Thursday, July 27, 2017
Sunday, July 23, 2017
Running for Amos: The Last Run
I posted an update on our GoFundMe page, but I know not all of you reading here also make it over there. I'm just going to copy and paste here. If you feel you would like to help us along, please CLICK HERE to visit our gofundme page.
Tonight I am incredibly greatful to those who contributed $2017 to our boy. Some of you contributed multiple times. Names came up that I have not heard in years, but you were here, cheering me on!! I cannot...ever...thank you enough.
I will admit, I am human and I am frustrated. I have just one run left. Only one, and am $2983 short of my goal. I feel like I failed Amos. On Tuesday Amos will be at the finish line (my front yard) waiting for me and I will have to tell him, "We're almost there buddy. Not quite yet. I cannot be your forever mom yet. Soon, but not yet."
But have I really failed him? I have to remember that 8 weeks ago I was incredibly out of shape and couldn't run a single block. Over those 8 weeks have run a total of 51.96 miles, with three left to go on Tuesday. Every mile has been with Amos' smiling face in my mind. That little boy in the coral colored shirt. THAT is my boy!!! I have loved him every day for two years and 3 months. I have brushed his teeth, combed his hair, took care of him when he was sick, nursed him back to health after surgery, taught him to chew his food, use a toilet, and sleep in a bed. I have done all these things because I am his mother. I chose to be his mother, and all those things are just what mother's do. We don't do them for pats on the back, we do them because we love and that is our job.
So with that, I will leave the rest to God. God has made sure our needs have been met with every single one of our adoptions, and He will for Amos too. Its just doesn't always happen the way I want or expect.
Thank you again for all who have supported me in my Run for Amos.
Tonight I am incredibly greatful to those who contributed $2017 to our boy. Some of you contributed multiple times. Names came up that I have not heard in years, but you were here, cheering me on!! I cannot...ever...thank you enough.
I will admit, I am human and I am frustrated. I have just one run left. Only one, and am $2983 short of my goal. I feel like I failed Amos. On Tuesday Amos will be at the finish line (my front yard) waiting for me and I will have to tell him, "We're almost there buddy. Not quite yet. I cannot be your forever mom yet. Soon, but not yet."
But have I really failed him? I have to remember that 8 weeks ago I was incredibly out of shape and couldn't run a single block. Over those 8 weeks have run a total of 51.96 miles, with three left to go on Tuesday. Every mile has been with Amos' smiling face in my mind. That little boy in the coral colored shirt. THAT is my boy!!! I have loved him every day for two years and 3 months. I have brushed his teeth, combed his hair, took care of him when he was sick, nursed him back to health after surgery, taught him to chew his food, use a toilet, and sleep in a bed. I have done all these things because I am his mother. I chose to be his mother, and all those things are just what mother's do. We don't do them for pats on the back, we do them because we love and that is our job.
So with that, I will leave the rest to God. God has made sure our needs have been met with every single one of our adoptions, and He will for Amos too. Its just doesn't always happen the way I want or expect.
Thank you again for all who have supported me in my Run for Amos.
Tuesday, July 11, 2017
Oncology check up and The Anxiety Monster
Today I had a check up with my Oncologist.
First, let me tell you, three years out and I still have trouble saying things like, "Today I'm seeing my oncologist" without my stomach turning in knots. The word oncologist doesn't belong in *my* vocabulary. It belongs to other people. THOSE people who have cancer. Oh wait...that was me, wasn't it? Three years and I'm still not used to saying it. A life-time of oncology appointments to go.
I once said to my doctor, "I need to stop thinking of myself as a cancer patient. I don't have cancer anymore. You took it out. Chemo killed what was left. You people rebuilt my body. Why can't I just move on?" I could tell from his face he has had this same conversation many times with other breast cancer survivors. "You had breast cancer. You will forever be a cancer patient. Some days you may not think of it at all. Other days you may feel fear, anxiety, and even panic. For some people this will decrease as time goes on, but for others it gets worse. All of it is normal."
Why all the worry? Every year out from diagnosis is another year that cancer could rear its ugly head again. We are given a long list of symptoms that, if noticed, warrant a call to our oncologist: back pain, unexplained fevers, unexplained fatigue, abdominal pain, bone pain, loss of appetite, severe headaches, seizures...the list goes on. You probably notice these can be normal, every-day aches and pains, yet for the cancer patient they can trigger worry. "My back hurts. Why does my back hurt? I haven't done anything for my back to hurt. Maybe there is cancer in my spine! My belly has been tender for days. Why? Maybe I have cancer mets in my liver!" Take me for example. The last couple of weeks I've been running fevers for no apparent reason. One of the chemo drugs I was on causes Leukemia in approximately 10% of those who received it, and the survival rate of those with chemo-induced leukemia is next to nothing. So, when I started running fevers for no reason, it has been difficult not to panic. In my head I say, "The chances of actually developing that leukemia is very low. 90% of patients on that drug do NOT develop it, so stop worrying." But, if you've been reading here for any length of time, you know that rare is the norm in our house.
So, as I said above, today was my three month check up. Well, really it was 6 months, but anxiety preventing me from going three months ago. I know, I know, that doesn't even make sense! But I just couldn't do it. Walking into that building causes me to break out in a cold sweat, my heart races, and I always...always...end up crying in the exam room for some odd reason. Today I was not going to do that. Today I would walk in, get my blood drawn (OMG! Maybe this time they will find tumor markers in my blood!) I would ask my questions and get the heck out of there! I don't drink wine, but today it sounded really good.
Well, wouldn't you know, they have a new thing in place at my oncology clinic. It is a quality of care survey that will remain in my chart, and they wanted me to put down how important various things are related to my care. Think healthcare directive here.
"On a scale of 1 - 5, how important is it for you to be pain free in your final days, if "pain free" means you take medications that make you unable to function or think clearly."
Seriously?????
I felt my chin begin to quiver. Doggone it! I was NOT going to cry at this appointment! I started to take deep cleansing breaths.
"On a scale of 1 - 5, how important is it for you to receive nutrition by any means necessary - such as a feeding tube - if you are no longer able to eat by mouth."
As I looked at the paper, the tears were threatening to spill from my eyes. Blinking would have made them fall for sure. The paper became blurry as my eyes filled. The nurse finished her tasks and left me alone with that form. I quickly reached for the box of tissues, dabbed my eyes, and shoved the tissue into my purse. "I will NOT cry for the doctor this time. I will NOT!" How does one answer these questions when one is not dying? What if I say today I don't want a feeding tube but in that situation I change my mind but can't voice that decision? This is a stupid form!"
I finished the form and pushed it away.
Finally my Oncologist entered the room. He had to do a double take, looking at the name on my chart then back at me, since he didn't recognize me. (that is another post.) I told him about the fevers. He looked at my blood results and said it looked fine from his perspective but encouraged me to see my primary doctor if the fevers continue. He did his exam and gave me the all clear to not return for 6 months. (WOOP WOOP!!!!!) And do you know what? I didn't cry for him today. Nope! I maintained my composure. I asked intelligent questions, and I made it out of there without hearing those words "you have cancer" again.
First, let me tell you, three years out and I still have trouble saying things like, "Today I'm seeing my oncologist" without my stomach turning in knots. The word oncologist doesn't belong in *my* vocabulary. It belongs to other people. THOSE people who have cancer. Oh wait...that was me, wasn't it? Three years and I'm still not used to saying it. A life-time of oncology appointments to go.
I once said to my doctor, "I need to stop thinking of myself as a cancer patient. I don't have cancer anymore. You took it out. Chemo killed what was left. You people rebuilt my body. Why can't I just move on?" I could tell from his face he has had this same conversation many times with other breast cancer survivors. "You had breast cancer. You will forever be a cancer patient. Some days you may not think of it at all. Other days you may feel fear, anxiety, and even panic. For some people this will decrease as time goes on, but for others it gets worse. All of it is normal."
Why all the worry? Every year out from diagnosis is another year that cancer could rear its ugly head again. We are given a long list of symptoms that, if noticed, warrant a call to our oncologist: back pain, unexplained fevers, unexplained fatigue, abdominal pain, bone pain, loss of appetite, severe headaches, seizures...the list goes on. You probably notice these can be normal, every-day aches and pains, yet for the cancer patient they can trigger worry. "My back hurts. Why does my back hurt? I haven't done anything for my back to hurt. Maybe there is cancer in my spine! My belly has been tender for days. Why? Maybe I have cancer mets in my liver!" Take me for example. The last couple of weeks I've been running fevers for no apparent reason. One of the chemo drugs I was on causes Leukemia in approximately 10% of those who received it, and the survival rate of those with chemo-induced leukemia is next to nothing. So, when I started running fevers for no reason, it has been difficult not to panic. In my head I say, "The chances of actually developing that leukemia is very low. 90% of patients on that drug do NOT develop it, so stop worrying." But, if you've been reading here for any length of time, you know that rare is the norm in our house.
So, as I said above, today was my three month check up. Well, really it was 6 months, but anxiety preventing me from going three months ago. I know, I know, that doesn't even make sense! But I just couldn't do it. Walking into that building causes me to break out in a cold sweat, my heart races, and I always...always...end up crying in the exam room for some odd reason. Today I was not going to do that. Today I would walk in, get my blood drawn (OMG! Maybe this time they will find tumor markers in my blood!) I would ask my questions and get the heck out of there! I don't drink wine, but today it sounded really good.
Well, wouldn't you know, they have a new thing in place at my oncology clinic. It is a quality of care survey that will remain in my chart, and they wanted me to put down how important various things are related to my care. Think healthcare directive here.
"On a scale of 1 - 5, how important is it for you to be pain free in your final days, if "pain free" means you take medications that make you unable to function or think clearly."
Seriously?????
I felt my chin begin to quiver. Doggone it! I was NOT going to cry at this appointment! I started to take deep cleansing breaths.
"On a scale of 1 - 5, how important is it for you to receive nutrition by any means necessary - such as a feeding tube - if you are no longer able to eat by mouth."
As I looked at the paper, the tears were threatening to spill from my eyes. Blinking would have made them fall for sure. The paper became blurry as my eyes filled. The nurse finished her tasks and left me alone with that form. I quickly reached for the box of tissues, dabbed my eyes, and shoved the tissue into my purse. "I will NOT cry for the doctor this time. I will NOT!" How does one answer these questions when one is not dying? What if I say today I don't want a feeding tube but in that situation I change my mind but can't voice that decision? This is a stupid form!"
I finished the form and pushed it away.
Finally my Oncologist entered the room. He had to do a double take, looking at the name on my chart then back at me, since he didn't recognize me. (that is another post.) I told him about the fevers. He looked at my blood results and said it looked fine from his perspective but encouraged me to see my primary doctor if the fevers continue. He did his exam and gave me the all clear to not return for 6 months. (WOOP WOOP!!!!!) And do you know what? I didn't cry for him today. Nope! I maintained my composure. I asked intelligent questions, and I made it out of there without hearing those words "you have cancer" again.
Friday, July 07, 2017
Trying again - Running for Amos
A couple weeks ago I posted about Amos, but for some reason the link wouldn't work so I'm attempting again.
Back on April 3rd we packed up the family for a 10 hour road trip to Amos' sending state to finalize his adoption. FINALLY he would be forever hours. We were so excited! He has been with us two and a half years, it is high time to have this done.
Only it didn't happen that way. We arrived in the sending state to appear before the judge, only to be told we would have to start all over here in Minnesota. All the money on attorney fees we had spent was thrown right out the window. Whoever said adopting from he US is less expensive has no idea how difficult, and expensive, it actually is. You can read the whole story here, and why I'm "Running for Amos" to raise the last of the fees needed to complete his adoption once and for all.
******The widgets aren't working on blogger, so please CLICK HERE to read the full story and find out why we're having to start over. And if you feel like it, please share.*****
Back on April 3rd we packed up the family for a 10 hour road trip to Amos' sending state to finalize his adoption. FINALLY he would be forever hours. We were so excited! He has been with us two and a half years, it is high time to have this done.
Only it didn't happen that way. We arrived in the sending state to appear before the judge, only to be told we would have to start all over here in Minnesota. All the money on attorney fees we had spent was thrown right out the window. Whoever said adopting from he US is less expensive has no idea how difficult, and expensive, it actually is. You can read the whole story here, and why I'm "Running for Amos" to raise the last of the fees needed to complete his adoption once and for all.
******The widgets aren't working on blogger, so please CLICK HERE to read the full story and find out why we're having to start over. And if you feel like it, please share.*****
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