Life in the Bottle has a couple of observations.

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.

Life in the bottle can be amusing.

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!

Life in the bottle lacks knowledge.

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.

Life in the Bottle is challenging.

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.

Life in the Bottle is nostalgic.

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.

Life in the Bottle gets complicated.

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.

Life in the Bottle has an unexpected interruption.

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.