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Posts from 2/26/2006 - 3/17/2007 remain on this page.
March 17, 2007 - A Day with Daughters I took Autumn and Lacey shopping
for prom dresses today. Yes, I even drove! We went to a local store downtown
called Trinkets and Treasures. They carry costumes for all occasions, tuxedo
rentals, wedding attire, and right now about half of the store is covered
with prom dresses. It is a fun, fun store! The ladies who work in there
are so nice. They bring dresses to the girls to try on, and then help them
choose jewelry to match. They even have a stage in the store with a three-way
mirror for the girls to check out their dresses from every angle and get
comments from the other shoppers. Autumn and Lacey both tried on quite a
few different gowns before they decided. I told them to forget the price
tags and look for the dress of their dreams. (Fortunately, I could do that
in this store because the prices are not astronomical. We ended up spending
$400 for two dresses and matching jewelry. Actually, we used their layaway,
so I paid half today and will pay the other half and pick them up next month.)
I know we are on a tight budget, and managing money is important, but it's
not everything. How many times in their lives will they be 16 years old,
shopping for a prom dress? And the best part of all is that I am still here
and able to be a part of that with them. March 13, 2007 - Results In, Plans Coming
Soon Anyway, I finally got the results of the bone scan today -- a day late, because the doctor was out yesterday. The GOOD NEWS is that there is no additional cancer anywhere in my bones other than the hip/femur. The damage there, however, is too extensive for my current os. He wants to refer us either to an os in Knoxville (if that doctor wants to tackle my case), or to the orthopedic department at Vanderbilt University Hospital in Nashville. Hopefully, we will know more tomorrow, after he consults with the doctor in Knoxville. March 11, 2007 - Tomorrow and Tomorrow
and Tomorrow Whenever my pain worsens, I worry about new metastasis. If the cancer has spread throughout my bones, could it be causing the rib pain? Did the cancer start growing with a vengeance the minute the chemo stopped? I'm gripped by so many fears. Tomorrow we will finally get answers. Recently, I've been morbidly fascinated with cancer-related blogs: the courage, the euphemisms for pain, the firm belief that he/she will overcome, the macabre parade of chemo, radiation, surgeries, and other torturous treatments, the many humiliations of living in a body that is slowly disintegrating -- followed by the inevitable post of friend or relative to convey the sad news of his/her passing. Is that what I'm doing? Am I just harboring my own false hopes that someday, somehow, I will be strong again? Even worse, is this as good as it's ever going to get? Am I stuck with the pain and all of these physical limitations forever? The worst part of the blogs is reading about how the spouse or family has moved on since the death of their loved one. I know that this, too, is inevitable. I see it all the time among people that we know. Two or three years down the road, the spouse has remarried and the children have relegated their dead relative to the pages of the past. Is this what I really fear? That life, and Don, and the kids, will go on without me? The truth is that they MUST go on. It is the natural order of things, the circle of life. It also really, really stinks! March 10, 2007 - Fun with Friends Don and I went out tonight with some of our very best friends in the world. We went to dinner and then to one family's house. I was hurting a little, but not enough to keep me from having a great time. I always end those rare occasions with the same thought: we don't get out often enough! March 5, 2007 - Bone Scan Today I was injected with an isotope at 11 a.m., with instructions to drink plenty of fluids and return at 2 p.m. for the actual scan. The machine is much like a CT scan machine, except that the part that goes over me is flat and looks like an x-ray cartridge instead of the round arc of the CT scan. The bed is as uncomfortable as all of the others, especially because I have to lie flat on my back. It took about 20 minutes, and thankfully my face was not under the machine long enough to get claustrophobic. I have had bone scans before, of course, but this is the first one I've had that covered head to toe. So now we wait for the results next Monday. March 4, 2007 - Dealing with Pain March 3, 2007 - Why? What will his reward ultimately be? The loss of his wife, his lover, his soul-mate, his best friend. The thought of his suffering is as hard for me to reconcile as the thought of actually dying. I know that I will be in a better place, with all of the pain and suffering behind me. He will still be here, burying me, sorting through my belongings, raising our children, marking the months and days since my passing. He will be alone again, this wonderful man who was 32 when we met to my 23. He had despaired of ever meeting the right woman, and I, freshly divorced with three small children, did not plan to marry again. I am sure that God was smiling on that night when we met on a blind double date. He took on the role of both husband and father at the same time, and never complained about all of the long hours he worked and I worked to support us. All lovers are eventually separated, either by life or by death. March 1, 2007 - Mind over Fear? Right now, pre-surgery, it is mostly in my mind. I try to will myself past the surgery and into the healing period, and then to console myself with the fact that we have done the hospital-bed-in-the-family-room routine twice in the past two years, for a total of more than seven months. We know a lot of tricks for keeping me comfortable and -- more importantly -- safe during the early days of recovery. Sometimes I think about being in the hospital, and I get that same smothery feeling that I had when I sat awake in the middle of the night before a chemo treatment. A fear that leaned toward sheer panic interrupted my sleep and took my breath away. Sitting on the side of the bed, I reminded myself that if I can do one cycle of chemo, I can survive another and another and another. Or, I would calm myself by reiterating in my mind that the choice is mine and mine alone. I can stop chemo at any time. I can refuse treatment at any time. I can quit the fight and accept the inevitable at any time. At the end of the day (and in the dead of the night), the decision is ultimately mine to make. And the consequences are mine to suffer. It is during those late night sessions with myself that I realize most clearly that I walk through this world alone. Others can pray, care, hope, love, and help, but they cannot suffer for me or take my place. This is MY valley, and my fight. February 23, 2007 - Tears, Idle Tears Lying on the floor, they just seemed to represent everything that my life can't be right now: carefree, simple, easy, happy. How did things get so complicated? I've always been a very simple person, easily satisfied by the long, lazy days of summer. I love to walk barefoot in the grass or on the beach or in the house. My shoes were always quickly shed when I got home from work, or under my desk at work (which got me in trouble on more than one occasion, when I headed for the copy machine or bathroom without remembering to wear them). When the pavement is hot or bare feet are "prohibited", I love a pair of flip-flops. I love the sound of them clip-clapping on the sidewalk, the whoosh of air on my toes, the joy of flinging them off of my feet when I come through the door. Now, like everything else in my life, shoes are complicated. They must be practical, non-skid, wide enough to accommodate the swelling, and equipped with a 1/2 inch lift for the right leg. No more sandals or flip-flops or girly shoes. Oh, and what I wouldn't give to walk again! Right now, I walk only in my dreams. I also swim, run, drive, dance, and move with the ease of a sunny summer day in flip-flops. Then I wake up.
February 19, 2007 - We Can Put Humpty
Dumpty Back Together Again He believes that he can repair my hip and leg using an allograft -- cadaver bone and metal prostheses. He says that it will be a major surgery with a long, hard recovery period. He also believes that he can get all of the cancer out this time. (This is no doubt local spread from the cancer in my femur bone two years ago. He was NOT able to get all of the cancer out during that surgery.) The bad news: he sees some "suspicious spots" on my LEFT hip that might be cancer. I will have a bone scan on 3/5. If there is cancer in the other hip, I will probably need radiation before surgery. I will see Dr. Bratton again on 3/12. If the surgery goes well, with no rejection or infection, I should be able to walk again with my artificial parts. If it is successful, I should also be able to swim and even climb steps again. For right now, I'll be doing a lot of sitting, waiting, and praying.
February 15, 2007 - The Sky is Falling,
Again I cried while I got ready, made a few phone calls, and then raced to the chemo lab to get the details / have my treatment. When I arrived, the nurses predicted -- correctly, that he would not give me a chemo treatment with a broken hip. I guess my "chemo break" is here early. He came over to us, and I said, "So I have a hairline fracture?" (I was still thinking this was in my femur, even though she said 'hip'.) "No," he said, soberly. "It's gone." "What's gone?" "Your upper femur and your hip. The cancer has completely obliterated them. The neck of what's left of your right femur is fractured." Then he sent me home with strict orders to put NO weight on that leg and an appointment to see Dr. Bratton on Monday when he returns from vacation. Here we go again ...
February 14, 2007 - Love, Love, Love We also had brownies and ice cream for a family celebration. I finally had that x-ray done of my right hip and femur today. I was a little concerned at the way the x-ray technician seemed *SO* sympathetic toward me. She kept asking me if my leg was worse than it had been in the past. I explained that no, it is not feeling worse, but I am trying to more with it in physical therapy. I should get the results tomorrow when I go for chemo.
January 30, 2007 - Ups, Downs I realize that it takes a great deal of self-denial to get through any day. I must constantly pump myself up with "happy thoughts", such as "things will get better", "you will walk normally again", "a cure is just around the corner", "you don't look bad just because you are bald, wrinkled, overweight, scarred, and have tumors bulging all over your body", and, my eternal favorite, "finances will better next month". The moment that I stop airing myself up with positive self talk, I deflate like a rubber raft on a pile of rocks. My mood tanks, I get weepy and cannot stop the tears, and soon my energy is gone and I am just desperately depressed. Since I can't stand myself that way, I try to pull out of it as quickly as possible. Our fifteen year-old son announced to us today that we do not do enough to "make him happy", and that he is completely miserable living here. When I pointed out that we provide shelter, clothing, food, summer pool membership, cable t.v., high-speed internet, computer privileges, etc., he countered that those are just "the basics", and do nothing to assuage his unhappiness. I very gently explained to him that while we are responsible for his provisions, we cannot ensure his happiness. He must choose to find satisfaction where he is now, and to make plans - short and long term - to pursue his dreams in the future. I know, of course, that this is also true in my life: I alone am responsible for my own happiness. It's a matter of perspective, mainly. I need to feel like I am making forward progress, so setbacks send me reeling into self-pity. I need to comfort myself with the fact that I am strong and resilient, and cancer cannot take these away from me. It can wreck my body and rattle my nerves, but it cannot change the part of me that IS me. Maybe there's still a little fifteen year-old left in me sometimes, too. It's time to count my blessings again, and to remember a saying that my mother taught us many years ago: "I cursed God that I had no shoes until I met a man who had no feet."
January 28, 2007 - A Step Backwards When Kelly came to do my pt, she saw my reddish-purple, blistered leg and said that she didn't think it looked like the normal blood clot/swollen leg. She thought it might be cellulitis, which develops inside the cells and works its way outward. It can be dangerous if it spreads. Dr. Doddabele wanted to admit me to the hospital for i.v. antibiotics, but agreed to try the treatments here every day for seven days. If it gets worse, or my fever spikes really high, I will have to be hospitalized. The home health nurse says to keep it elevated and walk on it as little as possible. SIGH ... I hope I don't lose the progress that I have made in leg strength the past few weeks.
January 23, 2007 - The Results Are In! STABLE with slight shrinkage of lung tumors and NO new growth anywhere!!!!! The plan now is have 2 more cycles (I had a treatment today of Gemzar, so 1 1/2 more cycles to go) and then a break, followed by close monitoring with CT scans for any new growth. It is the news we were hoping to hear, and I am relieved and thankful.
January 13, 2007 - That Feeling of Falling When this happens, I get a dizzy sensation of the world whizzing past me. Everything seems to move too fast, and I just want to SLOW DOWN for a while.
December 30, 2006 - Going, going ... When my sister and I were young, we lived within walking distance of the annual county fair. My mother would take us there on a footpath that cut through the swamp. As we whirled around on the scrambler or the ferris wheel or some other ride, I would think, "We are really here. This is happening right now." (I know; I was a strange child.) That's true of life, too. My body isn't perfect, and some days are better than others, but I am here. I don't want to mask the pain or sleep my life away in a fog of medications. I want to feel the wind on my face as I careen through another year of highs and lows, mountains and valleys. I want to feel every minute of it!
December 25, 2006 - Merry Christmas
to All! The Lord has really blessed me, because I have suffered a lot this year but I am ending it in much better shape than at the start of 2006. It's hard to describe all of the blessings, small and large, that have helped me make it through this year. There were the kind health care workers - nurses, ambulance drivers, home health nurses, and my physical therapist who helped me find the courage to stand and eventually walk again (Thanks, Kelly!). There were the school teachers and staff, churches, and neighbors that brought meals, food, household supplies, school supplies, and gift cards. There were so many cards and letters from our church, our friends, and our relatives. Later this year, I discovered Chemo Angels, and my new friend Lorie has sent me so many kind gifts and cards that I can't list them all. Of course, there's Don, the love of my life, who has taken care of me and helped me become more independent. Most of all, there were the prayers offered up on my behalf from people all over the country and even around the world. I KNOW those prayers helped me through the darkest days of this difficult year. I'm the eternal optimist, so I have high hopes for 2007. I'm looking forward to a new year!
December 19, 2006 - Cancer, Cancer,
Cancer I know just how he felt. Sometimes I just want to say, "Lord, I've handled this cancer thing the best that I can. For the past six years, I've tried to keep a good attitude through the horrors of medical testing, surgeries, radiation, chemo, and the rude stares of strangers when I go to town. I've given up walking, working, HAIR, and much of my prized independence. Can I have a break now? Please?" Unfortunately, Josiah could not have a separate birth date, and I cannot have a break. This IS my life, and changing the year on the calendar isn't going to change a thing. But I CAN take a break from thinking about it so much, can't I?
December 16, 2006 - Starers - UGH! We went to IHOP a few days ago. A woman in a booth stared at us until her eyeballs nearly popped out, then whispered something to her companion. He then turned and stared, too. I checked to make sure that there wasn't snot hanging out of my nose or blood gushing from an orifice, but I could find no offense other than just being me. If one my children stared at someone like that in public, he/she would be very quickly corrected. And these were adults! I don't want their attention, and I definitely don't want their pity, because I am NOT pitiful. I just want to be left alone to enjoy feeling well enough to be up, dressed, and out of the house. They would REALLY stare if they could see me at home, sitting around in my gown with my bald head shining, peeing on myself while I throw up in my ninja turtle bucket. Maybe I need a 24/7 web cam of my lift chair -- "Cancer Cam". That would be hilarious! Yes, there are many helpful people, too, who hold doors open or move obstacles that are in my way. I really, really like those people. They make the world a better place. A little kindness goes a long way. Hey, and just for the record, I am not QUITE bald. My hair grows back some between treatments, so there's a little peach fuzz up there. My eyebrows, however, are almost gone, and their absence makes my face look ghostly white.
December 4, 2006 - 18 Months Since Leg
Break! I think I have finally turned the corner from the last treatment (11/30). I actually did not throw up at all this time (hallelujah!), though I did feel nauseous and have limited interest in food. My main side effect has been overwhelming exhaustion that just renders me completely useless for a while. I've also been having some sharp chest pains, especially after exertion. I am going to talk to my doctor about it on Wednesday morning. Hopefully it's just indigestion or some thing minor, but chemo can have cardiac side effects so he might want to check on it. Believe me, after the whole spinal tumor disaster last winter, I am all for checking things out! By this time last year, I was in so much pain that I could not leave the house or even sleep in my bed. I remembered that tonight when we went to school for Autumn's French Club banquet. I asked Andrew if he came to it last year, and he reminded me that he had performed in it. I was not able to go anywhere at that time because of the unbearable pain. I had gone to UT Hospital the week before Thanksgiving for CT scans, and I cried like a baby because I was hurting so much. When Don went to get the truck, a woman came to me in the waiting area and asked to pray to me because I was in obvious agony -- and believe me, I am a private person. I don't broadcast my suffering, because I believe that everyone has a burden to bear. Mine is no better or worse than anyone else's. We all share in the suffering of this old world, and (as Christians) long for the comfort of Heaven. Anyway, I was hurting so much that I called my doctor's office and begged them to see me that day (while I was already in Knoxville). They said there was no way, go to the ER, etc. I should have done just that, but the thought of a four or five hour wait in such misery was more than I could bear. Also, it was almost time for the kids and I did not know who I would get to watch them. I wonder, if I had gone to the ER that day, would things have turned out another way? Or was I destined (don't really like that word, but you know what I mean) to lose the feeling in my lower body and to experience the challenges (what a euphemism!) of this year? I don't know. Andrew said that it was okay that I missed his performance, but it made me really sad. He's out of high school now, as you know, and he'll never be the child again that he was one year ago. This stupid cancer has stolen so much!
November 23, 2006 - Happy Thanksgiving!
November 20, 2006 - Another Week, Another
Day If the blood work done today shows no problems, I will complete this cycle on Wednesday, 11/22. And yes, I will be THANKFUL to get it behind me.
November 16, 2006 - Cowabunga, Cancer! I was pondering the meaning of life today while I was hunkered down over my ninja turtle bucket. (Have I told you about my bucket? It's my constant companion on those nauseous days. It was actually a popcorn bucket, then a mini trash can, and now it serves as my close friend in times of trouble. Since I am not very mobile, I can't get to the bathroom quickly, and somehow vomiting on the carpet doesn't do much for my positive outlook on life. Hence, the bucket ...) Anyway, I was thinking about when our oldest two sons were small. They loved the ninja turtles, and they were convinced that the turtles lived under every storm drain in town. They would stop at each metal grate to stare and call for them, hoping to catch a glimpse of their heroes. Finally, anxious to get the errands behind me, I would tell them that the turtles were probably out for pizza. They would sadly agree, and we would go on about our day. Now, I wish that I could have freeze-framed those moments, and that I could still be standing beside them, their 3 and 4 year old selves, as they searched intently for those turtles. I would wait with them forever, if I could. Why does life become so complicated? Now they are young men, and they can barely spend a few minutes with me per week. Where did the time go? Where did the youth go -- theirs and mine? I find myself increasingly sentimental for the "good old days". Ugh! This is how it starts, isn't it? I've got to stop looking back, and start looking forward -- but to what? I can't do this to myself! There are still many good days ahead of me. I need to work on my goal of walking (unaided) again. I need to think about spring, vacation, and my goal to swim again. I need to live without regret, without reflection, without hesitation.
November 9, 2006 - Warning: Moody Rant
Below! Right now, I am really down about the quality of my life. Chemo has really kicked my butt lately, and it seems like I am getting less and less willing help from the kids. (Hey, I warned you that this would be moody!) In fact, they take advantage of my weakness to do less and try to get by with more nonsense! Now, you have to remember that when you are dealing with older adopted kids, you are dealing with a sackful of issues that tend to pop up over and over. I understand that. And you can't expect more than each one is capable of doing. I understand that, too. But in a house with 7 teenagers and only 2 younger children, it IS reasonable to expect more help. I spend the whole evening correcting, reminding, cajoling, explaining, and repeating myself. Ugh! To make matters worse, I have been missing all of things I have lost to cancer: working, walking, driving without help getting into and out of the car, going places alone, taking a five-minute shower, taking a three-hour bath, swimming, using my sewing machine, climbing steps, volunteering at the schools, being involved in church, standing over the stove or the sink, MY HAIR!!!!, and a body that does not FEEL 100 years old! I miss being YOUNG: lighthearted, fleet-footed, and blissfully happy for no reason at all! I don't want to spend all of my waking hours either fussing at the kids or vomiting in a bucket. The fact is, I want more. There HAS to be more, or what's the point in trying so hard to stay alive? I want to have plans, to have dreams, to have SOMETHING besides my health as the constant center of my life. I want to look in the mirror and see ME again, instead of the scarred-up, tumor-laden, bald-headed freak show I have become. Life, chemo, and stress have sucked all of the joy out of me, and the resulting exhaustion has made me weepy and sad. The bottom line is that there is no happy ending. If the chemo works, they will want to keep me on it. If it doesn't work, they will want to try something even stronger and more toxic than this one. Or, I can take my chances with the cancer itself and hope that it -- combined with a now-weakened immune system -- won't throw me another curve ball like the spinal tumor and land me in the hospital bed for another five months (or worse).
October 20, 2006 - Welcome Back, My
Friend This afternoon, I turned the corner on this treatment. I know this because my appetite came back. All of sudden, I was ravenously hungry. I ate a side of beef, ten pounds of potatoes, and six oatmeal cakes. Okay, okay, I actually had a frozen pepperoni pizza, but STILL it was a wonderful gift to have an appetite and to WANT food again.
October 16, 2006 - Letting Go ... Dr. Doddabele predicted that this round will take my hair, and, like clockwork, it started coming out today in hunks. There are no bald spots yet, just a lot of thinning. I feel so helpless when it happens. I don't want to be bald. I've never been bald -- okay, Mom, put away those baby pictures -- and it scares me. It feels so out of control, so scary. I KNOW it's only hair; that's what everyone says, but until it's your hair, it's hard to understand. Maybe I need to look up the guys from my graduating class; they could probably sympathize with me! :-) The main goal right now is to finish this round (10/25) and the next one so that I can have CT scans done of my lungs. Only then will we know if all of the suffering has been worth it. Dear Lord, please let it be worth it! I wonder if my mustache and chin hairs will go, too?
October 4, 2006 - So Far, So Good ... Also tomorrow, I will be getting evaluated to start PT again. I am really excited about getting more strength in my right leg, and maybe even working on walking better with it. I would also like to increase my upper body strength to the point that I can pull myself back up into the wheelchair if I land in the floor or get in the swimming pool again. Finally, I need to strengthen those back muscles near the site of my spinal surgery so that they do not ache so much late in the day. It's nice to have something to work on that is not directly related to chemo and cancer (although the damage was caused by the cancer). I just hope that I can stay well enough and strong enough to handle chemo and PT at the same time.
October 2, 2006 - End of Chemo Cycle
2 The chemo center features a wall of windows, but not really a panoramic view. You can see the construction of the new Endoscopy center, complete with construction vehicles that would really impress my seven-year-old son. It's not near the ER or main part of the hospital, so there are not a lot of vehicles or pedestrians. Once in a while you can see Lifestar's helicopter leaving overhead, and once a beautiful Monarch butterfly soared past the window. While I was sitting there, I was thinking about the fact that this months marks the six-year anniversary of my diagnosis. I thought back to the day that Dr. Gordon called me in (one week after the first hysterectomy) to tell me that the biopsy had found the cancer. She tried to convey to me exactly how rare ovarian leiomyosarcoma truly is (about 3 or 4 dozen cases in documented history), but the rarity and gravity of LMS did not sink in to me until much later, after I did my own research on the computer. As I was remembering all of this, I realized that wet tears were rolling down my cheeks. I had no idea on that day that my health would decline like this and my life would change from working and running to struggling to visit the potty without help and needing assistance with most of my daily tasks. I didn't cry at that time, and I have not cried many times over the years. No one wants to see me cry. I guess it makes them feel helpless and sad, but don't I have the right to cry about everything that I have lost and all of the medical horrors that I face? I should be able to cry freely, or scream, or whatever. At any rate, I am finished with Cycle 2. I will have a Neulasta (white blood cell) shot tomorrow (10/3), lab work (10/9), and then my next treatment of Gemzar alone will be on 10/16.
September 30, 2006 - Wow, Where Did
September Go? I've had a lot of energy today, too. That makes me dread the treatment on Monday, after which the roller coaster ride starts again. Still, I want to keep going with treatment.
September 29, 2006 - Blogging Again! Anyway, I was eating a Hershey bar a few minutes ago. That doesn't sound very important, but after four days of nausea and vomiting from that last chemo treatment, even WANTING a candy bar feels like a victory. I held it in my mouth for a bit and marveled at the texture of it - so smooth, so chocolate ... We (and I don't know why I say "we", except that maybe I am wanting to spread the joy) are going to try another treatment on Monday. I really don't want to think about that right now, since I am going to make pancakes because I am craving them. Here's hoping my appetite holds out until I can get them done!
April 25, 2006 - One Giant Leap
April 23, 2006 - Goals and Accomplishments I also went to church again, and this time I was able to shop and even have lunch (in the van). It seems like I am able to endure a little more each day. Of course, this week's PT goal is to WALK again. I'm really, really afraid, but I'm more afraid of never walking again ...
April 16, 2006 - Easter Sunday We also decided to host an Easter dinner at our house. We had over 20 people all together, and the ham dinner was delicious. The kids had colored eggs and were able to hide and hunt them out in the yard because the weather was absolutely perfect that day. I realize that I am able to be out of the bed for longer amounts of time now, and it feels great! Next week's goal is to sleep in my own bed again! :-)
March 16, 2006 - Home, Sweet Home! In the end, I was given a "reluctant" discharge rather than leaving AMA (against medical advice). They wouldn't even let Don and his friend bring me home because we hadn't reviewed vehicle safety during my stay. I came home by ambulance, and the girl who rode in the back with me told me that I was the happiest person she'd ever seen in the back of an ambulance. This may be true; I smiled all the way home! :-)
March 1, 2006 - Stupid Human Tricks
Meet Raw Determination It really bothered Don that I was so disappointed, so he was determined to work something out for me. He talked to his dad about the ramp that they made me last summer. They decided to add guard rails on the side and make the top of the platform bigger so that we can wheel me to the top, turn the chair, and use the slide board to get into the truck. I DID IT! It was a little scary, but I slid right into the seat in my blue nightgown! Don drove around and I inhaled the warm air (it was a beautiful day) and enjoyed the sights and smells of town. I panicked a little when we were figuring out how to get the wheelchair back down the ramp, but it worked out okay. I think I was just tired and little overwhelmed -- and happy, very, very happy.
February 27, 2006 - Adventures in Physical
Therapy I don't want my PT to end this week! It's the one thing that I've had going for me these past 8 weeks. I'll have to keep motivated on my exercises so that I don't just shrivel up again. Hopefully Dr. Bratton (my orthopedic surgeon) will order me a brace and another round of PT when I see him next week. I really don't know if I want him to say yes or no about the radiation. I'm really torn on that one.
February 26, 2006 - Two Months Since
"The Fall" Still, I have lost two months of my life to this crisis. What would I have done with the time if this had not happened? We had plans for the days after the kids returned to school. We were going to paint the kitchen, clean out the clutter left over from Christmas, and make all of the usual new year's resolutions. Instead, we have dealt with bed pans and leg spasms, nursing visits and physical therapy, sponge baths and medications. |
Yes,
I did get over my moodiness that spilled over in the blog one week ago.
I have my moments, okay?