This 2008 Presidential election has me feeling like I live in the Twilight Zone. Never in the years that I have lived in this great country have I ever heard the plainly socialist agenda espoused by a mainstream political party so accepted and welcomed with totally uninformed enthusiasm! How can a major figure running for President of our country speak of the need to spread the wealth around by taxing our nation's producers to gift those who do not achieve?
Our society has operated for more than 200 years on the principle that hard work and effort provide the opportunity to create personal wealth. This wealth can be saved, spent, or invested at the entrepreneur's discretion. What right does the government have to take that hard earned wealth? Spreading the wealth around does not increase opportunity for non-achievers. Spreading the wealth around encourages sloth, not diligence as a work ethic. Spreading the wealth around fosters dependence on others, not a valuing of self-reliance. Spreading the wealth around creates a vacuum of critical thinking, not the promotion of creative ingenuity. The greatness of the United States was founded on those who diligently built their lives, families, and communities with hard work, who valued personal goals achieved through self-reliance, and proudly became economic leaders in the world with industrial and mechanical innovation.
My political viewpoint does not come from the vantage of having financial success or personal achievement. This year has seen the loss of my husband's job, the loss of our home, personal financial ruin, and a serious health crisis. My hope does not come from promises made in a Presidential campaign that the government will provide programs to "economically equalize" those facing hardships. My hope comes from seeing our economic system reward hard work and truly knowing that the United States has historically been the Land of Opportunity. I want to believe that my life will be better someday, because the only limitations I have are the ones I place on myself. I don't want my government to have the power to control my ability to create my own future, even if that means others have life better than I do right now. Economic achievement is more keenly appreciated when the realization of it is not an easy thing.
I fervently pray that the majority of this country's voters will wake-up before change destroys the personal freedoms that have been treasured by generations of Americans.
Since March 7th of this year, I have been undergoing reconstruction to repair demolition from the procedure called "mastectomy". The demolition also took place on March 7th. The process is called immediate reconstruction; however, the term should not be understood to mean reconstructed immediately. The truth is the reconstruction process has begun, but this process usually takes up to a year to complete. I have undergone 3 surgeries thus far. The latest one was yesterday. In 3 months, I will get my first and only tattoo to complete the breast reconstruction.
My plastic surgeon is the Michelangelo of plastic surgery. He is definitely an artisan and a great surgeon. However, he will never be a great doctor unless he accepts that his artistry is not done on inanimate objects. His art medium is the human body, and much as he might want to, he will not be able to successfully back the humanity out of his patients. My first visit in his office was about 3 weeks prior to my mastectomy. My husband went with me, and Dr. C appeared to be nice enough. The only impressions I had about him were that he seemed very credentialed, and he was very, very small. I don't mean just short, he was very tiny in every aspect. This initial exam concluded in a positive way, and he was selected to come in right after the breast surgeon was finished to begin the reconstruction process.
The next visit to his office began innocently enough. There was nothing to indicate that this doctor's visit would turn out to be the most traumatic medical episode in my life. I was to go there the day before surgery for a pre-op appointment. This appointment was to go over the blood work done the day before, get my prescriptions, and be told where and when to go to the hospital the following day. To my surprise and growing horror, I was told that I would not be actually admitted to the hospital. I was to be housed in a unit called Rapid In and Out. This unit did not even contain real rooms. There were curtained off areas only, and you had to walk down the hallway to one of two bathrooms on the unit. Also, I was informed that I would be sent home almost as fast as they could yank the tubes out. The final straw was when the nurse said that I would have to care for my own drain at home. I did not know what a "drain" was, or what caring for one entailed. I did know that the learning curve for this new and terrifying data was going to be extremely short. I'm sure for them this information was something they discussed on a daily basis, and were very familiar with. I, however, was totally unfamiliar with any of it, and this surgery for breast cancer was the most challenging health issue I had ever faced or hoped to face. The hospital protocol for my care certainly seemed callous and lacking in any measure of medical competency. I was in this office without any family member or friend, listening to this information, trying to make some sense of the butchery planned for me on the next day, and I was doing my utmost not to cry. To my dismay, I did shed a few tears and was visibly distraught. At this point, Dr. C said to me, "You need a counselor. I can't help you. I don't want to help you. I must remain absolutely objective when I go into surgery. I don't want to know you. I don't even want to recognize your face when I enter the OR." I was horrified to the point of being in shock. I said very little the rest of the appointment. I just wanted to get out of there. All the way back to work, I kept thinking that I had to go through with the surgery the next day, because I had to get rid of the cancer most of all. If a very dear friend hadn't recognized the soul wrenching distress etched on my face, I would have continued on through the cancer treatment without ever releasing the agony and hurt caused by Dr. C.
I look back now and wonder, to how many other women has he showed the same coldness and distain during a life altering time for them. I vowed after that appointment I would not go again to see him without a family member or friend with me. Even though this doctor has been cordial to me since that incident (I believe my breast surgeon had a few words with him following the pre-op debacle), I still long for the day when I will no longer have to go to his office. What a shame that a doctor so gifted and talented lacks the fundamental qualities of compassion and kindness, for without those, no doctor can be called "great".
Yesterday, as I went through my third procedure with Dr. C, I did get a little revenge. Even if he doesn't know about it, I am certainly petty enough to find pleasure in it anyway. The head anesthesiologist came in to discuss any past health concerns and health history. He was a very amicable gentleman, and we got along quite well. As he was getting ready to leave, I wanted to ensure he didn't forget about the Versed (loopy juice as I call it). He reminded me that Dr. C hadn't been in to talk to me yet, and I couldn't have the "loopy juice" until after speaking with him. To which I replied, "I have given Dr. C all the advice I can. He's going to have to be on his own now!" My nurse tried very, very hard not to laugh out loud, but she was largely unsuccessful. After the anesthesiologist left, the nurse said that she didn't think Dr. C would need any advice. I said, "I know. He does seem to have a healthy dose of self confidence!". She said that actually he had Little Man Syndrome. At which point, I had to interject, "Yes, he does...in a Big way."
Life in the Bottle gets a petty revenge!
I am the Office Manager for a periodontist in Orlando. Many of our patients are elderly. It is not uncommon for one of the office staff to see the photo of one of our patients in the Obit section of the paper. We are all sad when one of them passes on. One patient in particular has been coming for appointments during the last year in a wheelchair. This patient is very incapacitated and physically frail. However, on her last routine visit, the dentist I work for discovered that she needed some surgical treatment. Her appointment was scheduled on a day that Dr. C was in one surgery after another. On those kind of days, the schedule can get backed up, because surgery time can be estimated, but the length of necessary time can't be planned out to the minute perfectly. When this elderly patient arrived for her appointment, Dr. C was running behind in the previous surgery. We had another patient arrive for a short observation appointment for a check of healing in a surgical site. This patient tends to be very grouchy when left waiting in the reception area too long. Given the dynamics of those two patients in the reception area, I went to check with one of our assistants about Dr. C's progress on the surgery in the operatory suite. About this time I was feeling a bit of panic. I said to the assistant, "How much longer is Dr. C going to be? Mr. F doesn't like to wait to be seen. Ms. M has also arrived, and I don't think she will last too long." Our assistant, without missing a beat and totally deadpan, said, "My, you are sure full of optimism today." At that quip, I realized how my inquiry had come across...fortunately, Dr. C wasn't delayed very much longer. Both patients were seen in a timely fashion. We didn't lose our patient, and she only bit the doctor once!
The breast cancer journey is not all crisis and panic. Occasionally, there is cause for laughter; in fact, I have recently realized that I have a rather sick sense of humor when it comes to my breast cancer experiences. The first glimmer of humor I found in the whole situation was actually the day of my mastectomy at the hospital. Prior to surgery, I was required to go down to the Nuclear Medicine Department at Florida Hospital. There they were to inject the biopsy site with a radioactive material enabling the surgeon during surgery to more effectively locate the Sentinel Node. As I sat in a wheel chair being rolled into the bowels of the hospital, I could hear very loud construction type noises ahead. I kept thinking that the orderly pushing my chair would veer in another direction, soon, to go away from all the noise and chaos. Instead, on we went, closer and closer to the huge black plastic curtain and the din of a jackhammer. When I knew that we were absolutely not going to veer away from the jackhammer from beyond the River Styx, I thought, "Oh, my! They're really pulling out the big guns down in nuclear medicine!". At the very last minute, the orderly turned the chair to the left, followed the black plastic curtain, then wheeled me into a waiting elevator. Whew! That was a close one! Fortunately, in this day of modern medicine, the implementation of surgical jackhammers appears to be passe.
This year (2008) has to date scored fairly high on the ick-o-meter of life. However, situations do crop up when you just have to laugh. For example, I had to schedule a diagnostic mammogram for the remaining "mammo", and I wanted to ask them if I would get a 50% discount. That's when you realize that you have developed a very sick sense of humor! I did finally get enough nerve to ask that question and was told there is a discounted rate for those of us who only need half as much torture. (I once tried to explain the experience of a mammogram to my husband by saying, "You take your favorite body part, and stand on your tiptoes to put it on a piece of very cold glass. Then a total stranger arranges said body part just so on the still icy glass. There is also another plate of glass that is lowered so carefully over the now nicely arranged body part. About the time you think, okay, I can stand it, the total stranger cranks the top glass plate down and the bottom glass plate up with your very sensitive body part caught smack-dab in the middle! Then she says, "Hold your breath and don't move"...like it's possible at that point!)
I am still under construction, and until last week was going regularly to the plastic surgeon's office for saline injections to fill the expander. I am finished with those now, but as I wait for surgery in July to replace the expander with a permanent prosthetic implant, I am faced with a rather embarrassing dilemma. I will be noticeably uneven until after the July surgery. Because I have to be seen in public places until that time, I have started using an insert for the smaller side. The other day at work we were doing a bit of late Spring cleaning- lifting, dusting, throwing trash in the dumpster. As I returned from "dumpster duty", I kept thinking something was a little off, but I couldn't put my finger on the problem. I continued on into the office. Some more time elapsed before I realized that now instead of 2 fairly even bumps in my shirt, I now sported 3! That pesky ole' insert had wriggled its way free during our cleaning frenzy. I just had to laugh- there's been so little to laugh about regarding the cancer. What a blessing to find some humor in this rather sobering situation!
I think folks who never get the opportunity to have children definitely live longer lives, have more money, and much less gray hair than those of us who so optimistically and naively enter the hallowed vocation of parenting. However, having children enables a parent to have a unique insight, in a very tangible way, of how God loves us as His children. When your children are brand new and precious, their "book of life" has pages that are clean and unsmudged with the messiness of life that always seems to accumulate with time, being that we are all sinful and fallen creatures. It's easy to love them. After all they look like us, but they haven't screwed up like us, so we envision that their lives will be different than ours. We will keep them from making mistakes, because now we are experts in avoiding missteps on the road of life.
About the time middle school happens, we discover that these precious and wonderful children have begun to make choices that have you as a parent asking, "What have we spent the past decade doing? How is it that we have failed so miserably to communicate our values to our children?" The scrapes you got into as a child/teenager pale in comparison to the escapades your children now create. As the mother of 5 very active, competitive boys (4 are now grown), I was hit squarely between the eyes with these aliens about the time they turned 14. What happened to my obedient and polite sons? As my husband and I juggled the hurt and disappointment, and we continued to guide our children through the remaining years they were at home, I realized, for the first time, the absolute hurt and disappointment that God, utterly holy and righteous as He is, must feel when we as His children make a total hash of the choices we opt for in life. How all-encompassing His love must be that when we were so unlovely and unworthy, He sent His son to die for us, so that we could have a life truly worth living. How through His example we can feel freedom to love our children warts and all.
Now son #5 is entering the "alien years". I hope we will have the tenacity to endure those years one more time. These are things I do know: There is nothing more predictable than the wickedness and sinfulness that permeates the unregenerate human nature. There is nothing more wise than parents who know that they lack the knowledge and wisdom to raise their children. There is nothing more reassuring than knowing our omniscient God will provide wisdom when ask, and help us love our children as He, by perfect example, shows His love for us.
Life in the Bottle needs His wisdom.
This has been such a trying week. I have had to make difficult decisions about several things, and realize that those things are not likely to change soon, if at all. Learning to live with the things I can't change is a lesson I have been struggling with all week. Casting crowns has a song "Praise You in the Storm". That is my goal for this next week. I don't know God's timetable for the storm that is our life right now, but I hope to have a tangible realization of His presence for the duration.
Life in the Bottle is challenging.
In just a few days number four son, Jordan, will go out into the world to seek his fortune. This has been a very busy Spring of changes: my cancer diagnosis and surgery, David's job loss, Jonathan's marriage, etc. One more item to add to that growing list: Jordan is grown up and leaving home for the Navy. He will leave on Monday, and as with the three that preceded him, a part of my heart will not be the same again.
I would not want to change the fact that he will begin his adult adventure away from us. That is the way of life; however, I also know that nothing will ever be the same as before, when he was still a child at home. I treasure the memories of him a few minutes old- the peace and contentment that I felt just holding him after the 3 lost babies in the years before he was born and the difficult months carrying him. The time spent most mornings rocking in the rocker/recliner when he was a toddler. The pride I felt as he progressed through the different belts in Karate to become a junior black belt. The surprise I felt to enjoy so thoroughly his swim meets and water polo matches, being that I have such a love for football. The joy I felt as I watched him graduate with honors in May last year. He has been the quiet achiever. He greatly admires his older brothers, and has tried to follow in their footsteps. However, he is most accomplished when he makes his own path. He has been accepted by the Navy for Nuclear School upon completion of Basic Training in Illinois. I wish the very best for him, but I woke last night thinking of him, not as the grown-up he sees himself as, but the adorable red-headed little boy that needed me to watch over him.
This Mother's Day will be a little bit sad.
Life in the bottle is nostalgic.
Today was my first visit with my oncologist. In my mind, we would review all the reports beginning with the initial mammogram, MRI, biopsy, and through the mastectomy. Then, the doctor would give me a prescription to begin the anti-hormone therapy for the next 5 years. Well, it's more complicated than that. I should have known, as every part of this cancer journey has been very different than our pre-conceived notions. I will be having a bone scan, CT scans with and without contrast, PET scan, and genetic testing that has a fancy name which escapes me now. All of this is scheduled in the next 2 weeks. After the test results are in, the treatment plan will be finalized, and chemo is not off the table as I originally was told. The thought of having to go through chemo therapy and then begin the anti-hormone treatment is more than I can deal with right now; especially, as I will have to continue to work while having the treatments. Because I am a young breast cancer patient (this is one time it doesn't pay to be young), the oncologist is concerned that I have an increased chance of developing additional cancer. Best case scenario is that our insurance company will okay this fancy genetic testing ($4000), and the test results show minimal chance of the cancer coming back.
Life in the bottle is complex.
I had planned to go back to work in mid-April working only a couple of days a week, but life is what happens while you’re making plans. David was terminated from his job at the Kennedy Space Center after 15 years, effective last Friday. We’re still trying to wrap our minds around the fact that David has worked there with extremely good evaluations and reviews for 15 years. We are now facing quite a dilemma, because our health insurance will end the last day of March. I am still early into my cancer treatment and reconstruction. To enable me to continue medical treatment, we must maintain a Cobra policy. David is still trying to find out all the details necessary to make that transition seamless, but one thing is very clear. I need to go back to work as soon as possible, and I need to go back full-time. I will go back to work on March 31st.
One of the enduring strengths of my marriage has been that when life is the roughest, David and I pull together. We will get through this mess also, but my heart hurts for the unfairness of it all. I truly believe that God is not surprised by these events, and His purpose will be accomplished. If I didn’t hold those facts close to me, I couldn’t get up in the morning.
Life in the bottle has an unexpected interruption.
One week following the most dramatic event in my life(a mastectomy and removal of the sentinel node), I am convalescing at home, glad it is this week, not last week! This "bend in the road" has been full of challenges, pain management dilemmas, and the struggle with pride at being so utterly dependent on others for physical care. However, this same "bend in the road" has also revealed that my circle of friends is much larger than I ever dreamed, my family does "get it", and my husband is bucking for sainthood. Never in my life have I had such an outpouring of love and support by so many of those who are family, friends, and co-workers. Meals have come in all week, and we are scheduled for another week of meals. Phone calls, cards, emails, and flowers have arrived daily. My Mom has waited on me hand and foot. My children check on me (what a concept!). My husband lovingly helps me with all the "humiliating" personal assistance I require. He is so cheerful, and the inconvenience never appears to impact him in the least.
As I reflected on the last week, I realized that I am completely and utterly blessed in all the important facets of my life. My final cancer report was as good as it gets clinically. Except for the fact that my disease is cancer, the pathology findings couldn’t have been any better. My chances of long term survival are excellent. However, that is NOT the most important information I have learned this week. My realization of the overwhelming outpouring of love and support from all those around me has profoundly impacted forever the way I view my life. I am privileged to have more rich and valuable relationships than most people will have in a lifetime. Those relationships will define a "bend in the road" as either a struggle or a journey. Mine is a journey!
Life in the bottle is blessed.
10.Wow, really? What's for dinner?
(Who "really" cares!)
9.Oh, I've had biopsies before, and they're mostly benign.
(Hello, it didn't come back benign.)
8.How did your autopsy come out?
(Ok, stupid, it's a biopsy!)
7.When is your vasectomy
scheduled?
(That would be mastectomy, genius.)
6. You're stronger than you think.
(That may be, but strength is not what you're feeling in the immediate days following the diagnosis.)
5. You need to "buck up". Other folks have been through far worse than what you're facing.
(That's when you don't want to ever express feelings of apprehension to another soul.)
4.You need to just live in the moment and not worry about the future.
(Said by a person who doesn't understand the uncertainty of total chaos in the early days following the biopsy findings)
3. God has a purpose for everything.
(Indeed, as a Christian, I know that beyond the shadow of a doubt. Don't preach a sermon to the choir)
2. What are you so worried about? They caught it early.
(There are no band-aid surgeries with cancer. The treatments are life-altering.)
1. The surgery isn't that bad. You'll be just fine.
(Unless that's a personal testimonial, put a sock in it!!)
Some of these statements seem funny and almost ridiculous, but in the last week, all of them have been said to me by at least one person.
Advice from someone who knows:
The BEST thing to say to someone just diagnosed with cancer is:
I'm so sorry, and I love you. We'll get through this together. What can I do to help?
This informational blog has been brought to you directly from "Life in the Bottle".
Yesterday was one of those days that marks a milestone in life. Cancer is a very scary word, and when it follows the words, "You have", it's even scarier. I know that since yesterday. I feel very torn wanting to be brave and strong and not a "wus", but at the same time, I want to just have the freedom to cry until the tears won't come anymore. Truly, if I look too far down the road, I am overwhelmed with the future. The many times in the past 24 hours that my family and friends have told me that they are praying for me are amazing and precious gifts. I need His strength, because by myself, I am too weak to face what lies ahead. Life in the bottle hurts... :o(
»Yesterday was not a good day in the bottle. I wasn't sure what would occur first, the nervous breakdown or heart failure. Fortunately, I am very blessed with a wonderful co-worker and friend who allows me to download my stress, and so avoid spontaneous combustion! Even so, the day was difficult...messed up bank accounts and the accompanying GF(grief factor) are definitely my "Achilles heel". Especially, when I wasn't the cause of the mistake, only the victim!! Anyway, mid afternoon, in walks my son, Jordan, was a cup of piping hot coffee from Starbucks for me. After I determined that he had not wrecked the car, flunked out of school, or lost his job, I asked him why he brought me coffee. He said that he knew I'd had a bad morning and thought I could use a cup of Starbucks. That's when I did cry!! He gave me a big hug and then went on his way. I never even knew 18 year old sons cared whether or not the momma was having a bad day! That one cup of coffee made my whole day and probably my whole week! Life in the bottle can sometimes be surprising in the nicest possible way!
I've been at a ladies' retreat all weekend! What a wonderful time of Bible study and renewal of the spirit was had by all. During the entire 2 hour trip home, the 8 women in our van attempted to prepare ourselves for the onslaught waiting at our homes ready to annihalate the "new" women we had become over our weekend with God. As we approached Orlando, our pastor's wife, Gayle, called her husband. He was out to lunch with David, so right off I knew the "laundry/maid fairy" had not come to my house while I was out! When I called him, he said that they hadn't gotten to every thing, but it would only take about an hour to finish up. Okay, I thought, at least I know it's not going to be perfect, that way, I can be prepared when I walk in the door. Unfortunately, even a "heads up" didn't prepare me for the mess when I got home. Fortunately, the pigs I live with weren't back from eating out when I saw their version of Animal House. There was no food in the house and laundry in various stages of processing everywhere. The dishes remained unwashed, but had increased in number. Empty soda cans and snack wrappers littered the family room and elsewhere. In the remainder of the house there existed a atmosphere of generalized clutter. I spent about an hour in a very calm, quiet manner--I struggled not to blow to the moon--in the end, I was able to come out of my disappointment without blistering the ears of my husband or other appropriate parts of my children's anatomy. My mind is still "renewed", but life in the bottle is dirty!!
