also an abundance of snails still in the process of their tedious migration across the sidewalks and paths that I walked.  I had to pay special attention where I stepped to avoid stepping on the little critters.

You might ask what does all of this have to do with memories of Verlin.  I'm getting to that.  Here is the way my mind works.  The sheepdog-aspiring Chicken Dog led me to think of the  jungle-missing Watch Cat which led me to think of the migrating snails which led me to think of a trip I took with Verlin.  I believe it was when we traveled as chaperones for the 12th Ward Youth Traveling Road Show when the youth performed the amazing musical production about Joseph Smith.  We stopped for lunch at a picnic area near the shore of the Snake River across the river from the Idaho Falls Temple.  There is a walking trail that winds along the shoreline.  Verlin and I decided to go for a short stroll during our lunch break.  We met Steve and Debi Holley just returning from a similar outing.  They warned us to watch our step.  We smiled and walked on.  Then we discovered what they were referencing.

The river was a perfect hangout for dabbling ducks and gaggles of geese.  As a result, the walking path was a veritable mine field of large bird droppings that we had to traverse with great care.  Ahhhh what great memories!

Oops, there goes another snail.

Meeting With the Oncologist (a.k.a. the Devil)

June 13, 2013

If you read my earlier post about choosing an oncologist, I decided to see an oncologist whom I had heard was very good, even though one of his patients thought he was evil (compared him to the devil.) Unfortunately, I think she really was just feeling overwhelmed by her fight with cancer, the evil, invisible foe that she had to battle on an uneven battlefield, and her feelings were transferred to the doctor who oversaw her care.  On Thursday, June 13th, I met with this doctor.  It was a pretty standard checkup.  I began by filling out another set of new patient forms.  The nurse called me back and recorded height and weight.  She then checked my vital signs—blood pressure, heart rate, temperature, and oxygen saturation.  Then the doctor came in (he didn't evenly remotely resemble the devil) and asked me in person most of the same questions that I had answered on the new patient forms.  I guess he didn't have time to read them before he came in.  He gave me copies of my pathology reports from the biopsies and surgery.  He reiterated that he saw no need for me to have chemotherapy or radiation, which was welcome news.  He said there is a slight chance that some women may develop the same cancer on the other side in the future, perhaps 10%.  He explained the option of taking oral medication (called chemoprevention medications) for five years that could reduce the probability to about 5%.  There are some side effects, however, which could include higher risk for blood clots, stroke, and uterine cancer. I elected not to take the medicine, and he was okay with that.  I will just use watchful care.

I asked the doctor about having a letter of medical clearance signed so that I can go on my mission.  He said he thought by the time I got my bags packed I would be healed enough that my surgeon would  give me clearance.  I told him that the surgeon told me I would most likely get clearance from the oncologist.  Which one was going to give the final word so I could go?  He said, well, if you have the form I can sign it right now.  Of course I did not, and I wasn't even sure what the procedure was.  So I went home and called the Senior Missionary Department and asked them.  I was told that the doctor just had to sign a letter stating I was healthy and fax it to their office.  One office or the other will fax a letter by Monday or Tuesday, the 17th or 18th, and then the Mission Department representative will contact the Mission President and find out if and when they are ready for me.  At first, this made me a little anxious.  I hope that they didn't decide that I would need an office mission or to sit on a chair and greet people at the temple or visitor's center for two years.  I really hope I can have my original assignment.  After thinking more about it, I will just wait and see what they decide.  I am sure that whatever they want me to do, it will be a wonderful experience.

I don't have any regrets about my decision to skip reconstructive surgery, but the harsh reality is that it is kind of hard to look in the mirror every morning and every night now, and I have not been too keen on going out in public either.  So Friday morning, Teresa and I went to a post-mastectomy specialty store in Salt Lake City.  It only took one hour and $400 to provide a new look that makes me feel almost normal.  The English language has a lot of interesting sayings, but from here on out you probably don't want to tell me that you need to "get something off your chest."  I am not certain how I would respond, but one or the other or both of us could end up being embarrassed.  At the very least, we will have a good laugh.

On the way home from Salt Lake, we stopped at the Outlets at Traverse Mountain and purchased a few more items for my mission.  Just a few blouses, some slacks, and some shoes left to buy and I am almost ready to go.  I finished out the weekend doing a lot of running around and hanging out with family.  Friday afternoon I babysat for Ammon and Abby so they could go to the temple.  As soon as they got home, I drove two hours to Richfield to attend the Miss Teen Sevier pageant that Kadance was in.  By the way, although she was one of the youngest girls in the pageant, she did an excellent job.  I was so proud of her.  We stayed up until 1:00 a.m. talking and then I went to bed for a few hours.  After my morning walk (about 2 1/2 miles) I ate breakfast, visited a while and then drove back to American Fork to get ready to go to Tycen's wedding reception in Stansbury Park (about one hour away).  Teresa went with me also.  I enjoyed her company this weekend.  It was fun to see Jim and Marilyn and all of their children and grandchildren as well as Danny and Joan and their boys.  We visited about 1 1/2 hours and then drove back to Teresa's and picked up her boys and I took them to dinner to celebrate Teresa's birthday (which is actually Sunday).  Sunday morning I volunteered to sit with Teresa's boys while she and Brian went to church.  They both enjoyed being able to attend their meetings without the rowdy boys.  After I attended my meetings in my home ward in the afternoon, I went back to Teresa's and ate a Father's Day/birthday dinner with her family, complete with "birthday pie" and ice cream.  What a busy, fun, fun, fun weekend.  I feel almost normal again.

Similar to Elevator Music

Yesterday I was cleaning the pool even though (to quote Taylor) "it's not my favorite".  I just knew I had to do it to make the house look better and hopefully more attractive to buyers.  Since I knew it would take a few hours, I made sure I had my phone with me.  That was partly to enable family to contact me if necessary and also so I would have a way to call for help should anything happen to me in the process.  Working around a body of water, you can never be too sure.  (I'm not exactly sure what use a wet phone would have if I had actually fallen in.)  Anyway, I had filled the pool and vacuumed almost half of it before the water level got too low to use the skimmer, so I had to stop and refill it.  After several hours of working by myself in relative silence except for occasional barking dogs, I was pleasantly surprised to hear a pleasant melody, however softly.  After listening for a minute, I realized it was "Giannina Mia", one of the songs from the operetta "The Firefly".  My first thought was that it was the American Fork High School Marching Band playing it.  I pondered on what their show for this year might be; an Italian theme or a variety of selections from operetta's I mused.  But wait, I don't think they have violins in marching band.  This sounded more like opera and it was definitely an orchestra arrangement.  At this point, I had moved around to the diving board to continue vacuuming and realized that the music was coming from somewhere behind me.  I was really surprised to hear the neighbors playing this type of music when I usually hear rock or country coming from their yard, and usually a lot louder, too.  When I turned my head to hear a littler better, I felt a little silly to realize that the music was actually coming from my back pocket.  I had somehow started the music app on my smartphone and selected a random tune--all from my pocket.  This is the new "pocket music" similar to elevator music only you don't need to have an elevator.  Although I hadn't deliberately chosen it, I continued to listen to tunes from my pocket as I completed my task, which now was more bearable, but still "not my favorite."

Random Thoughts

Have you ever experienced an increased awareness of how many of the same make and model of your current automobile you seem to notice on the road?  When we started driving a Suburban, I began to notice how many Suburbans there were on the roads.  (Well, in Utah, that may not be a good example.  There have always been lots of Suburbans on the roads because that is a great vehicle for large families!)  Now that I drive a Subaru, I seem to notice every Subaru that drives by.  Is it because of a human need for commonality with others?  

Yesterday when I went to the doctor's office for my first postsurgery appointment, I felt a bit uncomfortable being in public for the first time since surgery.  I tried to look inconspicuous so people would not notice that something seemed to be missing.  At the same time, I found myself casting furtive glances at other women I passed to see if there was any indication that we had recently been through the same experience.  I smiled to think I was just looking for "Subarus".

Last night before I went to bed, I was looking at family Blogs.  I came across news items and pictures that reminded me of Anson's two-year battle with cancer many years ago.  I tried to imagine the impact it had on him at that moment in time.  Even though I silently watched his struggle, I don't think I fully comprehended how hard it was for him.  I am so thankful that he is a survivor.  I think he has more compassion because of it.

When I was driving down for my first doctor visit after receiving word that I now had cancer, I received a confirmation that everything would be okay.  Heavenly Father just needed me to have this exercise in compassion so that I could be a better missionary and representative of Jesus Christ.  Looking back, although it was a hard thing to go through, I can't help but feel like somewhat of a "cheater" as a cancer survivor.  Unless there is a sudden change of opinion, the doctors do not think I need to have either chemotherapy or radiation.  In a matter of weeks, the threat of the beast has abated, and I can look forward to pursuing my goals with only minimal interruption.  I began to wonder if I can call myself a cancer survivor at all in a battle where I didn't even have to draw my sword.

The Week After

The Week After

June 5th, marked one week since surgery.  Time seems to go so slowly when there is nothing to do but sleep, read, eat, sleep, watch TV, and sleep.  Although I feel like I am healing quickly, my strength is not returning as quickly as it did after I had a baby.  The lapse of 25 years since my last baby may have something to do with that diminished capacity to rebound.

I waited the recommended 3-4 days before removing the dressings to take a bath or shower.  I thought it might be an emotionally disturbing event to view my altered image in the mirror, but it wasn't so bad.  I think I can live with this.  I bathed, and then contemplated leaving the Ace wrap off afterwards because it was a bit uncomfortable.  Without it, there was really no easy way to hang the JP drain pump, so I replaced it the best I could without help.  Only a few more days and then hopefully it would be gone along with the drain tube that caused a certain degree of disfigurement as well as discomfort. 

On Thursday, the 6th, I went to my followup appointment with my surgeon.  While I sat in the waiting room, I decided to look up the oncologist that I had been thinking of requesting for my postsurgical care.  One site caught my attention as it promised some reviews from previous patients.  There were only four reviews.  Three of them were pretty much standard reviews-just mark the categories as agree or disagree.  The questions dealt with things like was it easy to get an appointment, was the wait time short during my visit, was the staff professional and friendly, was my problem accurately diagnosed, did the doctor spend enough time with me.  As I said, three reviews were excellent.  The fourth was a bit strange, but I was interested to see why this patient did not recommend the doctor.  She said things like:  He was evil.  Sitting in his office was like being in the room with the devil.  He has nothing on his mind but to sign you up with death,   She went on about the poison and radiation that they try to fill your body with.  In spite of her warnings, I decided that I would like to see this doctor.  Maybe I am just a bit curious about the devil thing

Another search brought me to a blog page of a person who had experienced double mastectomy.  She had a very good outlook on her experience.  She also had the same doctor that I did and the same oncologist that I chose.  She went into great detail about the procedures such as the MRI and the PET scan.  After surgery, she described the office experience of having the drains removed.  After reading her description, I had almost decided to inquire if mine could be left in permanently.  Why didn't I think of bringing along someone who could squeeze my hand during the procedure?!  I took comfort in the fact that this lady revealed in her Blog that she is an actress.  Maybe she was just being dramatic.  But before I could change my mind, the nurse called my name and took me back to the exam room.

The first part of my visit was with the nurse.  First item of business was to determine if the drain could be removed.  The conversation went something like this.

Is there a reason that you are still wearing the Ace wrap?  Do you feel more comfortable with it on?  Not really, I reply.  It is actually kind of uncomfortable at times when it pinches the tube against my flesh just right.  I didn't tell her that I just couldn't figure out how to keep the drain pump in place without it short of pinning it to my skin.  I told her that I did not want to keep it as a souvenir and we moved on to the examination.

Well, things look good.  I think we can remove this drain.  First I have to remove a few stitches.  The doctor puts them in so tight it might hurt a little bit.  I apologize ahead of time.  There, that's the first one.  (I kept waiting for the pain.  It really wasn't bad at all).  The next one is a little tighter.  (Yes, that one pinched a little.)  There we go.  Okay.  Now, we want to establish a pattern of deep breathing.  (The last time I heard that was during childbirth.  After all that I have been through in the past month, is the worst part going to be removal of a little drain tube?)  Okay, deep breaths.  In and out, in and out.  This really doesn't hurt that bad.  Most people say it just feels kind of weird.  (With that, there was a little flip-flop movement similar to movement of a baby in the womb—or gas—only higher in the chest area, and the drain was out.)  "Is that all?" I asked.

After the drain was removed, the doctor came in and inspected the incision.  Things look good to her also.  The visit was short.  She assured me that there were no hormone receptors indicated in the pathology report, which meant no chemotherapy or radiation was necessary.  To be sure, she referred me to an oncologist, the one I requested (in spite of his similarities with the devil).  She also gave me a prescription and referral to a place in Salt Lake City that could help me with a prosthesis in a week or so.  She gave me a big hug and told me to enjoy my mission.  It took a second before I could swallow the lump in my throat and respond.  "I am sure I will."

"I am sure you will too."

Thirty-One Days

Thirty-one days ago, I sat in a dermatologist's office following up on an impression that I might have breast cancer.  She did a punch biopsy that day to get the ball rolling.  The eleven days between the biopsy and the call from the dermatologist about the results was such a long time.  Looking back, it seems like an eternity.  Since May 3rd, so much has happened; has it really only been 31 days?  An ultrasound, an MRI, another ultrasound, another MRI (with biopsy), chest x-rays, blood draws and finally surgery.  Today, the pathology report came back.  The doctor called and was very happy to report good news.  The lymph nodes were clean.  10 of the 13 biopsy samples had DCIS (ductal carcinoma in situ) so it was a good decision to do a mastectomy.  However, there was no invasive cancer.  No hormone receptors were indicated.  For followup care, there really is none!  No radiation.  No chemotherapy.  I will see the doctor on Thursday to have the drain removed.  She will refer me to an oncologist, which is basically a formality to receive medical clearance.  As soon as I am strong enough, I can proceed with mission plans.  I am so blessed.

Levels of Recovery

Friday, May 31, 2013

Besides quite a few phone visits, today more family came to visit me: Teresa and her boys, Aaron and Sherri and their kids, and Heidi and Bryce and their boys.  I probably overdid it, but I enjoyed a short walk outdoors, sitting and visiting, eating pizza, and playing Ticket To Ride for a while.  All in all, it has been a great day.

Saturday, June 1, 2013

Whoa!  I'd better slow down a bit.  I still feel pretty good, but there is more "pinching" pain around the drain tube that makes me not want to move too much.  I spent a good part of the day in bed and slept a lot.  No walks today except to the kitchen and back.  Frank and KayLyn Shaw stopped by in the evening to bring some flowers from Anson and Lora.  We had a nice visit about the great thing we have in common—our amazing grandchildren.  I like them and enjoyed our short visit.

Sunday, June 2, 2013

I slept really well last night.  I could enjoy sleeping on my side again, so that is probably part of the reason.  I seldom sleep on my back, and when I do I often wake myself eventually with snoring.  The pain is so much better now with only occasional pinches and good range of motion in my arm.  I just still feel kind of weak and get tired easily.  I took the time to take a sponge bath and wash my hair.  It was a little harder drying it than I thought it would be, but I managed.  Maybe I should have waited a little longer.  Teresa called to see if they could come keep me company while Ammon's family is at church.  Another enjoyable visit.  

I finished reading the book that Teresa loaned me, Remembering Isaac by Ben Behunin.  I enjoyed it, light reading I would say in the range of young adult fiction.  There are two more books, Discovering Isaac and Becoming Isaac.  Hopefully reading the other two won't change my opinion of this author.

I think one of the important lessons that I learned from reading this book is about the worth of all men in the eyes of our Creator.  Isaac, the potter of Niederbipp, had a collection of flawed pottery that he felt was his most prized possession.  Each piece had something wrong with it.  It was either unintentionally created with a flaw or had become flawed with use.  Most people would just view it as a bunch of broken junk.  I think the potter cherished it in much the same way that Heavenly Father loves each of us, even though not a single one of us is perfect.  We all came with flaws or developed them by our own choices or the actions of others.  But in spite of it, he still loves us.

I watched The Tabernacle Choir and the Spoken Word this morning.  A few scenes from the new series, Granite Flats, was shown so I checked to see if I would be able to watch the episodes starting with the first one on BYU TV online streaming but couldn't access it.  I don't want to start in the middle of the series so will have to figure out how to watch that another time.

I picked up the book again that Heidi gave me for Christmas, For Times of Trouble by Elder Holland.  Each time I pick it up it seems that the particular verses in Psalms are just what I needed that day.  Today, I picked it up and read "I am like a broken vessel" (Psalms 31:12).  "The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise." (Psalms 51:17) 

Elder Holland says "Sometimes the events of life can damage our highest hopes and dreams.  Some of our sweetest possessions and most cherished ideals end up being bruised, and sometimes they are broken….We are certain that as with Humpty Dumpty all the king's horses and all the king's men will never be able to put us together again.  But someone wrote once that God apparently loves—and turns to our benefit—broken things.  It takes broken clouds to nourish the earth, it takes broken earth to grow grain, it takes broken grain to make bread, it takes broken bread to nourish us, and so are the cycles of life..." 

We are still required to sacrifice, but not in the same way that the children of Israel sacrificed. 

"…we were commanded to offer newer symbols of Christ's Atonement:  "Thou shalt offer a sacrifice unto the Lord thy God in righteousness, even that of a broken heart and a contrite spirit."

   "It may be that among all the broken things God loves, He loves a broken heart most of all…Know that God will accept your offering and that, through the great miracle of the Atonement of Jesus Christ, He will give your heart back to you healed and whole.  That is the ultimate truth taught by the Resurrection.  Christ, the Great Healer, will make recompense for us in time and in eternity.  By His grace and the goodness of God, all broken vessels are fully repaired."  (Jeffrey Holland For Times of Trouble, p 69-70.)