Sunday, December 7, 2014
The Importance of Second Opinions!
There is no other way to say it... a cancer diagnosis is terrifying! No matter the type of malignancy, if a diagnosis includes the word 'cancer', part of the initial reaction is raw, blatant, fear.
Thankfully, with the amazing advances in treatment possibilities, in many cases, the fear is tempered by a great deal of hope... a treatment plan that will offer at least a fighting chance.
Many types of cancer can now be treated in ways that not only minimize the blasted mutant misery causing cells... but in ways that allow a person to continue to live a full and active life. (We look forward to a future that holds actual cures!)
Often, a treatment plan involves a more intense initial treatment plan followed by a gentler maintenance medication regimen... and frequent follow up testing to make sure to catch and increased activity in the disease.
When one gets to that point, they have usually been on the 'roller coaster' for some time. That initial blatant fear... followed by trying to build a working relationship with medical professionals... coming up with a treatment plan... getting through the unavoidable difficulties that go along with, essentially, subjecting one's body to something deadly, (albeit something that is increasingly specifically targeted)... dealing with all of the side effects (which we are told about but cannot grasp the reality of what it will be like until we are smack in the middle of it).
They have been through the wringer... and come out on the other side... cautiously optimistic but, most likely, not daring to believe too easily in the 'good' results. There is nothing like a cancer diagnosis to bring one's mortality front and center!
The long term follow up testing is so important! Reality does not go away... the person is painfully aware that there may come a day when the results start going in that frightening directions... but each set of positive results help to bolster one's spirit... helps to make it easier for one to focus on LIFE... not worrying about what their loved ones are going to do if they have to, again, undergo intensive treatment... not worrying about trying to help organize their own final arrangements.
We need to be able to trust the medical professionals who are helping to track our health and health risks.
We should be able to trust them... each of them... from the doctors and specialists themselves, to the lab techs, the pathologists... all the way to the nurses. We should also be able to trust in the technology that is used.
But...
Every single one of those people is human. Most of them are strongly dedicated to what they do... they have a personal reason that drives them to help people. Most of them are doing the absolute best they can do for the people they care for.
Not a single one of them is perfect. Anyone can have a bad day at any time. Some people are burnt out. Some are so arrogant that they refuse to be open to anything other than their own view. Some simply lack a level of compassion that is absolutely necessary in the medical field.
One of Tim's nurses told me... "Every class has someone who graduates at the BOTTOM of the class... " At the time, that was one heck of a reality check for me... but it was one that, as Tim's partner and advocate, I needed to hear.
Recently, someone very dear to us got the dreaded news... the latest results were pretty ugly. He was told to prepare for surgery and chemo... as the cancer had returned in force. He's a pretty tough cookie... and was wrapping his head around all of it... getting ready to do whatever was needed.
He had gotten these results from the place he had been going for treatment for quite some time. He had no reason to doubt them. Why would one take the risk? Why would one NOT believe it when they are given such news... after being in the fight, on the ride, for so long already? Once one is dragged onto the roller coaster, no matter how well things go for however long... one learns that they have to be at least partly ready for that other shoe to drop... for the ride to skip the rails.
Thankfully, another cherished person convinced him to get a second opinion. That meant traveling to Houston... and that kind of thing can be very hard to fit into an already stressed budget... so he also helped pay for the trip.
The results from MD Anderson, in Houston, were shocking. We often think of a second opinion as an avenue to fine tune a diagnosis or treatment.
His local specialists had told him that the cancer had returned... strong enough that he had to prepare for surgery and chemotherapy... and there was also some lymph node involvement.
The specialists at MD Anderson told him that he had NO SIGN OF ACTIVE CANCER. The slides looked great... there was no indication on the slides that there was ANY reason to do anything other than continue to do what he was doing.
That is a truly terrifying discrepancy. Had he not been able to make the trip to get the second opinion, he would have faced going through some seriously life impacting treatment. He would have done it... he would have had his strength and the love and support of his family and friends... and he would have gotten through it... if he needed to. He was getting ready to go through all of that.........
.... because someone made a mistake. A mistake that was not caught by anyone else along the line.
We have to trust these people. Without trust, it is so much harder to have hope.... and without hope... how would anyone get through the hell of these treatments?!
But... please.... do not trust blindly!!! Ask questions! Never go through this sort of thing alone... as another set of eyes and ears will bring up another set of questions... and, perhaps, different answers.
Never be afraid to trust BUT VERIFY! If your doctors get offended by someone wanting to do whatever it takes to verify the information that will have such a huge impact on one's life.... get different doctors.
In this case, it wasn't the doctor that made the mistake.... it was the pathologist...
Getting a second opinion is a way of double checking the work of everyone involved... and no health care professional worth their weight will have any problem with that.
We are grateful that this person so dear to us did NOT wind up having to have the surgery and chemo at this time. We know that it may happen in the future... but not now... not yet.
We are terrified to now have to wonder, though.... how many other people have suffered because of someone who may have had a bad day... may have had a bad moment.... may have been distracted by the 'rest of their life'... may be in a job they could care less about... may have graduated at the bottom of their class. There is no way to tell why the mistakes were made.... but we cannot UNknow that a terrible mistake was made... and wonder how many others ....
Please.... trust but verify. Get second opinions. The reality of the need is sad... and scary as hell... but it is reality. It is your life... mine... the lives of our loved ones...
The battle against cancer is so hard. Empower yourself with information. Give yourself permission to question... everything... and keep questioning until you get the answers you need. They are often enough not the answers we want... but sometimes... sometimes... the right interpretation can make all the difference in the world.
Saturday, November 1, 2014
Grace Moments
In the past several years, there have been so many of what I've come
to call 'Grace' moments. I call them that because I simply have no
other way to explain them. One of these days, I'll sit and write about
those... but, right now, I'd like to share the latest...
Tim has had a rough time with his lungs. He's fought through several rounds of pneumonia, several COPD 'flare-ups', blood clots in both lungs... and more. Some of those fights were intensely rough... but he has always come through, often surprising the doctors with his speed of recovery. *smile*
In August, we found that his lungs were taking a bit longer to recover. The oxygen levels in his blood were too low, which puts a person at risk for all sorts of delightful things... ugh. He started wearing supplemental oxygen pretty much all of the time, which annoyed him to no end... as it really got in the way of the blacksmithing! He wanted to do everything he could to help speed the healing process, so, after talking with the respiratory therapist, he started getting on the treadmill as often as he could. That would be great exercise for his lungs and help to get him back into the workshop more quickly.
While walking on the treadmill, he would wear a fingertip pulse oximeter to track his oxygen level... if he was dipping too low, he could turn up the tank. One day, he noticed that his heart rate dropped while he was walking. It isn't normal for that to happen, but we weren't sure how reliable the fingertip oximeters are for monitoring heart rate.
That led to questions for his oncologist... as the chemo that had done such a great job during the first part of the year does carry a heart risk for a small percentage of people. Before he restarted the chemo, we needed to get his heart checked out.
A trip to a cardiologist led to a stress test, which did show an area of blockage in Tim's heart. The degree of blockage couldn't be determined without a heart catheterization, though, so that was scheduled for Oct 14th. They would run the catheter in through his femoral artery, up to his heart, determine the level of blockage... and we would go home with either medication, a stent, or both.
Insert a change of plan. (And yet another 'Grace' moment)
Sunday night, October 12th, Tim was having a lot of trouble breathing. I called his oncologist's office, and we made a trip to the ER. They checked out his heart, to make sure he wasn't having a heart attack... (he is not allowed to have one... and he has already hit his quota of 1 stroke) His heart was okay... it was his lungs that were the issue, as we thought. He wasn't running a fever, which was great, and his lab work showed that his body was responding as it should to whatever was going on.
His need for oxygen was up a bit... instead of the 4L he was on at home, he was up to 6L to keep enough oxygen flowing in his bloodstream. Tests showed he had something brewing in his lungs, and though it wasn't causing a fever, it was making it harder for him to breathe. They started him on some heavy duty antibiotics, to cover all the bases.
They admitted him that night and moved him to a cardiac section. The next morning, they let us know that they would like to go ahead and do the heart catheterization that day, Monday. Tim's mood was good... he wanted them to hurry up and do whatever they needed to do... so he could get back home. *smile*
The procedure took longer than they anticipated, and Tim wound up being the proud owner of a shiny new stent. It turns out that Tim had a vessel in his heart that was 80% blocked. There were two other areas of very minor blockage that the cardiologist is not concerned about.
The main reason the procedure took so long... they ran into trouble getting the catheter through to Tim's heart. The main branch of the iliac artery that feeds blood to the right leg (where they accessed the femoral artery to run the catheter)... was almost completely blocked. The doctor was shocked that Tim had not had serious symptoms, or worse, as a result. The blockage was so severe that they had a very hard time getting through... and had to do so very carefully.
They had to deal with the heart issue at that time... but Tim will have to go back in about a month and have that other artery 'cleared'.
In addition to the stress test that Tim had, his doctor also ordered a 24 hour holter monitor... which records the heart's activity... checks for any irregular beats, etc. The results of that, and everything else done, have shown that the only issue with Tim's heart was the blockage. That means that the initial thing that raised the questions... was never even an issue.
The blockage in that other artery would never have shown up on any test that Tim would have had done.
Tim could have had a heart attack, or another stroke, at any time. He didn't.
I can't help but consider everything surrounding what they found, and treated, with Tim's heart and vascular system... yet another 'Grace' moment. The initial question was such a fluke thing... or the nudge of a guiding hand...
Can't help being amazed, grateful, relieved... humbled... and hopeful.
That was Monday. Tim rested for most of the rest of the day/evening. Things were pretty calm until late that night. The nurse came around to check on Tim and check his vitals. His temp was 99.3... and, for Tim, anything over 99 typically means that his temp is on its way up. She and I were talking about that... and Tim started having more trouble breathing. She called in more people... wanted more sets of eyes... and there was a flurry of activity, tests, etc. Tim's temp jumped up above 100 for a short time. They bumped the oxygen up to 10L... but it wasn't enough. They were talking about possibly having to move him to ICU and put him on a ventilator... but, first, they would try him on a bi-pap machine. (This is often used for people with severe sleep apnea... it helps provide pressure with the supplemental oxygen... kind of a gentle breathing assist.) After a very short time on the bi-pap machine, his temperature came back down, his blood oxygen level was high enough and stable... and he was much, much more relaxed.
By mid morning the next day, Tim was off of the bi-pap machine... though he was still on 10L of supplemental oxygen. It was progress, and we'd take it.
When Tim went into crisis with his breathing, he had been getting heavy duty IV antibiotics for almost 24 hours. They can take 24 hours to really start working. Had we not gone in to the ER Sunday night, we would likely have been at home when his symptoms worsened... at it would have gone very differently.
Yet another 'Grace' moment.
The doctors let Tim rest and try to recover a bit that Tuesday. The pulmonologist, lung doctor, was pretty certain that a bronchial scope should be done, as Tim's lungs were really full of infiltrates, with no clear reason why.... and the best shot at being able to treat it would be to identify the cause... which would take the bronch. However, Tim was a high risk patient for that procedure... so they waited until Wednesday.
The docs were very clear with us that they felt the bronch was necessary... but that, because it would stir things up in his lungs, Tim may wind up getting much worse, initially. We tried to prep ourselves for that possibility.
Tim was cracking some jokes during the prep for the bronch... which really helped... us as much as him... *smile* We waited... and wouldn't you know it... he spent a little bit of time (less than 20 minutes) on the bi-pap machine after the bronch... and did just fine. He was cracking up the nurses... I think they might have tried to keep him just for the comedy relief... ha ha... but he was back in his room in no time. *smile*
Since then, his breathing has steadily improved.
So much Grace... so many moments....
The cause of the latest lung bug is still a mystery... but he is improving... feeling better...
We are heading into more chemo treatments, and it is looking like he'll go in stronger than if he had started back up 'on time'.
How can we not have hope? How can we look at how things have gone.... yes, we are vigilant, sometimes driving the docs nuts, I'm sure... but that vigilance and knowledge, partnered with the right people and things being in place when they are needed.... combined with the impossible to explain 'moments' when things go the way they need to, in spite of every indication and expectation that they will go sideways... how can we look at that and not have faith?
This ride is scary... and I dare not look too far ahead... but this man never ceases to amaze me with his strength and willingness to fight when needed... and determination to live every minute.
The ride continues... and I really cannot ask for more than that. We'll keep fighting, living, loving, laughing... hoping... creating... making memories...
Dawn
Tim has had a rough time with his lungs. He's fought through several rounds of pneumonia, several COPD 'flare-ups', blood clots in both lungs... and more. Some of those fights were intensely rough... but he has always come through, often surprising the doctors with his speed of recovery. *smile*
In August, we found that his lungs were taking a bit longer to recover. The oxygen levels in his blood were too low, which puts a person at risk for all sorts of delightful things... ugh. He started wearing supplemental oxygen pretty much all of the time, which annoyed him to no end... as it really got in the way of the blacksmithing! He wanted to do everything he could to help speed the healing process, so, after talking with the respiratory therapist, he started getting on the treadmill as often as he could. That would be great exercise for his lungs and help to get him back into the workshop more quickly.
While walking on the treadmill, he would wear a fingertip pulse oximeter to track his oxygen level... if he was dipping too low, he could turn up the tank. One day, he noticed that his heart rate dropped while he was walking. It isn't normal for that to happen, but we weren't sure how reliable the fingertip oximeters are for monitoring heart rate.
That led to questions for his oncologist... as the chemo that had done such a great job during the first part of the year does carry a heart risk for a small percentage of people. Before he restarted the chemo, we needed to get his heart checked out.
A trip to a cardiologist led to a stress test, which did show an area of blockage in Tim's heart. The degree of blockage couldn't be determined without a heart catheterization, though, so that was scheduled for Oct 14th. They would run the catheter in through his femoral artery, up to his heart, determine the level of blockage... and we would go home with either medication, a stent, or both.
Insert a change of plan. (And yet another 'Grace' moment)
Sunday night, October 12th, Tim was having a lot of trouble breathing. I called his oncologist's office, and we made a trip to the ER. They checked out his heart, to make sure he wasn't having a heart attack... (he is not allowed to have one... and he has already hit his quota of 1 stroke) His heart was okay... it was his lungs that were the issue, as we thought. He wasn't running a fever, which was great, and his lab work showed that his body was responding as it should to whatever was going on.
His need for oxygen was up a bit... instead of the 4L he was on at home, he was up to 6L to keep enough oxygen flowing in his bloodstream. Tests showed he had something brewing in his lungs, and though it wasn't causing a fever, it was making it harder for him to breathe. They started him on some heavy duty antibiotics, to cover all the bases.
They admitted him that night and moved him to a cardiac section. The next morning, they let us know that they would like to go ahead and do the heart catheterization that day, Monday. Tim's mood was good... he wanted them to hurry up and do whatever they needed to do... so he could get back home. *smile*
The procedure took longer than they anticipated, and Tim wound up being the proud owner of a shiny new stent. It turns out that Tim had a vessel in his heart that was 80% blocked. There were two other areas of very minor blockage that the cardiologist is not concerned about.
The main reason the procedure took so long... they ran into trouble getting the catheter through to Tim's heart. The main branch of the iliac artery that feeds blood to the right leg (where they accessed the femoral artery to run the catheter)... was almost completely blocked. The doctor was shocked that Tim had not had serious symptoms, or worse, as a result. The blockage was so severe that they had a very hard time getting through... and had to do so very carefully.
They had to deal with the heart issue at that time... but Tim will have to go back in about a month and have that other artery 'cleared'.
In addition to the stress test that Tim had, his doctor also ordered a 24 hour holter monitor... which records the heart's activity... checks for any irregular beats, etc. The results of that, and everything else done, have shown that the only issue with Tim's heart was the blockage. That means that the initial thing that raised the questions... was never even an issue.
The blockage in that other artery would never have shown up on any test that Tim would have had done.
Tim could have had a heart attack, or another stroke, at any time. He didn't.
I can't help but consider everything surrounding what they found, and treated, with Tim's heart and vascular system... yet another 'Grace' moment. The initial question was such a fluke thing... or the nudge of a guiding hand...
Can't help being amazed, grateful, relieved... humbled... and hopeful.
That was Monday. Tim rested for most of the rest of the day/evening. Things were pretty calm until late that night. The nurse came around to check on Tim and check his vitals. His temp was 99.3... and, for Tim, anything over 99 typically means that his temp is on its way up. She and I were talking about that... and Tim started having more trouble breathing. She called in more people... wanted more sets of eyes... and there was a flurry of activity, tests, etc. Tim's temp jumped up above 100 for a short time. They bumped the oxygen up to 10L... but it wasn't enough. They were talking about possibly having to move him to ICU and put him on a ventilator... but, first, they would try him on a bi-pap machine. (This is often used for people with severe sleep apnea... it helps provide pressure with the supplemental oxygen... kind of a gentle breathing assist.) After a very short time on the bi-pap machine, his temperature came back down, his blood oxygen level was high enough and stable... and he was much, much more relaxed.
By mid morning the next day, Tim was off of the bi-pap machine... though he was still on 10L of supplemental oxygen. It was progress, and we'd take it.
When Tim went into crisis with his breathing, he had been getting heavy duty IV antibiotics for almost 24 hours. They can take 24 hours to really start working. Had we not gone in to the ER Sunday night, we would likely have been at home when his symptoms worsened... at it would have gone very differently.
Yet another 'Grace' moment.
The doctors let Tim rest and try to recover a bit that Tuesday. The pulmonologist, lung doctor, was pretty certain that a bronchial scope should be done, as Tim's lungs were really full of infiltrates, with no clear reason why.... and the best shot at being able to treat it would be to identify the cause... which would take the bronch. However, Tim was a high risk patient for that procedure... so they waited until Wednesday.
The docs were very clear with us that they felt the bronch was necessary... but that, because it would stir things up in his lungs, Tim may wind up getting much worse, initially. We tried to prep ourselves for that possibility.
Tim was cracking some jokes during the prep for the bronch... which really helped... us as much as him... *smile* We waited... and wouldn't you know it... he spent a little bit of time (less than 20 minutes) on the bi-pap machine after the bronch... and did just fine. He was cracking up the nurses... I think they might have tried to keep him just for the comedy relief... ha ha... but he was back in his room in no time. *smile*
Since then, his breathing has steadily improved.
So much Grace... so many moments....
The cause of the latest lung bug is still a mystery... but he is improving... feeling better...
We are heading into more chemo treatments, and it is looking like he'll go in stronger than if he had started back up 'on time'.
How can we not have hope? How can we look at how things have gone.... yes, we are vigilant, sometimes driving the docs nuts, I'm sure... but that vigilance and knowledge, partnered with the right people and things being in place when they are needed.... combined with the impossible to explain 'moments' when things go the way they need to, in spite of every indication and expectation that they will go sideways... how can we look at that and not have faith?
This ride is scary... and I dare not look too far ahead... but this man never ceases to amaze me with his strength and willingness to fight when needed... and determination to live every minute.
The ride continues... and I really cannot ask for more than that. We'll keep fighting, living, loving, laughing... hoping... creating... making memories...
Dawn
Sunday, October 12, 2014
Multiple Myeloma - the roller coaster
Just when you think life is getting settled...
At the beginning of 2013, my fiancee, Tim, and I were getting settled in our new home. We were enjoying doing some wood and metalworking. We had recently adopted Maggie, a little lab mix, from a local animal shelter. (We had only gone that day to take a look, thinking that our 13 year old pitbull, Mohta, really needed a furry friend... but, with barks, yips, and yaps in the background, when this little lady just quietly stood up, her paws on the gate, and looked at Tim... it was over. Decision made. We had a new addition to the family.) Tim's son and daughter in law were expecting their first child, a little girl. (Tim made her the most darling swing!) Tim's daughter was planning her August wedding. We were home... finally... and loving it.
Tim started feeling more and more tired, though. A trip to the doctor for a check up found that Tim was anemic, his hemoglobin was low... and that was causing the increasing fatigue. His B12 was also low, and that is one of the common causes of anemia. (Low iron is a more common cause, but his iron level was just fine.) Tim got weekly B12 shots for a month or so... new lab work showed that his B12 level was fine, but he was even more anemic. His doctor ordered a test to check some other proteins in his blood... and that test came back abnormal. A referral was made to a hematologist/oncologist... and after more testing, Tim was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma.
Multiple Myeloma is a type of blood cancer. To put is simply, it causes a type of plasma cell to copy itself, over and over. This causes a decrease in the number of healthy blood cells, can cause bone weakness and fractures, can cause kidney failure, and more. There is no cure for Multiple Myeloma. At that time, March of 2013, 95% of the cells in his bone marrow were cancer cells.
The day of the diagnosis, Tim asked his oncologist, "Is this going to kill me? How much time do I have?" His oncologist leaned toward him, looked him straight in the eyes, and said, "Tim, don't you ever let anyone put an expiration date on you." Tim took a deep breath, and replied, "Okay... what do we need to do? Let's get to work." There was no question that the two of us were in for a battle, but it would be one that we would fight side by side.
That work began with several rounds of one chemo regimen, which was not very effective, followed by a bone marrow stem cell transplant... which, also, was not as effective as hoped. At the beginning of this year, 2014, he began a new chemo regimen... which was the key to, finally, achieving what they call 'very good partial remission' by the end of June.
The last year and a half has been quite the roller coaster ride... and it continues.
We have made countless 2 hour plus round trip drives to various doctors. We have battled through several bouts of pneumonia, one of which resulted in an ICU stay when the infection got into his blood stream. Tim became the 'proud owner' of an intrathecal pain pump... an amazing gadget that has allowed him to have very good control of the extreme bone and nerve pain, without the medication fog of pain pills. His spine is full of compression fractures, many of his ribs have tiny fractures, and he has a mass of cancer cells in his sternum, as well as small masses in either shoulder.
He underwent an autologous bone marrow stem cell transplant... a process where they, first, ran his blood through a machine, where it was spun to separate out the stem cells, the remaining blood returned to his body... then hit him with some very strong chemo to basically kill what was left of the cells in his bone marrow, about 80% of which were Myeloma cells... then re-injected his stem cells back into his blood stream. Those amazing little cells then found their way back to his bone marrow and began their job of getting re-established and back to the job of creating healthy blood cells.
The risk of infection during that months long process of prep, transplant, and cell recovery was extremely high. Tim had several more rounds of pneumonia... and blood clots in both lungs. So many close calls... so many 'grace' moments.
It was a terrifying and exhausting time... but there was little energy to put toward feeling too much of that. The focus was on the goal... and there was only one way to get through it... moving forward one step at a time. We spent 3 months away from home for that process... had to be within 20 minutes of the hospital... to finally get home to our home... and our furry 'kids'... was a relief beyond measure.
But, we DID make it home... together.
Testing last December showed that the transplant had not been as successful as hoped, so Tim then began a new chemo regimen. This chemo was fairly well tolerated... the chemo infusion took less than an hour, so the drive to KC for treatments took longer. Tim's white cell count rebounded very well, drastically reducing the risk of infection. His red count and hemoglobin stayed low, though... so fatigue remained an issue. He was also on a blood thinner due to the blood clots in his lungs last October.
Overall, though, the treatments were well tolerated, and we got into something of a routine. His energy level continued to increase, too, which was fabulous.
The last year and a half has also had some incredible moments... his son and daughter in law became parents to a beautiful little girl weeks before Tim was diagnosed. Tim's daughter got married last August. We have had so many great days. We believe that laughter is great medicine... though we have been known to overdo it sometimes.
Tim's courage, strength, determination, and flat out refusal to let this cancer bring his world to a halt have been amazing. I do all I can to learn all that I can in order to not only support him through this, but to allow him to just relax as much as possible... knowing that I will be there to help navigate through all the 'stuff'.
We have both been interested in wood and metal working for years. Since meeting, we have spent a lot of time creating a variety of things. The Myeloma effects and treatments put a stall in much of that... but this year, Tim has really gotten into blacksmithing. He had built his own coal forge almost 4 years ago, shortly after he had a stroke. That had piqued his interest, but we hadn't done much with it for the last few years. This year, we've learned enough to really be passionate about it! The coal forge was a concern, due to his lungs being more easily irritated... so we have added a propane gas forge to the shop. It's amazing! Not quite as much flexibility as the coal... but it's not a bad trade off.
Tim finished his scheduled 6 rounds of chemo at the end of June. At that time, the plan was to retest at the end of August, check his Myeloma numbers, and start on a maintenance schedule of the same chemo.... once every week or 2... to keep the Myeloma low. There is no cure, so the goal is to find something that works... and keep using it as long as it works. If and when it stops working, find something else... and so on.
Testing showed that the Myeloma is advancing. In June, the amount of cancer cells in his bone marrow was less than 1%. The testing in late August showed the Myeloma had increased to 5-10%. Instead of heading into a maintenance regimen, Tim will undergo 3 more cycles of treatment... retest... and go from there. We are confident that the chemo will do just as well this time around as it did during the first part of the year.
Before restarting the chemo, though, the recently discovered issue of some blockage in his heart has to be taken care of. That is scheduled for this week... one more test will lead to either a new medication, a stent, or both. So frustrating... and, yes, scary... but cannot help but feel grateful that we caught it when we did. Another 'grace' moment... there have been so many of those...
Once treatment starts, Tim's red count and hemoglobin should come back up a bit... reducing the fatigue and increasing his energy. Hooray! He had been waiting for fall temperatures to arrive... trying to forge in 90 muggy degrees is difficult.
We've discovered a surprising number of blacksmiths in the area... professionals and hobbyists... every one an artist on some level. We were able to travel to a national artist-blacksmith conference in August. We have so many ideas! We are even learning a lot of the skills needed to bring the ideas into reality!
All we need now are some more relatively level days when Tim feels good enough to hang out in the workshop. I know we will have lots of those days!
This roller coaster has become our reality. The ups and downs can be overwhelming... but are much, much better than the ride coming to an end. We are strapped in and ready to ride for as long as the ride will run!
No one knows how much time they have in this life. We do know, though, that we don't want to waste a moment. Every day is a gift.
Thank you for reading.
Dawn
At the beginning of 2013, my fiancee, Tim, and I were getting settled in our new home. We were enjoying doing some wood and metalworking. We had recently adopted Maggie, a little lab mix, from a local animal shelter. (We had only gone that day to take a look, thinking that our 13 year old pitbull, Mohta, really needed a furry friend... but, with barks, yips, and yaps in the background, when this little lady just quietly stood up, her paws on the gate, and looked at Tim... it was over. Decision made. We had a new addition to the family.) Tim's son and daughter in law were expecting their first child, a little girl. (Tim made her the most darling swing!) Tim's daughter was planning her August wedding. We were home... finally... and loving it.
Tim started feeling more and more tired, though. A trip to the doctor for a check up found that Tim was anemic, his hemoglobin was low... and that was causing the increasing fatigue. His B12 was also low, and that is one of the common causes of anemia. (Low iron is a more common cause, but his iron level was just fine.) Tim got weekly B12 shots for a month or so... new lab work showed that his B12 level was fine, but he was even more anemic. His doctor ordered a test to check some other proteins in his blood... and that test came back abnormal. A referral was made to a hematologist/oncologist... and after more testing, Tim was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma.
Multiple Myeloma is a type of blood cancer. To put is simply, it causes a type of plasma cell to copy itself, over and over. This causes a decrease in the number of healthy blood cells, can cause bone weakness and fractures, can cause kidney failure, and more. There is no cure for Multiple Myeloma. At that time, March of 2013, 95% of the cells in his bone marrow were cancer cells.
The day of the diagnosis, Tim asked his oncologist, "Is this going to kill me? How much time do I have?" His oncologist leaned toward him, looked him straight in the eyes, and said, "Tim, don't you ever let anyone put an expiration date on you." Tim took a deep breath, and replied, "Okay... what do we need to do? Let's get to work." There was no question that the two of us were in for a battle, but it would be one that we would fight side by side.
That work began with several rounds of one chemo regimen, which was not very effective, followed by a bone marrow stem cell transplant... which, also, was not as effective as hoped. At the beginning of this year, 2014, he began a new chemo regimen... which was the key to, finally, achieving what they call 'very good partial remission' by the end of June.
The last year and a half has been quite the roller coaster ride... and it continues.
We have made countless 2 hour plus round trip drives to various doctors. We have battled through several bouts of pneumonia, one of which resulted in an ICU stay when the infection got into his blood stream. Tim became the 'proud owner' of an intrathecal pain pump... an amazing gadget that has allowed him to have very good control of the extreme bone and nerve pain, without the medication fog of pain pills. His spine is full of compression fractures, many of his ribs have tiny fractures, and he has a mass of cancer cells in his sternum, as well as small masses in either shoulder.
He underwent an autologous bone marrow stem cell transplant... a process where they, first, ran his blood through a machine, where it was spun to separate out the stem cells, the remaining blood returned to his body... then hit him with some very strong chemo to basically kill what was left of the cells in his bone marrow, about 80% of which were Myeloma cells... then re-injected his stem cells back into his blood stream. Those amazing little cells then found their way back to his bone marrow and began their job of getting re-established and back to the job of creating healthy blood cells.
The risk of infection during that months long process of prep, transplant, and cell recovery was extremely high. Tim had several more rounds of pneumonia... and blood clots in both lungs. So many close calls... so many 'grace' moments.
It was a terrifying and exhausting time... but there was little energy to put toward feeling too much of that. The focus was on the goal... and there was only one way to get through it... moving forward one step at a time. We spent 3 months away from home for that process... had to be within 20 minutes of the hospital... to finally get home to our home... and our furry 'kids'... was a relief beyond measure.
But, we DID make it home... together.
Testing last December showed that the transplant had not been as successful as hoped, so Tim then began a new chemo regimen. This chemo was fairly well tolerated... the chemo infusion took less than an hour, so the drive to KC for treatments took longer. Tim's white cell count rebounded very well, drastically reducing the risk of infection. His red count and hemoglobin stayed low, though... so fatigue remained an issue. He was also on a blood thinner due to the blood clots in his lungs last October.
Overall, though, the treatments were well tolerated, and we got into something of a routine. His energy level continued to increase, too, which was fabulous.
The last year and a half has also had some incredible moments... his son and daughter in law became parents to a beautiful little girl weeks before Tim was diagnosed. Tim's daughter got married last August. We have had so many great days. We believe that laughter is great medicine... though we have been known to overdo it sometimes.
Tim's courage, strength, determination, and flat out refusal to let this cancer bring his world to a halt have been amazing. I do all I can to learn all that I can in order to not only support him through this, but to allow him to just relax as much as possible... knowing that I will be there to help navigate through all the 'stuff'.
We have both been interested in wood and metal working for years. Since meeting, we have spent a lot of time creating a variety of things. The Myeloma effects and treatments put a stall in much of that... but this year, Tim has really gotten into blacksmithing. He had built his own coal forge almost 4 years ago, shortly after he had a stroke. That had piqued his interest, but we hadn't done much with it for the last few years. This year, we've learned enough to really be passionate about it! The coal forge was a concern, due to his lungs being more easily irritated... so we have added a propane gas forge to the shop. It's amazing! Not quite as much flexibility as the coal... but it's not a bad trade off.
Tim finished his scheduled 6 rounds of chemo at the end of June. At that time, the plan was to retest at the end of August, check his Myeloma numbers, and start on a maintenance schedule of the same chemo.... once every week or 2... to keep the Myeloma low. There is no cure, so the goal is to find something that works... and keep using it as long as it works. If and when it stops working, find something else... and so on.
Testing showed that the Myeloma is advancing. In June, the amount of cancer cells in his bone marrow was less than 1%. The testing in late August showed the Myeloma had increased to 5-10%. Instead of heading into a maintenance regimen, Tim will undergo 3 more cycles of treatment... retest... and go from there. We are confident that the chemo will do just as well this time around as it did during the first part of the year.
Before restarting the chemo, though, the recently discovered issue of some blockage in his heart has to be taken care of. That is scheduled for this week... one more test will lead to either a new medication, a stent, or both. So frustrating... and, yes, scary... but cannot help but feel grateful that we caught it when we did. Another 'grace' moment... there have been so many of those...
Once treatment starts, Tim's red count and hemoglobin should come back up a bit... reducing the fatigue and increasing his energy. Hooray! He had been waiting for fall temperatures to arrive... trying to forge in 90 muggy degrees is difficult.
We've discovered a surprising number of blacksmiths in the area... professionals and hobbyists... every one an artist on some level. We were able to travel to a national artist-blacksmith conference in August. We have so many ideas! We are even learning a lot of the skills needed to bring the ideas into reality!
All we need now are some more relatively level days when Tim feels good enough to hang out in the workshop. I know we will have lots of those days!
This roller coaster has become our reality. The ups and downs can be overwhelming... but are much, much better than the ride coming to an end. We are strapped in and ready to ride for as long as the ride will run!
No one knows how much time they have in this life. We do know, though, that we don't want to waste a moment. Every day is a gift.
Thank you for reading.
Dawn
Making Memories - Fighting Multiple Myeloma
Thank you for stopping by! My name is Dawn, and I'd like to introduce you to Tim... the man who changed my world simply by stepping into it several years ago.
Tim was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma, a type of blood cancer, in March, 2013, less than a month after the birth of his granddaughter.
The stress related to cancer (of any kind) and its treatments (and side effects) is intense, and our hearts go out to all those who share the fight. We are actively doing all that we can to fight it, with an absolutely stellar medical team and an amazing support network of family and friends. Humor is often abused... but, hey, it's good medicine! All we can do with the situation is fight the good fight... so we do...
The other stresses... medical bills, insurance deductibles, vehicle issues, etc... those can be overwhelming. When they are, it takes much of the energy and time away from memory making. Anyone who knows Tim no doubt has some great memories involving time with him. *smile* Some not fit for print, I'm sure... ha ha. Now, though, it has become even more important to him to consciously take the time to make as many memories with family and friends as possible. It is important to me to help make that possible. I do all that I can to make sure that he has all that he needs... and that includes not only quality medical care, but time spent with the people he cares about and time spent doing the things he loves to do. Those things keep him focused on something other than the Myeloma.
There can be times, like now, when the financial situation gets overwhelming... and it eats into our days, stealing my energy and focus, further limiting what we can do to keep every day as positive as possible.
That is what has brought me here, writing this blog post.
Our vehicle is in the shop, again. This time, it needs a new radiator. It didn't leave us stranded, but it did overheat on the way to a doctor's appointment... we were close to an exit, so a detour for coolant didn't take too long.
That is the kind of thing that worries me. We are soon heading into winter, and we know we'll be making multiple trips a week to Kansas City for Tim's treatments. The minivan has been a blessing, but being a 1999 Caravan, it's likely to need something else before we know it. Not being able to get Tim where he needs to be is simply not an option.
Luckily, we have the money to get it fixed right away... this time. If we had a 'vehicle fix fund', that would help tremendously. A new(er) vehicle is in the future plan... but it just is not possible right now.
Tim has a grandson who is graduating from college in late November... in Savannah, Georgia. The two of them are very close, and have been since day one. Not making that trip... and those memories... is not something I'm willing to consider. I want so badly for the two of them to be able to share that day. The cost won't be tremendous, as we'll be driving... but it means that is money that I will not be able to set aside for other needs.
We are so fortunate that Tim has relatively decent insurance, but after the first of the year, the deductible starts over. That is nearly $2500. We are whittling away at a pile of medical bills right now... but that is more manageable and less overwhelming than the deductible portion. Tim has a long list of medications he must take, and those will have to be paid for at full cost until that deductible is satisfied.
Keeping Tim focused on something other than the Myeloma is a priority, too. He has become really passionate about the blacksmithing, and he is amazing at taking an idea and making it a reality. We have quite a bit of scrap steel, and we have the gas forge. He would be able to use the coal forge if we had the proper ventilation set up. Some tools, we can make... there are some others that would make the process easier on him that we cannot afford to get yet.
We're very good at making the best of what we have, and we are so full of gratitude and appreciation... as each day brings another opportunity to love, laugh, live... and make memories.
This is tough. Both Tim and I have always been ready to help others in any way we can. I know that we could get by... but... call me crazy... I want more than that for him! The fight against the Multiple Myeloma is part of every day... but it's so important to me to make sure that Tim's days are filled with more... more love, more laughter, more joy... more memories. Not more stress. On days when he feels well enough to spend time in the workshop, I want that to be possible. On days when he feels well enough to have lunch with friends, I don't want to have to worry about the gasoline budget.
Tim has spoiled me rotten. I have never felt so loved, cherished, and treasured. He is my best friend, my partner, and I could not love him more. When he was diagnosed, I put in an order for 20 more years with him... and we are doing all we can to get as many of those years as possible. The reality, though, is that, his Multiple Myeloma is aggressive and has proven to be resistant to many of the standard treatments. We will work for those 20 years... but each day is a blessing, a gift.
I am trying to make sure that Tim can truly make the most of each day. Asking for help is a very hard thing to do. Prayers, positive thoughts, love, humor... those, themselves, are no small things. We are grateful for every day, and will continue to take one day at a time, making the most of each and every one. Any encouraging thing from any corner is always appreciated! I have included a link, below, where anyone can donate to Tim's Medical Fund through PayPal. We would also appreciate it if people would share this blog...
Thank you for reading!
Dawn
Any donations to Tim's Medical Fund can be made through PayPal.
Please click here to donate through Paypal
Please contact me for alternate ways, if uncomfortable with PayPal.
PS: I will be posting more about Tim's Multiple Myeloma journey... and will post updates as the roller coaster continues.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
We all have them...
Everyone has a Story. Our lives are made up of little stories, chapters, which, put together, make us who we are... make up our constantly unfolding individual Story.
Most of our stories overlap with those of others... each impacting the other in ways ranging from completely unnoticeable to life changing. Some of our stories are private, held deeply within ourselves... sometimes a fear, a challenge, a belief, a memory, a feeling... something we don't share, but which still impacts how we move through our other stories.
Just as each of us differs in many ways, so do our stories. Some of us may be in similar places or situations... but what led us there can vary greatly. Our Story is our own... there is no one Story that is just like another.
All Stories are important and valid... every single one.
When I'm asked to describe myself, I can't help but stumble. General answers are usually all that is expected to a question like that... but in the past number of years, my mind continues after my mouth stops giving the 'expected' answers.
Who am I? I am the accumulation of experiences and my reactions to them, what I've learned from them... of choices and where they have led me... of emotions, judgments, and priorities that impact my choices... and more.
I am a daughter, a mother, a sister, a niece, an aunt, a friend, a lover, a complete stranger...
I am a survivor of a variety of abuses...
I am an artist, a student, a seeker, a (sometimes accidental) teacher...
I have challenges and triumphs...
I am a veteran...
I am less than I will be a year from now... and more than I ever dreamed possible...
Some of the things that have impacted my life, my views, my path, are... great teachers, humor, heartache, learning to survive and the coping skills that come along with that, adoption, love, loss... and so much more.
It's easy to forget, or simply not realize, that we even have a Story... and that others have theirs. We all have 'stuff'. What might seem trivial to one is extremely important and meaningful to another. My 'stuff', my stories, might mean nothing to most... but they are just as critical a part of who I am as another person's stories are to them. I might not understand another person's stories... but I do understand that they are just as important and valid to them as mine are to me.
I've come to realize, though, that we all have far more in common than we might think.
The advancements in technology have brought us closer to together... and kept us more distant at the same time.
Everyone's Story... or stories from within their Story... are valid, important, and so very worth sharing. I'd like to be a part of that sharing...
... So...
I'm extending an invitation... to everyone... to share any part of your Story with me. I would then like to, with individual permission, put those stories together and publish them. Anyone sharing their story with me would retain rights to those stories... and would be asked for input, as well, on the other 'what to do with the completed work' questions. I have never done this before... so it is new to me... and there is much I don't know yet.
What I do know is that the sharing of Stories has such great potential to make a difference... not only for others... but for ourselves, as well.
I am always open to comments, suggestions, criticisms...
If you would be interested, please let me know. Feel free to email me at LS_DAWNB@yahoo.com anytime.
How this evolves will depend on how many would like to be involved. It will unfold as it progresses... and I hope you will join in.
Thank you for reading,
Dawn
Most of our stories overlap with those of others... each impacting the other in ways ranging from completely unnoticeable to life changing. Some of our stories are private, held deeply within ourselves... sometimes a fear, a challenge, a belief, a memory, a feeling... something we don't share, but which still impacts how we move through our other stories.
Just as each of us differs in many ways, so do our stories. Some of us may be in similar places or situations... but what led us there can vary greatly. Our Story is our own... there is no one Story that is just like another.
All Stories are important and valid... every single one.
When I'm asked to describe myself, I can't help but stumble. General answers are usually all that is expected to a question like that... but in the past number of years, my mind continues after my mouth stops giving the 'expected' answers.
Who am I? I am the accumulation of experiences and my reactions to them, what I've learned from them... of choices and where they have led me... of emotions, judgments, and priorities that impact my choices... and more.
I am a daughter, a mother, a sister, a niece, an aunt, a friend, a lover, a complete stranger...
I am a survivor of a variety of abuses...
I am an artist, a student, a seeker, a (sometimes accidental) teacher...
I have challenges and triumphs...
I am a veteran...
I am less than I will be a year from now... and more than I ever dreamed possible...
Some of the things that have impacted my life, my views, my path, are... great teachers, humor, heartache, learning to survive and the coping skills that come along with that, adoption, love, loss... and so much more.
It's easy to forget, or simply not realize, that we even have a Story... and that others have theirs. We all have 'stuff'. What might seem trivial to one is extremely important and meaningful to another. My 'stuff', my stories, might mean nothing to most... but they are just as critical a part of who I am as another person's stories are to them. I might not understand another person's stories... but I do understand that they are just as important and valid to them as mine are to me.
I've come to realize, though, that we all have far more in common than we might think.
The advancements in technology have brought us closer to together... and kept us more distant at the same time.
Everyone's Story... or stories from within their Story... are valid, important, and so very worth sharing. I'd like to be a part of that sharing...
... So...
I'm extending an invitation... to everyone... to share any part of your Story with me. I would then like to, with individual permission, put those stories together and publish them. Anyone sharing their story with me would retain rights to those stories... and would be asked for input, as well, on the other 'what to do with the completed work' questions. I have never done this before... so it is new to me... and there is much I don't know yet.
What I do know is that the sharing of Stories has such great potential to make a difference... not only for others... but for ourselves, as well.
I am always open to comments, suggestions, criticisms...
If you would be interested, please let me know. Feel free to email me at LS_DAWNB@yahoo.com anytime.
How this evolves will depend on how many would like to be involved. It will unfold as it progresses... and I hope you will join in.
Thank you for reading,
Dawn
Friday, February 26, 2010
Chances... A Familiar Walk...
Almost 19 years ago, I was an 18 year old young lady with an uncertain future. Honestly... I'm not sure how else to say it... I was pretty lost.
I had graduated high school with honors and had been accepted at a few different colleges, but I had decided to take a year off 'to find myself' before tackling 'the rest of my life'. You see, I was one of those 'book-smart' but emotionally stupid girls. I knew it... didn't often try to deny it... but hadn't managed to figure out how to fix it. I knew what I did NOT want in my life... abuse, addiction, illusionary relationships... but I found myself constantly questioning not only my self-worth, but increasingly questioning the reality of whether or not that 'other' life was something I would ever be able to find.
The struggle to figure out who I was became so intense that it was actually easier to see what other people wanted me to be. I fell into the trap of trying to become whatever someone else needed me to be... outwardly, anyway. Every once in awhile, a part of the picture, the illusion, would 'ring true'... would feel genuine... but that would almost always frighten me and spark the self-doubts all over again. No one wanted 'real'... but I could be close enough to what they wanted for long enough to allow myself to fool myself into thinking they genuinely cared about 'me'.
Having someone care about me... that was the need... and I filled that need in ways that made me feel more lost than found.
That's where I was, about 19 years ago. I knew I was lost. I knew that was not the life I wanted. And... I knew I didn't have the skills or knowledge... or perhaps the courage... to break out of the cycle I'd found myself in and go after the life I dreamed of. I knew myself, and I knew I was on a dangerous path... I knew I didn't want the life I was leading... but I did not even know what that 'other' life would look like... much less how to get there.
That's where I was, about 19 years ago, when I found out I was pregnant. That was the beginning of the rest of my life.
My head was spinning... and my heart breaking. By the time I got my head out of the 'denial cloud', I was about 3 months along, and my options were... parenting or adoption. That emotional battle was a short but fierce one. As I said, I knew myself... I knew where I was in my life... and I knew in my heart that the only thing I could give this child was love... and I knew that was not enough. Adoption was the only choice. The thought of inflicting my life, my struggle, on this innocent child was something I could not bear. I had to give this child a better chance in life than she would have with me.
That was always how I looked at it... giving her a better chance than she would have had with me... that rang more 'true' than anything I had ever known. It was also a chance for me to change my own direction... and I became more committed to figuring out how to do just that. So, choosing adoption was never, ever, giving her up... it was giving her a better chance... and myself one, as well.
At first, I was afraid to love this little person growing inside of me. I was so afraid that if I didn't stay detached, I would end up changing my mind about adoption. That feeling didn't last very long. I had an ultrasound at a little over 3 months along... and that afternoon, I felt her move for the very first time. I was sitting on a bench at a bus stop... and felt like I could not breathe. A battle (that felt like forever, but must have only lasted seconds), between fear and love was fought intensely... and love won. The fear was not entirely defeated, but in that moment I knew, deep in my heart, that this time was all I had... all I was likely to ever have... and I knew that I would treasure every second. Every movement, every breath shared, every single second was a gift that I would carry with me for my entire life. After that moment, I practically reveled in the whole experience. I no longer felt the need to deny the love I felt for her... no longer felt that love would be a danger to her... I felt a freedom unlike any I had known before. I didn't even realize tears were rolling from my eyes until the drops started hitting the backs of my hands, which were gently holding my tummy. With my entire heart and soul, I loved her... and still do.
I worked with an agency, poring over applications submitted by couples wanting to adopt. There were letters back and forth to a few... and I picked a couple who touched my heart and I felt would be able to not only raise and support this child, but also love her beyond measure... much as I did. I didn't take advantage of the opportunity to meet them, though. I knew that if I knew what they looked like, I would be forever looking for them. I knew there would come a time when I would not be able to resist. Though I would have loved to thank them, in person, this turned out to be the right decision.
She was born via c-section November 16, 1991... and she was beautiful. My heart practically broke when the doctors told me that, as a result of being breech, she had hip dysplasia and would have to wear a brace for about a year. They assured me that this would not be a lasting problem for her... that after that year, the brace would come off, and she would run, jump, play, and grow like any other child.
There were some complications for me, and I ended up staying in the hospital for 11 days. She went to a foster home, where she would stay until the end of January. That was when I was scheduled to go to court to relinquish my parental rights. When I got out of the hospital, I went to the foster home to see her... and spent many hours of many days there. Those were moments I never dreamed I would have... and are some of my most precious memories. I know she did not understand the words I spoke... but I will never forget the way she looked right back into my eyes, my soul, when I held her on my lap and told her all that was in my heart.
On January 22, 1992, I sat at a table in a courtroom while the judge spoke to me. He wanted to make sure that I understood that I was giving my daughter up for adoption and would be losing all rights as a parent. What he was saying was wrong... incorrect... so I stood up, interrupting him, asking if I could speak. Words started... so did the tears... but I talked right through them, not stopping until I had finished calmly, but firmly, explaining to him that I was in no way giving up my daughter. I was giving her a better chance in life than she would have with me. Loving her as deeply and purely as I did, I could do no less for her than to try to give her the best... and the best was not with me. This was an act of love... not of abandonment, as his words implied, whether it was meant that way or not. I knew that love, as pure and critical as it was, was not enough. This was a chance for her, and a chance for me, as well. In my short time with her, she had changed my life... and this decision to give her a better chance through adoption would not be for nothing. I told him that this was the hardest decision I was likely to ever make in my life... but, as painful as it was, my love for her outweighed my fear of giving her that chance. His words, which I won't share here, right now, will probably stay with me forever. I will simply say that he heard me, in that moment, and he heard my heart.
The adoptive parents sent me pictures for that first year... and I hope to be able to thank them someday.
There have been many changes in my life since then. I carry a hope within me... a hope to see my daughter again someday... a hope to have an opportunity to answer any questions that she may have... a hope to simply tell her that I loved her then, I love her now, and I will love her always.
Another thing that I carry with me is the determination to change the direction of my own life... that was part of the reason for the adoption choice... and if I did not change my life, if I did not figure out a way to have a good, positive life... then I might as well have kept her. That determination has kept me going through some pretty tough times. I knew what I didn't want in my life... but didn't know how to get to where I needed to be. I had no road map. So... I wandered.
The person I had worked with at the adoption agency had said that I could write letters to my daughter, and those letters would be put in a file that she could access, if she wished, when she was 18. Over the years, I wrote and sent letters... birthdays, holidays, 'just because I'm thinking of you' days... so many letters. I figured her file had to be an inch thick, at least. Whether she ever wanted to meet me or not, I wanted her to have answers to whatever questions she might have... so I tried to fill those letters with love and information.
One of the hardest things for me to deal with is the not knowing... the complete and legal inability to find out even if she was okay... that there hadn't been some terrible accident or something like that. I would sometimes spend days in that agonizing place... and it always came down to faith and trust. I never thought I'd made the wrong decision when I chose adoption. But, did I pick the right couple? Was the agency as solid and worthy of this responsibility as I'd thought? Was she okay? Did she have even half of what I wished for her... the people around her loving her, teaching her, helping her along her own growing journey?
In the end, it always came back to trusting my heart. I had gone through that whole process with a clarity of heart that I'd never felt before. Trust has not ever come easily to me... and, though I definitely have a deeply spiritual vein, I've never been very religious. I had never had to 'hand over' to God, to the Universe, such a thing before... but every time I have that anguish filled wondering battle, I reach a point where I sigh, dry my eyes, and reconnect with the realization that, again, I have a choice... faith and trust or insanity and complete lack of functioning. Since the second would, in my eyes, invalidate or cheapen the very choice to give her a better chance through adoption, the only thing I can do is trust... hold that faith deep in my heart... and go on.
A couple of years ago, during one of those battles, I tried to reach the case worker who had helped me through the adoption. I felt an intense need to know that the letters I had sent over the years had indeed gone in a file for her. Several calls and emails later, I was told by a wonderfully kind woman that she had both files in her hands... and there were no letters. I could not believe it! These letters weren't typed up on a computer, saved on a disc... there were no copies... and they were gone! I was devastated. One of the most important things I wanted to do for my daughter... provide answers to the questions she might have... whether she wanted to meet me or not... *sigh*... they were all gone.
After a couple of weeks, I got back in touch with that kind woman... and she assured me that she would place any future letters in the files herself. I'm grateful for people like her.
Almost 19 years ago, I had given myself a timeline. I had to have my life 'together' by the time she reached 18. I needed to, by then, be someone that she would be proud to know, if she chose to meet at all.
I am by no means 'done'... I hope to continue to learn and grow for the rest of my life... but I am finally at a place in my life where I can honestly say that, even with all of my faults and challenges, I can look at myself and know that I have learned something from every 'place' I've been in my life. Using the things that I've learned along the way... not ignoring those lessons but incorporating them into my present 'self'... I've grown to be the woman I wish I could have been back then. I have a love in my life that I never felt I'd be worthy of... always had been, but never felt I was. There are challenges I face every day... or dodge them one day to face them the next... *smile* I am finally... blissfully... genuinely 'okay'. That might sound ridiculous... but it's a point I never thought I'd reach.
I have 3 brothers, all of whom have kids of their own. My nieces and nephews are precious to me... though it has been difficult sometimes, over the years, watching them grow. I have tried to be, to them, the kind of person I hope has been around my daughter. Love, respect, imagination, and silliness... all such important things for kids to be surrounded by!
This walk has been one of love... faith... trust... and agony.
I've taken this particular walk countless times in the last 19 years... in different places, physical and emotional... sometimes intentionally and with purpose... sometimes unexpectedly finding myself on the path. Sometimes the walk has a tint of anguish so deep and pure that I feel certain my heart will simply burst from the ache. Sometimes I find, along the path, pieces of myself that I might not have otherwise found. But always... every single time I find my inner feet treading on this path... there is love... love unlike anything I have ever known or will ever know again... and the certainty that, although it was the hardest thing I've ever done, it was also the most right. Knowing that, I don't fear the traveling I know I'll continue to do.
Life is good... and precious. I'll keep wandering... taking these random, though sometimes familiar, walks... and I'll keep learning. It took me awhile to get where I am now, but I wouldn't trade the journey for anything. Even the roughest spots had a gem of knowledge in them, even though I had to dig like mad, sometimes, to find them. *smile*
Nothing has been for nothing. It all matters... all of it... and that's why I'll keep taking these walks.
I had graduated high school with honors and had been accepted at a few different colleges, but I had decided to take a year off 'to find myself' before tackling 'the rest of my life'. You see, I was one of those 'book-smart' but emotionally stupid girls. I knew it... didn't often try to deny it... but hadn't managed to figure out how to fix it. I knew what I did NOT want in my life... abuse, addiction, illusionary relationships... but I found myself constantly questioning not only my self-worth, but increasingly questioning the reality of whether or not that 'other' life was something I would ever be able to find.
The struggle to figure out who I was became so intense that it was actually easier to see what other people wanted me to be. I fell into the trap of trying to become whatever someone else needed me to be... outwardly, anyway. Every once in awhile, a part of the picture, the illusion, would 'ring true'... would feel genuine... but that would almost always frighten me and spark the self-doubts all over again. No one wanted 'real'... but I could be close enough to what they wanted for long enough to allow myself to fool myself into thinking they genuinely cared about 'me'.
Having someone care about me... that was the need... and I filled that need in ways that made me feel more lost than found.
That's where I was, about 19 years ago. I knew I was lost. I knew that was not the life I wanted. And... I knew I didn't have the skills or knowledge... or perhaps the courage... to break out of the cycle I'd found myself in and go after the life I dreamed of. I knew myself, and I knew I was on a dangerous path... I knew I didn't want the life I was leading... but I did not even know what that 'other' life would look like... much less how to get there.
That's where I was, about 19 years ago, when I found out I was pregnant. That was the beginning of the rest of my life.
My head was spinning... and my heart breaking. By the time I got my head out of the 'denial cloud', I was about 3 months along, and my options were... parenting or adoption. That emotional battle was a short but fierce one. As I said, I knew myself... I knew where I was in my life... and I knew in my heart that the only thing I could give this child was love... and I knew that was not enough. Adoption was the only choice. The thought of inflicting my life, my struggle, on this innocent child was something I could not bear. I had to give this child a better chance in life than she would have with me.
That was always how I looked at it... giving her a better chance than she would have had with me... that rang more 'true' than anything I had ever known. It was also a chance for me to change my own direction... and I became more committed to figuring out how to do just that. So, choosing adoption was never, ever, giving her up... it was giving her a better chance... and myself one, as well.
At first, I was afraid to love this little person growing inside of me. I was so afraid that if I didn't stay detached, I would end up changing my mind about adoption. That feeling didn't last very long. I had an ultrasound at a little over 3 months along... and that afternoon, I felt her move for the very first time. I was sitting on a bench at a bus stop... and felt like I could not breathe. A battle (that felt like forever, but must have only lasted seconds), between fear and love was fought intensely... and love won. The fear was not entirely defeated, but in that moment I knew, deep in my heart, that this time was all I had... all I was likely to ever have... and I knew that I would treasure every second. Every movement, every breath shared, every single second was a gift that I would carry with me for my entire life. After that moment, I practically reveled in the whole experience. I no longer felt the need to deny the love I felt for her... no longer felt that love would be a danger to her... I felt a freedom unlike any I had known before. I didn't even realize tears were rolling from my eyes until the drops started hitting the backs of my hands, which were gently holding my tummy. With my entire heart and soul, I loved her... and still do.
I worked with an agency, poring over applications submitted by couples wanting to adopt. There were letters back and forth to a few... and I picked a couple who touched my heart and I felt would be able to not only raise and support this child, but also love her beyond measure... much as I did. I didn't take advantage of the opportunity to meet them, though. I knew that if I knew what they looked like, I would be forever looking for them. I knew there would come a time when I would not be able to resist. Though I would have loved to thank them, in person, this turned out to be the right decision.
She was born via c-section November 16, 1991... and she was beautiful. My heart practically broke when the doctors told me that, as a result of being breech, she had hip dysplasia and would have to wear a brace for about a year. They assured me that this would not be a lasting problem for her... that after that year, the brace would come off, and she would run, jump, play, and grow like any other child.
There were some complications for me, and I ended up staying in the hospital for 11 days. She went to a foster home, where she would stay until the end of January. That was when I was scheduled to go to court to relinquish my parental rights. When I got out of the hospital, I went to the foster home to see her... and spent many hours of many days there. Those were moments I never dreamed I would have... and are some of my most precious memories. I know she did not understand the words I spoke... but I will never forget the way she looked right back into my eyes, my soul, when I held her on my lap and told her all that was in my heart.
On January 22, 1992, I sat at a table in a courtroom while the judge spoke to me. He wanted to make sure that I understood that I was giving my daughter up for adoption and would be losing all rights as a parent. What he was saying was wrong... incorrect... so I stood up, interrupting him, asking if I could speak. Words started... so did the tears... but I talked right through them, not stopping until I had finished calmly, but firmly, explaining to him that I was in no way giving up my daughter. I was giving her a better chance in life than she would have with me. Loving her as deeply and purely as I did, I could do no less for her than to try to give her the best... and the best was not with me. This was an act of love... not of abandonment, as his words implied, whether it was meant that way or not. I knew that love, as pure and critical as it was, was not enough. This was a chance for her, and a chance for me, as well. In my short time with her, she had changed my life... and this decision to give her a better chance through adoption would not be for nothing. I told him that this was the hardest decision I was likely to ever make in my life... but, as painful as it was, my love for her outweighed my fear of giving her that chance. His words, which I won't share here, right now, will probably stay with me forever. I will simply say that he heard me, in that moment, and he heard my heart.
The adoptive parents sent me pictures for that first year... and I hope to be able to thank them someday.
There have been many changes in my life since then. I carry a hope within me... a hope to see my daughter again someday... a hope to have an opportunity to answer any questions that she may have... a hope to simply tell her that I loved her then, I love her now, and I will love her always.
Another thing that I carry with me is the determination to change the direction of my own life... that was part of the reason for the adoption choice... and if I did not change my life, if I did not figure out a way to have a good, positive life... then I might as well have kept her. That determination has kept me going through some pretty tough times. I knew what I didn't want in my life... but didn't know how to get to where I needed to be. I had no road map. So... I wandered.
The person I had worked with at the adoption agency had said that I could write letters to my daughter, and those letters would be put in a file that she could access, if she wished, when she was 18. Over the years, I wrote and sent letters... birthdays, holidays, 'just because I'm thinking of you' days... so many letters. I figured her file had to be an inch thick, at least. Whether she ever wanted to meet me or not, I wanted her to have answers to whatever questions she might have... so I tried to fill those letters with love and information.
One of the hardest things for me to deal with is the not knowing... the complete and legal inability to find out even if she was okay... that there hadn't been some terrible accident or something like that. I would sometimes spend days in that agonizing place... and it always came down to faith and trust. I never thought I'd made the wrong decision when I chose adoption. But, did I pick the right couple? Was the agency as solid and worthy of this responsibility as I'd thought? Was she okay? Did she have even half of what I wished for her... the people around her loving her, teaching her, helping her along her own growing journey?
In the end, it always came back to trusting my heart. I had gone through that whole process with a clarity of heart that I'd never felt before. Trust has not ever come easily to me... and, though I definitely have a deeply spiritual vein, I've never been very religious. I had never had to 'hand over' to God, to the Universe, such a thing before... but every time I have that anguish filled wondering battle, I reach a point where I sigh, dry my eyes, and reconnect with the realization that, again, I have a choice... faith and trust or insanity and complete lack of functioning. Since the second would, in my eyes, invalidate or cheapen the very choice to give her a better chance through adoption, the only thing I can do is trust... hold that faith deep in my heart... and go on.
A couple of years ago, during one of those battles, I tried to reach the case worker who had helped me through the adoption. I felt an intense need to know that the letters I had sent over the years had indeed gone in a file for her. Several calls and emails later, I was told by a wonderfully kind woman that she had both files in her hands... and there were no letters. I could not believe it! These letters weren't typed up on a computer, saved on a disc... there were no copies... and they were gone! I was devastated. One of the most important things I wanted to do for my daughter... provide answers to the questions she might have... whether she wanted to meet me or not... *sigh*... they were all gone.
After a couple of weeks, I got back in touch with that kind woman... and she assured me that she would place any future letters in the files herself. I'm grateful for people like her.
Almost 19 years ago, I had given myself a timeline. I had to have my life 'together' by the time she reached 18. I needed to, by then, be someone that she would be proud to know, if she chose to meet at all.
I am by no means 'done'... I hope to continue to learn and grow for the rest of my life... but I am finally at a place in my life where I can honestly say that, even with all of my faults and challenges, I can look at myself and know that I have learned something from every 'place' I've been in my life. Using the things that I've learned along the way... not ignoring those lessons but incorporating them into my present 'self'... I've grown to be the woman I wish I could have been back then. I have a love in my life that I never felt I'd be worthy of... always had been, but never felt I was. There are challenges I face every day... or dodge them one day to face them the next... *smile* I am finally... blissfully... genuinely 'okay'. That might sound ridiculous... but it's a point I never thought I'd reach.
I have 3 brothers, all of whom have kids of their own. My nieces and nephews are precious to me... though it has been difficult sometimes, over the years, watching them grow. I have tried to be, to them, the kind of person I hope has been around my daughter. Love, respect, imagination, and silliness... all such important things for kids to be surrounded by!
This walk has been one of love... faith... trust... and agony.
I've taken this particular walk countless times in the last 19 years... in different places, physical and emotional... sometimes intentionally and with purpose... sometimes unexpectedly finding myself on the path. Sometimes the walk has a tint of anguish so deep and pure that I feel certain my heart will simply burst from the ache. Sometimes I find, along the path, pieces of myself that I might not have otherwise found. But always... every single time I find my inner feet treading on this path... there is love... love unlike anything I have ever known or will ever know again... and the certainty that, although it was the hardest thing I've ever done, it was also the most right. Knowing that, I don't fear the traveling I know I'll continue to do.
Life is good... and precious. I'll keep wandering... taking these random, though sometimes familiar, walks... and I'll keep learning. It took me awhile to get where I am now, but I wouldn't trade the journey for anything. Even the roughest spots had a gem of knowledge in them, even though I had to dig like mad, sometimes, to find them. *smile*
Nothing has been for nothing. It all matters... all of it... and that's why I'll keep taking these walks.
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