Hello!
Several of you have been asking for details on how Brooke Estrada's Avon Walk for breast cancer went last June. I have received a letter from her detailing all the wonderful things that happened during her preparation for the walk and over the course of that weekend. I am excited to share it with you. Enjoy!
My Avon Walk with God by Brooke Estrada
Inspiration is Just around the Corner
Several months before the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer took place in Colorado on June 27th and 28th, I was experiencing a severe lack of motivation. First, my walking partner from last year announced that she would be unable to participate in this year’s walk. To make matters worse, the poor economy had affected most of my friends and family very negatively. Several sponsors from last year were now unemployed, which discouraged me from asking for their support this year.
As you can imagine, I became discouraged with the whole situation; I was without a partner for the walk and almost everyone I knew was broke. For weeks, I was doing a lot of soul-searching in order to re-ignite my passion for fighting breast cancer; it seemed my flame had gone out.
Then, in February of this year – with the help of my weekly women’s bible study – I realized that I was looking inward for something that could only be found upward. I had been looking at this year’s Avon Walk as a duty instead of a labor of love, but the love that I possessed within myself was so limited. So, I decided to pray for God to give me His heart and help me love others the way he does. As long as I was doing this for God’s people with love in my heart, I could shine the light of Jesus Christ into the lives of those who had been directly impacted by breast cancer, giving them new hope.
With that, I started searching for an inspiring t-shirt that I could wear as I trained, so that everyone would know what I was doing and why. It proved very frustrating to find a faith-based t-shirt with the right message. I’ve seen my share of “inspirational” mottos throughout these breast cancer rallies, but none of them really spoke of the hope and strength that only comes from God. Slogans like “I Fight like A Girl”, “Think Pink” “Hope” and “Cancer Sucks” were cute yet lacking originality and depth. After several mind-numbing hours of searching, I stumbled upon the perfect t-shirt. Upon it was written, “GOD – So Much Bigger than Cancer”. It said the exact message I was trying to bring to the people: no matter what kind of hardship you are enduring, God is in control and He will bring you through it.
I excitedly followed the link to what I thought would be an online super-store where I could indulge in all of my Jesus-freak paraphernalia, but instead it was a blog written by a woman recently diagnosed with breast cancer. Her name is Kerry Osborne and since the day I discovered her uplifting t-shirt, I have followed her amazing breast cancer journey through her online diary. After reading all of Kerry’s blog entries that day I decided to write her an e-mail, expressing my thanks and support for her mission. I was so moved by her courage through Christ; it both humbled and inspired me. If a person amidst the battle for their life could stare adversity in the face and say “God is bigger than you”, then I could certainly do the same! God had sent me a message through Kerry: “He is Bigger than Cancer” and it was now my turn to pass it on.
Defeating Doubt with Faith
Days went by and turned into weeks and as the weeks passed I could feel myself slipping again. I was short of sponsors and I was worried I wouldn’t be able to come up with the money to participate in the Avon Walk. I continued to train and solicit my friends and family for donations, but I was so uncomfortable about asking people to spare money they likely didn’t have for a cause they probably didn’t care about. I started to pray; asking God if He really wanted me to go to Colorado. He didn’t say anything. So then I started wondering if this was God’s will or mine? For weeks and weeks God was quiet about the walk and I kept asking him if this was the right think to do. With 4 weeks before the event, I had resolved that if God really wanted me to go on this walk in Colorado, He would allow me to raise $720 more in order to reach my minimum goal. Two days later I spoke to my dear friend Deana Campbell, who informed me that she and her husband Steve decided to donate the remaining $720! I was flabbergasted! Deana and Steve had already donated $500 earlier that year which meant that they had contributed nearly 70% of my total needed funds. However, even with the minimum fundraising goal being met, I was still having doubts. For those remaining 4 weeks, I searched God’s Word and found great reassurance recited this prayer, daily: “Father God, I don’t know what you have planned for the Avon Walk. I just pray that whatever happens, it will bring glory to you. While I am in Colorado, please show me someone who needs to hear from you. Fill me with your Spirit that I may have words of love and encouragement for them; entrust me to be your hands and feet”. I didn’t know what would happen after that, I just knew I had to keep on praying and believing that great things would happen.
“Somewhere, Somebody Needs a Reason to Believe” – Britt Nicole
I arrived in Denver on Thursday, June 25th and stayed the night with my friends Yvette and Phil. The next morning, Yvette dropped me off downtown to catch a shuttle to Keystone, where the event would begin, some 90 miles from Denver. As I waited for the bus, a smiling woman with 2 braids and a silly sun-hat approached me and asked if I was waiting for the Avon shuttle too. Her name was Amy; a weather forecaster in the Air National Guard, who was walking in honor of her grandmother; a breast cancer survivor. We boarded the bus when it arrived and talked almost the entire ride to Keystone. Once we got off the bus, we were like old friends on a weekend adventure. We checked in at the event and into our respective hotels, before meeting up for an early dinner at a steakhouse located in her hotel. After dinner, it was too late to walk around outside, but too early too sleep. We hung out in her hotel room, sitting on opposite ends of a small couch, talking about how the paths of our youth had brought us to our current, respective lifestyles.
When the time had come to explain how I ended up in Las Vegas where I currently reside, the words just started falling out of my mouth. I began telling Amy about my gradual slip into spiritual darkness in my early twenties. I told her that I’d managed to claw myself back onto my feet, but it wasn’t until I established a sold foundation of faith in Jesus Christ that my life began to take on real purpose. I then started telling Amy about my new life in Christ. I could feel the energy in the room rise, as my tale transitioned from one of desperation and hopelessness, to the account of my re-birth. I spoke of the many amazing things God had done in my life and how I have come to love Him so deeply.
I didn’t realize it, but I had been sharing my testimony for the first time, nonetheless to a woman I scarcely knew. When I looked across the couch at Amy’s face, I was surprised to see her eyes streaming with tears but her face was filled with joy. She said, “I feel like this trip has nothing to do with breast cancer; I think I was supposed to find you.” Amy went on to describe her own spiritual emptiness to me. She admitted that she had always been a “very cerebral” person, needing an explanation for everything. Even though, she couldn’t explain God, she knew he existed. I remembered something my friend Teresa said, “I don’t want a God I can explain because that would make him so small”. Amy confessed that although she had not endured severe hardships in her life like some and had been blessed many times over, she always felt something was missing in her life. I remembered having that same “God-shaped hole” before I came to know Christ and really understood where she was coming from. We conversed late into the night and at the end of our long chat, she expressed how unburdened she felt; no longer a slave to her anger and past hurts. Amy said, “Meeting and talking with you has been an answer to a prayer I never spoke”. I know it’s because God knows our hearts; He knows every prayer before we speak it. I am so humbled that God used me to answer that prayer and I am thankful that he answered my prayer for that weekend, too.
Amy and I walked the whole 26.2 miles side-by-side; it was definitely a weekend that we will both remember for years to come. We still keep in touch and I am ecstatic to announce that she is actively pursuing her relationship with Jesus! Amen!
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Cyber Cancer Connections
Hello dear family and friends!
The last few months I have begun connecting with cancer patients all over America. This has been a huge blessing to me. I follow the blogs of several other women who have been impacted by cancer. They are all ages and stages and their words have been a tremendous encouragement to me. Some of those sites I am now listing on my blog page.
Through the Tshirt ministry, I have also become aware of 5 children battling cancer. I follow their caringbridge sites faithfully. I am involved right now in doing care packages for two of them and grieving the loss of one of them who just died yesterday. Her name was Sammie. She was a young girl I never met who lived on the other side of the country, yet her story has touched me deeply. I know she is in heaven now and I feel such sadness for her family.
I cannot tell you how often I have read posts from the other women survivors or the families of these children battling cancer and just cried. Cancer is so cruel.
I pray for all of these cyber cancer connections daily. Even though they are people I have never met I am constantly amazed by their strong faith and their courage in the face of adversity. God bless them all. Lots of love,
Kerry
The last few months I have begun connecting with cancer patients all over America. This has been a huge blessing to me. I follow the blogs of several other women who have been impacted by cancer. They are all ages and stages and their words have been a tremendous encouragement to me. Some of those sites I am now listing on my blog page.
Through the Tshirt ministry, I have also become aware of 5 children battling cancer. I follow their caringbridge sites faithfully. I am involved right now in doing care packages for two of them and grieving the loss of one of them who just died yesterday. Her name was Sammie. She was a young girl I never met who lived on the other side of the country, yet her story has touched me deeply. I know she is in heaven now and I feel such sadness for her family.
I cannot tell you how often I have read posts from the other women survivors or the families of these children battling cancer and just cried. Cancer is so cruel.
I pray for all of these cyber cancer connections daily. Even though they are people I have never met I am constantly amazed by their strong faith and their courage in the face of adversity. God bless them all. Lots of love,
Kerry
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Getting Involved & Being One Busy Pipe!
Now that my treatments are two weeks behind me I am now really looking forward to passing on all the many blessings that so many of you out there have given to me.
I pray daily for 8 other breast cancer patients that I know or have connected with online. Two of them were in the hospital last week and I was able to check in with the physician about one and visit the other. It has meant a great deal to me cheering on these women who are a few months in their treatment behind me.
Last Wednesday night Laura, Leslie and I went to a breast cancer tree lighting ceremony at St Mary's, the hospital where I was diagnosed. They gave me a special ornament with my name on it and placed a single jewel on it indicating my 1st year as a cancer survivor. I met another woman there who had 28 jewels on her ornament. That was such an encouragement to me. Laura and Leslie placed my ornament on the tree in the hospital lobby. The ornament was one among hundreds in honor of the survivors diagnosed at that hospital who were in the audience or who had passed on. The first physician I saw after my initial diagnosis spoke. She talked about how many of her patients have told her that oddly enough they now see their breast cancer as a blessing. It had opened their eyes to a new clarity about life, a new appreciation. It made me smile. I can't honestly say I see all of this as a blessing but I can truly say I have seen many good things come from it. There was a brief ceremony. Laura won a door prize. It was flower arrangement in a pink vase with the breast cancer symbol on it. You should have seen her face when she presented it to me. Precious. After a brief ceremony, we went outside to see a second Christmas tree atop the hospital lit all in pink. They even had a fountain outside the hospital flowing with pink water.
St Mary's is hosting a banquet at the end of the month to celebrate survivors and raise $ for a cure. I have joined a committee to decorate tables for the event. Many of you will remember Julie, the wonderful nurse who reached out to me the day of my biopsy and helped me give out so many shirts. Early on in my chemo I would give her info about another cancer support group but it never seemed to meet the first few months within my diagnosis. I told her at the time how much I missed not participating in a group like that. Julie is now starting a support group that she says was inspired by me called Mercy's Women of Courage and Healing. She has asked me and a few other women to come and give our testimonials at the event. It is also at the end of the month.
And of course there is the Race for the Cure on October 24th. When I started the team I was hoping to have about 10-20 people join me on the big day. My team is now up to almost 30 people! We have raised close to $300 in donations and about $1000 overall if you consider our registration fees. Who-hoooo!!
And so my post breast cancer life is keeping me busy in some wonderful ways. I hope all of you that have prayed and supported me and my family these past 10 months can read this and smile knowing that your goodness is being passed on.
If you'd like to join our Race for the Cure team, make a donation to it or just check out our team page, here is a link. http://komenknoxville.donordrive.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=event.team&eventID=506&participantID=1302
If you are a local survivor and would like more info about events coming up in the Knoxville area, please email me or post your information under comments.
Many of you remember my post about being a pipe (giver) versus a pot (taker). It is such a joy to feel the blessings flow through me onto others. So many of them started out there with each of you. So lots of love to all my pipes out there,
Kerry
I pray daily for 8 other breast cancer patients that I know or have connected with online. Two of them were in the hospital last week and I was able to check in with the physician about one and visit the other. It has meant a great deal to me cheering on these women who are a few months in their treatment behind me.
Last Wednesday night Laura, Leslie and I went to a breast cancer tree lighting ceremony at St Mary's, the hospital where I was diagnosed. They gave me a special ornament with my name on it and placed a single jewel on it indicating my 1st year as a cancer survivor. I met another woman there who had 28 jewels on her ornament. That was such an encouragement to me. Laura and Leslie placed my ornament on the tree in the hospital lobby. The ornament was one among hundreds in honor of the survivors diagnosed at that hospital who were in the audience or who had passed on. The first physician I saw after my initial diagnosis spoke. She talked about how many of her patients have told her that oddly enough they now see their breast cancer as a blessing. It had opened their eyes to a new clarity about life, a new appreciation. It made me smile. I can't honestly say I see all of this as a blessing but I can truly say I have seen many good things come from it. There was a brief ceremony. Laura won a door prize. It was flower arrangement in a pink vase with the breast cancer symbol on it. You should have seen her face when she presented it to me. Precious. After a brief ceremony, we went outside to see a second Christmas tree atop the hospital lit all in pink. They even had a fountain outside the hospital flowing with pink water.
St Mary's is hosting a banquet at the end of the month to celebrate survivors and raise $ for a cure. I have joined a committee to decorate tables for the event. Many of you will remember Julie, the wonderful nurse who reached out to me the day of my biopsy and helped me give out so many shirts. Early on in my chemo I would give her info about another cancer support group but it never seemed to meet the first few months within my diagnosis. I told her at the time how much I missed not participating in a group like that. Julie is now starting a support group that she says was inspired by me called Mercy's Women of Courage and Healing. She has asked me and a few other women to come and give our testimonials at the event. It is also at the end of the month.
And of course there is the Race for the Cure on October 24th. When I started the team I was hoping to have about 10-20 people join me on the big day. My team is now up to almost 30 people! We have raised close to $300 in donations and about $1000 overall if you consider our registration fees. Who-hoooo!!
And so my post breast cancer life is keeping me busy in some wonderful ways. I hope all of you that have prayed and supported me and my family these past 10 months can read this and smile knowing that your goodness is being passed on.
If you'd like to join our Race for the Cure team, make a donation to it or just check out our team page, here is a link. http://komenknoxville.donordrive.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=event.team&eventID=506&participantID=1302
If you are a local survivor and would like more info about events coming up in the Knoxville area, please email me or post your information under comments.
Many of you remember my post about being a pipe (giver) versus a pot (taker). It is such a joy to feel the blessings flow through me onto others. So many of them started out there with each of you. So lots of love to all my pipes out there,
Kerry
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Dancing Inside & Out
Angie and me
"Sister Survivors"
Survivor's Luncheon 2009
Hello everyone!
Guess what? I had no doctor's appointments this week. None! No temperature or blood pressure checks. No weigh ins. No baggy, drafty hospital gowns. I've had my first week cancer treatment free! It feels so wonderful!
It feels as though I am dancing inside.
I am still a little sunburned from the radiation but it is getting better. I am currently sporting lots of shrugs. It is a great fashion accessory for breast cancer patients I must say. Whenever someone comments on my new spiky hair look I am quite proud to credit it to my "Short and Sexy Hair Gel." It gets me lots of laughs. Yes that really is the brand name. Being that I am a short person as well I like to think the whole look goes beyond the hair gel. Now all I need to do is wear my diva sunglasses and hair gel at the same time. I just don't know if the world out there is ready for all that "divaness" yet.
I guess the only thing that has surprised me this week is that I've felt a little overwhelmed getting back to the routine. You'd think it would be easy and it is for the most part. It's just the things that I've put off for a while I feel like I now have to pick back up as though nothing has happened. Suddenly I expect myself to be back 100%. It is silly I know and I am getting back into the old "normal" life happily now one day at a time.
Last Friday Randy and I went to a survivor's luncheon. The speaker was Dr. Farris Jordan, a psychologist. He was hilarious. He talked about how the best way to battle bad news is to have a great attitude.
He said whenever people deliver him bad news in his office now they do it with a funny dance and everyone automatically handles it so much better. For example, the secretary might say "The computer is broken" while doing the hokie pokie. We have started doing the dance at our house too. Randy was taking the trash out last week and commented on how yucky it was while "getting down." You should have seen my kids' faces when I said "Lucky you, you have a math test today" while doing a "staying alive" dance move. (Unfortunately the joke was lost on them!)
At the survivor's luncheon I had the privilege of sitting with two friends and former coworkers, Whitney and Amy. I also got to see Angie (my Cancer Vixen reading buddy), give her a shirt and get our picture made together.
For 5 months now I have been corresponding with a survivor I met through a relative via Facebook. She got diagnosed about four months after I did. I watched her go through the same treatments I did right after me rooting her on the whole way. Friday I got to meet her face to face for the first time and give her a box with items to help her through her upcoming surgery. All of this gave me such joy.
This week I heard the song "I Hope you Dance" on the radio. I remember first hearing that song when I was pregnant with Laura. At that time I remember having such hopes for that first child, such dreams and wishes. I will always associate that song with her. It is interesting to hear it now after battling cancer. It truly captures how every moment is precious and how life (good and bad) is best faced with, as that speaker put it, a happy dance. Hope you are dancing too. Lots of love,
Kerry
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Radiation Graduation!! GOD is SO Good Ya'll!!
Hello dear friends and family!
Today I had my LAST radiation treatment. Yeah!! I am now officially done with all of my treatments! Whoo-hooo!!
It was a very special day for me. I have to be honest though and say that I did the oddest thing on the way to the hospital. I found myself crying the whole way. Not from joy but from sorrow.
One reason for this was because I started thinking about the future. What would my life be like now AFTER cancer? I had already had my last weekly visit with the Radiation Oncologist on Tuesday. I asked him at the time how I needed to proactively monitor myself from this time forward. Should I have regular scans? Should I pay close attentioin to the tumor marker blood tests? What should I do?
His answer to me was more complicated than I expected. He said tumor markers don't work with all people. He also said some insurance companies won't pay for scans unless you have an outright symptom. His best advice was to know what was normal for my body and to know my Medical Oncologist. Fortuately he told me I have a top-notch Medical Oncologist (which I already knew).
He told me that one of his patients right now probably has about 3-4 weeks to live because of her metastacized cancer. She did not have breast cancer and initially went somewhere out of state. Her doctor there put her through all these tests which were not necessary in her case (like a mammogram) because he owned the equipment (and could make lots of $$). That doctor emphasized that her mammogram was clear without leveling with her about what she was up against. She had not been told the whole truth. And the truth in my case was he didn't know how my cancer would be monitored. He said sometimes as a doctor that is the hardest thing to tell a patient that "You don't know." He did say though that my Oncologist was a good doctor and would do everything she could to keep a close eye on me. This was both very comforting and very sobering to me.
Laura and Leslie heard every word of this and as we left that day Laura suggested we pray for this woman with a few weeks left to live, whoever she was. I was proud of Laura for thinking of it. We prayed for the woman in our car that morning. It prompted lots of questions about life, about death, about heaven and we talked about it all the whole way home.
That was on Tuesday. Today was Thursday. All of this was on my mind as I drove myself to the hospital for my last treatment.
Also on my mind was the fact that I would have to say goodbye to all the special people I saw every day at the treatment center...everyone from the techs, to the fellow patients to the parking attendent.
I was especially sad because I was told by a tech on Monday that Herbert had to take a break from his treatments and would not be in the rest of the week. I thought I might never see him and Virginia again.
What a pleasant surprise it was when I walked into the hospital and saw them both!
After my treatment I talked with Virginia in the waiting room more about Herbert. She told me that he was diagnosed in March. The cancer had started at his ear and progressed to his throat and lung. He has a circular button on his neck he always has to push whenever he speaks. Virginia told me he'd lost lots of weight and was having trouble eating. They were giving him 7 Ensures a day. She also told me that her daughter who lived several hours away has a lung disease and she is worried about her. She said as long as she "had breath in her body and gas in her car," she'd keep bringing Herbert for his treatments. I thought that was a beautiful statment. Many times when I've seen her Virginia would say, "Isn't God good?" with a big smile on her face. I always cheerfully agreed but today it made me stop and think about it further. I was always saying how good He was in the midst of good news. Ever since my diagnosis my news got better and better. Here she is able to say it even in the hardest of times. I admire her greatly. Now THAT is faith!
I was able to give Herbert and Connie each a GOD IS BIGGER THAN CANCER shirt. That meant so much to me. There were lots of hugs. The techs gave me a radiation graduation certificate. In the waiting room I collected my last cookie on my last cookie day. Boy did that ever taste SWEET!
I came to my last day of radiation with tears of sorrow and left with such joy. As I pulled off in my car I was touched that the parking attendent (who waved at us every morning) remembered it was my last day. I proudly showed him my radiation graduation certificate and he was quite impressed. (Yes, Evie I too made friends with the parking attendent).
And so ends my cancer treatments. I will still have at least 3 (maybe 4) surgeries but the battle waged against the cancer is now over. I hope it will be my last. It doesn't mean that cancer is out of my life for good now. No matter what happens in the future, cancer will always be a part of my life.
Please pray for Connie, for Virginia and her daughter, for Herbert and for that woman the doctor spoke about who is dying of cancer.
Please remember most that "God is so good." I have been a witness that it is true in the best and in the worst of times. Lots of love,
Kerry
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Tolerable and Temporary
Hello friends and family!
I am now 6 treatments away from completing my radiation therapy! Yeah!! The skin under my arm is black with blisters and I am very red all over my left chest. I am uncomfortable but as I told my doctor today it is all "tolerable and temporary."
When I go to radiation I see the same people. There is Virginia and Herbert who told me about "cookie day" and another breast cancer patient named Connie. We always chat and I enjoy seeing them and the same technicians every day.
Laura has taken to carrying a blanket with her into the hospital. Coats in her view are overrated. Today she and Leslie walked around with it over their heads. Leslie paraded behind Laura her body totally covered except for her feet. It looked like they were part of a huge animal costume. They turned a lot of heads but the onlookers always smiled. Anytime I go to my treatment and they aren't with me strangers come up and ask me where they are at and how they are doing. Guess we must turn a lot of heads (and make a lot of smiles I hope).
Today I met someone new. His name was Will and he has lung cancer. He looked to be in his 80's. He had just finished his radiation treatment and was lying on a stretcher waiting for someone to take him up to his hospital room. He said he'd been married 60 years to the same woman. He joked about how he'd put up with her for all that time (and how his lucky wife hadn't put up with anything). I thought it was very sweet when he said he didn't know what he'd do without his wife or she without him. He asked my name and I told him. He said he'd known another Kerry when he was young in World War II. He said that other Kerry had died on a Pacific island fighting the Japanese all those years ago. That was sobering to me. It made me wonder what all he'd seen in his life. He also told me he was about to start chemo. I told him he would love the nurses in the chemo hut. I said you get to eat ice cream, hang out in a recliner, take a nap and watch TV. He said he couldn't wait to get started.
Just like Virginia, Connie & Herbert he never once lost his humor or his smile. I really admire the spirit of the people I see at radiation every day. They don't complain even when you can tell they are hurting. They just smile and keep going.
Today I also saw a Physical Therapist. I went for an educational session about how to avoid getting lymphadema which is a backing up of the lymphatic fluid in the arm (and therefore a swelling of the arm itself). Because I have had my lymph nodes removed I am at higher risk for it, although the risk is about 25%. The therapist showed me pictures of people who'd had it, some in their legs as well as arms. (It all depends on where your lymph nodes have been removed). I was shocked by the severity of the swelling. Apparently all sorts of things can set it off: heat, mosquito bites, injury to my left arm, a cut, a change in pressure. I have been told now to avoid saunas and shaving with a regular razor under my arm among other things. I cannot have my blood pressure or skin pricked on my left side. I was told to buy a special sleeve if I ever go flying in an airplane or in case the lymphadema ever starts.
One of the things the other radiation patients, the technicians and I often joke about are the floppy hospital gowns we have to wear. Those immodest little things have become a part of my radiation routine. It has fondly brought to my mind a poem called "The Hospital Gown" written by my grandmother Mamma B. It was found after her death in a niche by her easy chair. She passed away from breast cancer in 1989 when I was 18. I think it captures the indignity but necessity (the tolerable and the temporary) of that aspect of the journey. And when you think about it, if Jesus is in your heart and you're going to heaven, it helps everything seems a little more tolerable and temporary.
The Hospital Gown
By Bertha Hutchison Booth
Provided with a smile, I wore it with a frown.
Tied in back like a bib, split all the way down;
So skinny and short,it won't go around
That horrible, hazardous hospital gown.
No buttons to button- no zippers to zip-
Tall, short, fat, thin- all it must fit.
Not even a pocket for hankie or pen,
I hereby declare it a crime against men.
That horrible, humiliating hospital gown.
Now Doc says I'm better- I walk down the hall.
Wearing pajamas and robe- pants, pockets and all.
I'll soon be dismissed and, when out on the town,
I'll praise those who provided with expert renown,
That horrible humanizing hospital gown.
Hope whatever you are putting up with is tolerable and temporary too. Lots of love,
I am now 6 treatments away from completing my radiation therapy! Yeah!! The skin under my arm is black with blisters and I am very red all over my left chest. I am uncomfortable but as I told my doctor today it is all "tolerable and temporary."
When I go to radiation I see the same people. There is Virginia and Herbert who told me about "cookie day" and another breast cancer patient named Connie. We always chat and I enjoy seeing them and the same technicians every day.
Laura has taken to carrying a blanket with her into the hospital. Coats in her view are overrated. Today she and Leslie walked around with it over their heads. Leslie paraded behind Laura her body totally covered except for her feet. It looked like they were part of a huge animal costume. They turned a lot of heads but the onlookers always smiled. Anytime I go to my treatment and they aren't with me strangers come up and ask me where they are at and how they are doing. Guess we must turn a lot of heads (and make a lot of smiles I hope).
Today I met someone new. His name was Will and he has lung cancer. He looked to be in his 80's. He had just finished his radiation treatment and was lying on a stretcher waiting for someone to take him up to his hospital room. He said he'd been married 60 years to the same woman. He joked about how he'd put up with her for all that time (and how his lucky wife hadn't put up with anything). I thought it was very sweet when he said he didn't know what he'd do without his wife or she without him. He asked my name and I told him. He said he'd known another Kerry when he was young in World War II. He said that other Kerry had died on a Pacific island fighting the Japanese all those years ago. That was sobering to me. It made me wonder what all he'd seen in his life. He also told me he was about to start chemo. I told him he would love the nurses in the chemo hut. I said you get to eat ice cream, hang out in a recliner, take a nap and watch TV. He said he couldn't wait to get started.
Just like Virginia, Connie & Herbert he never once lost his humor or his smile. I really admire the spirit of the people I see at radiation every day. They don't complain even when you can tell they are hurting. They just smile and keep going.
Today I also saw a Physical Therapist. I went for an educational session about how to avoid getting lymphadema which is a backing up of the lymphatic fluid in the arm (and therefore a swelling of the arm itself). Because I have had my lymph nodes removed I am at higher risk for it, although the risk is about 25%. The therapist showed me pictures of people who'd had it, some in their legs as well as arms. (It all depends on where your lymph nodes have been removed). I was shocked by the severity of the swelling. Apparently all sorts of things can set it off: heat, mosquito bites, injury to my left arm, a cut, a change in pressure. I have been told now to avoid saunas and shaving with a regular razor under my arm among other things. I cannot have my blood pressure or skin pricked on my left side. I was told to buy a special sleeve if I ever go flying in an airplane or in case the lymphadema ever starts.
One of the things the other radiation patients, the technicians and I often joke about are the floppy hospital gowns we have to wear. Those immodest little things have become a part of my radiation routine. It has fondly brought to my mind a poem called "The Hospital Gown" written by my grandmother Mamma B. It was found after her death in a niche by her easy chair. She passed away from breast cancer in 1989 when I was 18. I think it captures the indignity but necessity (the tolerable and the temporary) of that aspect of the journey. And when you think about it, if Jesus is in your heart and you're going to heaven, it helps everything seems a little more tolerable and temporary.
The Hospital Gown
By Bertha Hutchison Booth
Provided with a smile, I wore it with a frown.
Tied in back like a bib, split all the way down;
So skinny and short,it won't go around
That horrible, hazardous hospital gown.
No buttons to button- no zippers to zip-
Tall, short, fat, thin- all it must fit.
Not even a pocket for hankie or pen,
I hereby declare it a crime against men.
That horrible, humiliating hospital gown.
Now Doc says I'm better- I walk down the hall.
Wearing pajamas and robe- pants, pockets and all.
I'll soon be dismissed and, when out on the town,
I'll praise those who provided with expert renown,
That horrible humanizing hospital gown.
Hope whatever you are putting up with is tolerable and temporary too. Lots of love,
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Vanity...The First Thing to Go
Hello!
I am now half way through with my 5th week of radiation. All is still going well although I can really feel it now. I am totally red on the left side of my chest. It feels like a sunburn and is most uncomfortable under my arm. Sometimes I catch myself walking with my left arm sticking out funny to prevent the friction of skin on skin in my armpit. The doctor said I had 5 more treatments in that area but they are going to postpone them a few days to give that area some time to recover. They have been treating the clavical area of lymph nodes below my neck as well. Starting tomorrow they will also be concentrating the radiation on my masectomy scar. I have 10 more treatments to go. I can no longer wear a bra because of the discomfort.
I remain in a state of menopause. The doctor said I may not know for 6 months whether this will be permanent or not. The past month I have noticed lots of fuzzy hair all over my face. It is even all over my nose. A couple people have commented on it. Randy and I joke that I'm so hairy "the moon must be full" like I'm a werewolf or something. We just laugh about it. I suppose this is due to the drop in hormones. After months of no hair it seems a little bizarre.
Yesterday I saw an interview with Michael J. Fox on Oprah. He was talking about Parkinson's Disease and how it makes him constantly shake. He said after his diagnosis that "Vanity was the first thing to go" and that now he doesn't care so much about what he looks like or how people perceive his physical appearance. I find myself now trotting daily through UT hospital with my very short hair, an uneven chest, fuzzy face and false eyelashes (that have been known to pop off unexpectedly from time to time) without much thought about my appearance. I have laid on the radiation table so many times now with my chest scars exposed that I don't flinch at all when three technicians stand over me lining up the crosshairs for my daily radiation treatment. It has all become a strange sort of routine. It is a bit freeing really.
That's not to say though that it doesn't bother me at all. I see people look at me differently sometimes. I've had several women just come up to me recently and start talking about how they are survivors too. They don't even ask if I have breast cancer. I guess they just know it on sight. One time I even had one woman start showing me her masectomy scar in the middle of a retail store. It guess those scars can be a strange source of pride, really. Like a soldier showing his battle wounds it means you are a survivor in the truest sense of the word. I am fortunate that the scars from my breast cancer are temporary. The shakiness from Parkinsons is not. The lesson learned however is the same. I knew I was not defined by my physical appearance, but sometimes (with so much of my life revolving around my treatments) cancer starts seeming like that is my life. You're poked, prodded, stuck with needles and people stare at your scars all the time. Cancer is very humbling and none of it (except your attitude) can you control. We are not defined by our adversity though. We are so much more.
Last week I saw my Internist. He said in 35 years of family practice he had never seen a cancer like mine. At first I was left to wonder if this was a compliment (reminiscent of the remark of how I was "perfect" for chemo). According to the pathology report my sentinel lymph node was the only one with any sign of cancer and singlehandely soaked it all up by itself. (Way to go Sponge Bob!)He said if it hadn't been for my dislocated shoulder and the size of that gygantor lymph node that we may not have discovered the cancer. I had always thought of the shoulder accident as a "red herring" that kept me from diagnosing the cancer sooner.
So I guess it's just all in how you look at things. Vanity is indeed the first thing to go. And what's left is a new sort of self assurance, a new sort of self worth that confirms that who you are is so much more than what people perceive you are or any hardship you are going through. Michael J. Fox put it this way. He is much more than Parkinsons but Parkinson disease has helped define him. It has brought new people into his life and caused him to make new choices that he otherwise never would have made.
I Corinthians 2:7 says "...we speak of God's secret wisdom, a wisdom that has been hidden and that God destined for our glory before time began. None of the rulers of this age understood it, for if they had, they would not have crucified the Lord of glory. However, as it is written: 'No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him.'"
No matter what stumbling blocks we may be facing big or small, God sees the big picture. He sees the true essence of who we are and where we all fall in His master plan. Doesn't it do your heart good to know that? Lots of love,
Kerry
I am now half way through with my 5th week of radiation. All is still going well although I can really feel it now. I am totally red on the left side of my chest. It feels like a sunburn and is most uncomfortable under my arm. Sometimes I catch myself walking with my left arm sticking out funny to prevent the friction of skin on skin in my armpit. The doctor said I had 5 more treatments in that area but they are going to postpone them a few days to give that area some time to recover. They have been treating the clavical area of lymph nodes below my neck as well. Starting tomorrow they will also be concentrating the radiation on my masectomy scar. I have 10 more treatments to go. I can no longer wear a bra because of the discomfort.
I remain in a state of menopause. The doctor said I may not know for 6 months whether this will be permanent or not. The past month I have noticed lots of fuzzy hair all over my face. It is even all over my nose. A couple people have commented on it. Randy and I joke that I'm so hairy "the moon must be full" like I'm a werewolf or something. We just laugh about it. I suppose this is due to the drop in hormones. After months of no hair it seems a little bizarre.
Yesterday I saw an interview with Michael J. Fox on Oprah. He was talking about Parkinson's Disease and how it makes him constantly shake. He said after his diagnosis that "Vanity was the first thing to go" and that now he doesn't care so much about what he looks like or how people perceive his physical appearance. I find myself now trotting daily through UT hospital with my very short hair, an uneven chest, fuzzy face and false eyelashes (that have been known to pop off unexpectedly from time to time) without much thought about my appearance. I have laid on the radiation table so many times now with my chest scars exposed that I don't flinch at all when three technicians stand over me lining up the crosshairs for my daily radiation treatment. It has all become a strange sort of routine. It is a bit freeing really.
That's not to say though that it doesn't bother me at all. I see people look at me differently sometimes. I've had several women just come up to me recently and start talking about how they are survivors too. They don't even ask if I have breast cancer. I guess they just know it on sight. One time I even had one woman start showing me her masectomy scar in the middle of a retail store. It guess those scars can be a strange source of pride, really. Like a soldier showing his battle wounds it means you are a survivor in the truest sense of the word. I am fortunate that the scars from my breast cancer are temporary. The shakiness from Parkinsons is not. The lesson learned however is the same. I knew I was not defined by my physical appearance, but sometimes (with so much of my life revolving around my treatments) cancer starts seeming like that is my life. You're poked, prodded, stuck with needles and people stare at your scars all the time. Cancer is very humbling and none of it (except your attitude) can you control. We are not defined by our adversity though. We are so much more.
Last week I saw my Internist. He said in 35 years of family practice he had never seen a cancer like mine. At first I was left to wonder if this was a compliment (reminiscent of the remark of how I was "perfect" for chemo). According to the pathology report my sentinel lymph node was the only one with any sign of cancer and singlehandely soaked it all up by itself. (Way to go Sponge Bob!)He said if it hadn't been for my dislocated shoulder and the size of that gygantor lymph node that we may not have discovered the cancer. I had always thought of the shoulder accident as a "red herring" that kept me from diagnosing the cancer sooner.
So I guess it's just all in how you look at things. Vanity is indeed the first thing to go. And what's left is a new sort of self assurance, a new sort of self worth that confirms that who you are is so much more than what people perceive you are or any hardship you are going through. Michael J. Fox put it this way. He is much more than Parkinsons but Parkinson disease has helped define him. It has brought new people into his life and caused him to make new choices that he otherwise never would have made.
I Corinthians 2:7 says "...we speak of God's secret wisdom, a wisdom that has been hidden and that God destined for our glory before time began. None of the rulers of this age understood it, for if they had, they would not have crucified the Lord of glory. However, as it is written: 'No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him.'"
No matter what stumbling blocks we may be facing big or small, God sees the big picture. He sees the true essence of who we are and where we all fall in His master plan. Doesn't it do your heart good to know that? Lots of love,
Kerry
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