God's Infinite Love, Mercy, and Protection....

I've been a "believer" in God my whole life. (Hopefully, everyone reading this understands that there is a great difference between "believing" and "knowing." Belief alone isn't enough. It takes a personal knowledge of Jesus, a faith and trust in who He is and what He did for every human in the world.) Salvation, for me, came in my teens, in no small part due to my love of music, which the Lord wisely used to draw me into church. I began singing in the youth choir, then also joined the adult choir (though I was still a teenager) for several special programs. I also sang with a music group put together by one of the piano players at our church. There was another small group that our church choir director decided to start, too. I was in my school chorus as well, but the vast majority of my singing was done at or through our church. Our youth choir director was also the youth pastor and the adult choir director. He was a great influence on us. I respected him tremendously. He was the most honest person I ever knew, other than my mother. That honesty wound up getting him fired from our church. It's a long story, but suffice it to say that was right about the time I found myself a different church.

God used my love of singing to pull me into the church and it was there, in between all the singing, while sitting under the teaching of our youth director that I learned a great deal about God. I learned who He was, what He was, what He'd done for me, and maybe even more helpful to a teenager, I had a first hand example of how a man and his family could live real and true lives for Christ. My youth director and his wife and children were such an inspiration to me. I believe he deserves direct credit for my coming to Christ.

I've said all this to get to a single song that touched me all those years ago. I think about it often, especially when I find myself aware of a "near miss" that could have caused me or someone I love pain or sorrow or even mere distress. This morning, Mark and I were up early, heading to Madison for my final dense dose chemo treatment. (Yes, I said FINAL. I'll talk about it later, as it certainly is a big event. But that's going to be another post.) It was that time in the morning when there's too much light for headlights to be helpful, and not enough light to make everything clear. There was a car coming toward us and I noticed a deer several yards off the side of the road. It was standing still, facing the road, but not moving. Just before the car reached us I suddenly realized that there was a second deer, right at the edge of the road. It was apparently about to cross the road. Anyone who lives around here knows that deer are quite prone to making rash decisions about the direction they will run. I've seen more than one decide to jump into the road right in front of an oncoming car. I hit one that did it to me a few years back. Anyway, this deer made the smart choice and ran away from the road. My first thought, however, was how bad it could have been if it hadn't.

If that deer had tried to cross the road, the car coming toward us would certainly have hit it. If they hit it, it could very easily have gotten thrown into us. These kinds of things happen all the time. It could so easily have been a very bad situation for everyone involved. We were traveling at highway speed, not speeding, but 55 is plenty fast enough to throw a full grown deer a pretty good distance. So, as I saw the deer running away from us, and we passed it and the other car with no trouble, I said a word of thanks to God and thought again of this song I've known since the earliest days of my salvation.

It is called Angels and was sung by Amy Grant. Here are the lyrics.

"Take this man to prison," the man heard Herod say
And then four squads of soldiers came and carried him away
Chained up between two watchmen, Peter tried to sleep
But beyond the walls an endless prayer was lifting for his keep
Then a light cut through the darkness of a lonely prison cell
And the chains that bound the man of God just opened up and fell
And running to his people before the break of day
There was only one thing on his mind, only one thing to say

[Chorus:]
Angels watching over me every move I make
Angels watching over me
Angels watching over me every step I take
Angels watching over me

God only knows the times my life was threatened just today
A reckless car ran out of gas before it ran my way
Near misses all around me, accidents unknown
Though I never see with human eyes the hands that lead me home
God, I know they're all around me all day and through the night
When the enemy is closing in I know sometimes they fight
To keep my feet from falling I'll never turn away
If you're asking what's protecting me then you're gonna hear me say

[Chorus 2x]
Angels watching over me
Angels watching over me
Angels watching over me
Angels watching over me
Though I never see with human eyes the hands that lead me home

It's the words of that second verse that get me. The times our lives are in danger that we never even know about or see. The times that we have been spared some tragedy or grief or pain because one of the angels that God sends to protect us stepped in and protected me or someone I love. Even when things HAVE happened that could or should have had devastating consequences, so many times I have been spared. (The cancer certainly comes to mind!) God loves and protects me every moment of every day.

A church friend and I sang this as a duet once. It had touched us both and we wanted to share its message. This was back in the 80's and the song is not something we hear on the radio these days. I still love it, though. It still carries such a wonderful message, such a strong reminder of how much God loves us.

For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways. Psalms 91:11 (KJV)

I believe with all my heart that guardian angels are real, that God sends them to keep us safe from harm, and to even occasionally give us a nudge when we're headed in the wrong direction. This morning, it was a deer that was nudged away from harm. At the very least, God saved us and/or the driver in the other car from having to deal with having their vehicle damaged. Possibly, He saved us all from injury or even death. There's no way to know. But I do know He deserves to be thanked. to be praised for His care and protection. So thank You, Lord, for keeping us safe from harm. Thank You for loving us enough to give us angels to watch over us and keep us safe.

Rant........Rant...Rant!

You know, I'm not a person who's particularly easily offended. I don't walk around with a giant chip on my shoulder, daring someone to try to knock it off. I don't wear my heart on my sleeve, whining every single time someone dares to hurt it. I don't look for reasons to get my panties in a twist. But there is one thing that pretty much sets me off every single time it occurs.

I am a born and bred Southerner and I refuse to either apologize for that or be ashamed of it. Worse, I'm not just Southern, I'm from Mississippi, the popular choice for most backwards, racist, idiot filled state in the country. I have lost count of just how many jokes I've heard made at the expense of my home state and those of us who are from there. And don't even get me started on the morons out there who preach about just how horrible a place it is when they've never so much as set foot in the state. Even more offensive to me are native Southerners who buy into the perceived shame of their heritage. One example that comes to mind is the comedian, Brett Butler. I used to watch her years ago and she usually made me laugh. Right up until she made a joke out of how smart she was for getting out of the South. It went something like this, "I was born and raised in the South and I'd like credit for getting out." I don't think I've watched her since then.

It's not that I'm some kind of nut who goes off the deep end every time someone makes a joke about the South or Southerners. If you've ever seen the movie, "Sweet Home Alabama," then you're familiar with a long string of jokes that had me laughing so hard I was crying. It portrays Southern life pretty well. I always laugh especially hard at the scenes of the Civil War Reenactment. I've actually been to one of those. And there are countless other comedians who poke their share of fun at Southern culture and behavior. Believe me, it's hard not to laugh at some of the things my fellow Southerners do. But I do not understand why so many have to turn it into something ugly. It's a form of bigotry, whether anyone else is willing to see it as such or not.

For example, Mississippi is supposed to be a hotbed of racism. Okay, only a fool would deny that much of the South took a very long time to get over their backwards views of blacks. Some horrible things happened there. But it wasn't just in Mississippi or just in the South. And what happened 30 or 50 or 150 years ago has nothing to do with today. I will openly admit that I grew up surrounded by racism. Mostly, it was the kind of racism based on ignorance and/or repeating what was heard from others. Like all racism or bigotry, people who have no first hand knowledge just repeat what they've heard others say without bothering to question it. This doesn't somehow make it "better" than blatant hatred of someone just for the color of their skin, but there is a difference between the two. Mainly, those who are racist out of ignorance are much more easily reached than those who are firmly entrenched in their hatred. I'll use my own mother as an example.

She was born and raised in Tennessee. (Both my parents were.) Not just Tennessee, but a hole in the wall little place. She disliked black people, not because any black person had ever done anything to her, but because she'd heard all her life that they were somehow unworthy of trust and/or respect. (My father was much the same way.) It's what I think of as "generational" racism. They got it from their parents, who got it from their parents, etc. But my mother was a natural born teacher. During my elementary years she began working occasionally as a substitute teacher at my school. Then she got her GED and became a teacher's assistant. Don't make the mistake of thinking that just because my mother did not graduate from high school, she was stupid or dumb. She wasn't. She just lived in a time and place when graduating, especially for girls, wasn't that big a deal. So, anyway, she was working full time at my elementary school by the time I reached 5th or 6th grade. One of the other elementary teachers was a black woman. That was, I believe, the first time my mother ever really had the opportunity to get to know a black person. I mean really get to know them. Knowing this one person opened my mother's eyes in a profound way. It taught her that all the garbage she'd heard her entire life was, in fact, not true. It changed her life.

Okay, so the South has plenty of racism. Yes, there are groups like the KKK, skinheads and neo-nazis who've carried it to violent extremes. But none of that behavior is limited to the South. And this I know first hand from personal experience. I was born and raised in Mississippi, but I have spent my entire adult life living above the Mason-Dixon Line. In fact, as my childhood best friend recently pointed out to me, I have now lived longer in the North than I did in the South. (Pardon me for just a moment while I grieve for that fact....Okay, I'm back now.)

I lived in Mississippi for almost the first 18 years of my life. I moved to Indiana just before my 18th birthday and have lived there ever since. (More than 21 years, now.) So I have plenty of experience with life in both regions, and what have I found? I have found that there is every bit as much racism here in the supposedly enlightened North as I ever saw in my backwards home state. The biggest difference is that up here it is far more insidious. It hides behind false smiles and pretended tolerance. I was told that one of the grand wizards of the KKK once lived right here in my small town. A family that I knew quite well and that fronted a friendly, open, Christian appearance turned out to have VERY close ties to the Klan. (Not so close to them now.) Even people I respect on many other issues have some frighteningly racist leanings. I find it a little scary just how well it's hidden around here.

I make no excuses for Southern racism. Racism is never excusable, never "okay." It is very offensive to me, but even more so when it comes from someone who hides it behind a smile. Someone who spews racist rhetoric is at least honest about how they feel. They aren't shaking hands with a person of color with a big ol' smile plastered on their face while secretly thinking about how beneath them that person is, or worse, spewing their skewed views behind that person's back. I've seen all this right here in the good old North. Yankees are every bit as racist as Southerners, they're just much more secretive about it. And that, in my book, makes them even worse. Because they're two faced. Talking love, and respect, and wholesome Christian values out of one side of their mouth while the other spreads cliched racist lies.

So, maybe, the next time someone makes a joke about backwards, inbred, racist Southerners, you might want to take a moment to consider that it is just as offensive as a joke about a black person and a watermelon. I am a born and bred Southerner. I am highly offended by every form of racism. I am intelligent, educated, and hardly "backwards." I am proud of much of my Southern heritage. Believe me when I tell you that being Southern is a blessing. As the saying goes, "American by birth, Southern by the grace of God." Yes, slavery is a part of our past. But there was a time when Northerners owned slaves as well. And that whole notion that the Civil War was all about Southern plantation owners not wanting to lose their slaves is a load of baloney. Sure, slavery played a role in the war, but there was a lot more to it than that. The point is, I've never known a single person who owned a slave and neither have you. Well, maybe you have. There was a news story I read just the other day about a human slave ring that was broken up in NYC recently involving a bunch of young women from Africa who were being forced to braid the hair of black women while being kept in deplorable conditions and frequently raped and abused as well. The leader of the slave ring was a black woman. Imagine that.

So maybe it's time people pulled their heads out of the sand and took a real look around. The South is not the seat of all racism any longer. It is not a hotbed of human atrocity and abuse. It is just a geographical region filled with people who, despite having an accent that makes them sound a little slow, are sick and tired of being labeled as something they aren't. That accent doesn't make us stupid. It just makes us different.

I am proud of who I am and where I come from. I was raised to be honest, loyal, and trustworthy. I was raised to understand that my family is my responsibility. I was raised to love with all my heart and without reservation. I was raised to believe in God, to trust in Him and to know that He died for me. I was raised to be polite and respectful, but to stand up for what I believe in. I was taught to love, even when it isn't easy to do so. Even when your heart is breaking, you hang on. Seen "Steel Magnolias?" Then you know what I'm talking about. Being Southern shouldn't have to be something shameful. As I told someone who made a joke (directly to my face) about how backwards my home was, "I'd rather be from a backwards place like that, than from anywhere I've lived or visited since leaving."

Being Southern has been nothing but a blessing to me. Even the racism I grew up surrounded by came with a bonus. It made me hate racism. It taught me to recognize it, even when it was well hidden. The fact is, I haven't lived in the South for more than 2 decades. The other truth is, every time I go home (which is VERY, VERY seldom since both my parents are dead,) there's a place on the road where something lifts from my chest. Some invisible weight that I don't even notice until it's gone seems to ease and my body reaches a state of relaxation that I cannot describe. I can't give you a mile marker or a town name. But it's somewhere south of Nashville, some time after the trees along the sides of the road become mostly tall pines. Somewhere after the kudzu starts covering anything that isn't moving. Somewhere after little BBQ joints start popping up along the side of the road. There's a place out there where my body seems to recognize that it's almost home and I love it. I love those pines. Always did, despite the fact that where I'm from, they're considered trash trees. And BBQ will never, ever be anything but a smoked pork butt that's been slow cooked until it's literally falling off the bone. And sweet iced tea is the most popular drink, often served in Mason jars just because that's what's sitting around.

Southern culture is not about racism. It's about family and friends and hot nights filled with crickets and lightning bugs and slow rolling storms. It's about honesty and hard work and never, ever letting someone who doesn't know you tell you that you need to be ashamed of who you are or where you were born. Southern pride is a very real thing. Whatever mistakes my Southern ancestors made don't belong on my shoulders and I won't let anyone put that weight there. I am a Southern woman and no matter how long I live up here amongst the Yankees (nor the fact that I married one of them) will change who or what I am. If I live to be 100 and die and am buried up here, I will still be a Southern woman and I will still be proud of that fact.

So, if you've got a repertoire of Southern jokes or some foolish notion that the South in general, and Mississippi in particular are the root of all racist evil, then you better keep those things to yourself when you're around me. Because that's one thing I will set you straight on in a hurry. Someday, maybe I'll get a chance to move back below the Mason-Dixon Line. My husband loves it down there. He loves the way life is slower, less harried. I won't ever go back to my hometown. It's a long story, but there are just too many painful memories there. But I wouldn't mind living down South somewhere. Some place where my house can be surrounded by tall pines like these:

I actually sang this song as part of my school chorus. Gotta love Elvis, even if you aren't Southern!

YeeHa, Y'all!

Seven Down, One More to Go!

Well, I've gotten seven of my eight scheduled dense dose chemo treatments. Just one final big bad one to go after this! I am so excited to be done with it. I'll still keep getting the Herceptin through October or so of this year, but it's nothing like the Adriamycin, Cytoxin, or Taxotere. It comes with potential side effects, but not like the others. Potential heart damage is the biggest risk, but no more hair loss, weird/bad/nonexistent taste, digestive issues, body aches and pains, etc. They'll just have to do a heart scan every 3 months or so to make sure the Herceptin isn't doing any damage.

I'm going to wait until I get that final Taxotere treatment before I call my radiologist to see about starting the radiation treatments. I was supposed to have had my 3rd Taxotere (7th overall dense dose chemo) over a week ago, but got sick with a cold or flu like virus. Had a fever of 102 for a while there that Mark and I thought for sure would land me in the hospital again, but the Dr. decided to do some blood work and get some chest x-rays first and since all that came back okay, he just let me go on back home. He went ahead and gave me some antibiotics in spite of the fact that they don't do anything for viruses because he wanted to head off any possible bacterial issues that might just be lurking somewhere inside me. I felt pretty bad for a week or so there. Lots of sinus issues and a really nasty cough that is still trying to linger a little. All in all, though, I'm a lot better than I was. I just get to coughing pretty hard every once in a while, but it's gradually getting better, too.

Mark had it first and of course I got it, too. He was sick at Christmas and by New Year's, I had it. He's still trying to get over it completely himself. He's had a lot of issues with his ears being clogged up, though no pain or apparent infection setting in. He just complains that he can't hear out of one of his ears. He says it's starting to crackle a little though, so he thinks it's about ready to start breaking up. Generally, this has been a tenacious little bug, but with God's help we're beating it!

So, other than the cold, I'm still plodding along. I got my last treatment on Thursday, Jan. 6, one week and 1 day late. Normally, today would be my first day down with the pain, but since it was a day later than usual, I'll be looking at Sunday and Monday being my "flat on my back, too sore to move" days. It's already starting a little. Starts in my shoulders and neck. The muscles start getting tight, then sore. Then the soreness starts spreading everywhere else. My back usually starts aching, then I get a lot of soreness in my legs and feet. There's also usually these odd little "twitches" in my feet, too. Sometime in my hands, though never as bad as my feet so far.

I've already started losing my taste buds. I really hate this part of it. Nothing seems to taste right. Or at least almost nothing does. Mark and I stopped at McDonald's yesterday afternoon and I kept asking him if the ketchup tasted weird or if it was just me. Just me, I'm sure. I really like ketchup, but after these treatments it never seems to taste right. Don't know why. Some things tend to be better. Sweet stuff usually isn't that bad. I had Mark get me a small milkshake after the ketchup fiasco just to try to get the taste out of my mouth. LOL Along with the lack of taste comes this weird feeling in my stomach. Feels like it's full of cotton, bloated, but not with gas. It just feels like it's full of something. Makes it a little sore and also isn't conducive to eating normally. Just one more thing to get through over the next few days.

For some reason, I haven't done as good a job remembering what's good and what isn't with the Taxotere. I had it down pat with the A/C, but this time around it's just not sticking. Maybe because I have 3 weeks (or more when I get sick like I've been) between my treatments. I guess I just keep forgetting what works and what doesn't. I made this roast the other night but it didn't taste quite right to me either. Mark said it was good, but it was just a little bit off to me so I didn't eat as much as I normally would have. Not that it will go to waste. Mark pretty much has it finished off. I think there's just a little bit left in there. He'll probably eat that when he gets in from work. Kinda like a snack. LOL.

Anyway, I'm wondering what I ought to try to eat next. Tomato type stuff (ketchup, pasta sauce, soup, etc.) is pretty much out just because it tastes either weird or almost has no taste at all. I was debating about taco meat (either in tacos or a taco salad) because I can add stuff to it to boost the flavor. Not sure, though. Maybe chili? I've also got some jalapeno poppers in the freezer that I'm thinking about trying. I just don't know. It's hard when I'm not sure what'll work. I tend to lean toward the spicy because at least I can taste the heat. But there's always my old stand by of Fruity Pebbles. I really don't like making a meal of them, though. Not as my only meal. Seems wrong, somehow. And even they don't taste completely normal with the Taxotere.

So, I'm doing good for now, in general. Feeling a little whiny about the lack of taste and by tomorrow I'll be too sore to care if I eat, but it'll pass. It always does. Like I said, just one more of these treatments to get through. I still have the worst of this one ahead, but just knowing that after this there's only one more makes it all seem so much less unpleasant. I'm ready to be done with it. Ready to not have to plan for the down days and the tasteless days. Ready to start healing from all the fatigue and other side effects. It won't be an overnight thing. More than one other breast cancer patient on the Survivor's Network has said that even months (or a year) after the end of chemo, they still weren't fully recovered. It takes a long time for the body to rid itself of all those toxins. Some of the effects may never fully dissipate. But it's certainly better than the alternative. So I know it's going to take some time, but I'm looking forward to the start of that part of my journey.

Gotta go. I've just raided my freezer and brought several things into the kitchen to try to decide what to try to eat. LOL. I'm not even sure what to try to drink, since a lot of that tastes weird, too. I'm just going to keep trying different stuff, I guess, until I remember what works.

Thanks for the prayers I know were sent my way while I was sick. I know they worked. I believe they kept me out of the hospital at the very least. In spite of the fever and sickness, my cell counts have been very good. This is nothing short of a miracle in my opinion. When I got my treatment on Thursday, the nurse said they were excellent. That's pretty impressive. God is just plain awesome! Love to all.

Merry CHRISTmas!

The title is a copy of a message from an online Christian friend who wisely wants us all to remember the true meaning of the season. Yes, I (and most every other Christian I imagine) know that Christ was not actually born on December 25th. And I also know that early church leaders appropriated the date from a pagan holiday. And I very much hate to see just how commercialized and self-centered the holiday has become. But ultimately, none of that changes the fact that the core meaning of Christmas - for Christians - is a celebration of the birth of the One who came to save us all. It's the time that we choose to honor that amazing event and it doesn't matter that it most likely happened sometime in the fall, not the winter. Perhaps there's a very good reason that God chose not to reveal an exact time and date for the birth of His Son. Just look at what we've done to the date we have chosen to use as a substitute! What began long ago as a time for reverence and reflection and thankfulness has become a time for ridiculous spending and selfish indulgence. We have so commercialized the holiday and turned our backs on the original intent that it has now become de rigueur to eliminate Christ from the title altogether.

I'm not trying to rant, here. I just find it increasingly sad to see just how far from Christ Christmas is drifting. I have no problem with giving gifts. I love to give gifts. And I love the best things of the holiday. I love the lights and the music. I love baking and making candy. I love decorating (including a tree) and wrapping gifts. I love the idea of the meaning behind the holiday and the notion that for a little while at least people do tend to try to be a bit more considerate and generous. Christmas is a time of year that holds very special memories for me and I will always love it. This year, however, has been harder than usual.  Here's my Christmas tree from last year:

As you can see, it's a sizable tree and covered with a lot of ornaments, most of which date back to my childhood. I love to turn all the lights off at night and just look at the lights on the tree. I just love the bright colors, the shadows cast on the walls and ceiling from the lights shining through the branches. I feel the same way about lights on houses. Christmas is a season I look forward to all year long. This year things weren't quite normal, though.

My decorating this year consisted of me putting a wreath on my front door. Well, I always have a wreath there, but I changed it for my Christmas wreath. And that's ALL I did. My Christmas tree is stored out in our shed and there was no way in the world that I could go out there and drag it into the house. Even if Mark had brought it in for me, I never would have been able to get it assembled and decorated. It would have taken me days to accomplish. Mark has been working far too much to find the time to do it himself. So no Christmas tree for us this year. I'd like to say it didn't bother me, but that would be a lie. I missed it. I missed the pretty lights and the nostalgia of hanging all those ornaments. I have a LOT of miscellaneous Christmas decorations. Like I said earlier, I love the holiday. Dragging all that stuff out and placing it throughout the house just brings a smile to my face. It simply wasn't possible this year.

I did my best to keep it from getting me down. I certainly have plenty to be thankful for and no excuse at all to complain. But I really did miss my tree. I missed getting to go shopping and wrapping presents. I missed making tons of candy and cookies and cakes and pies. And no matter how much I tried to let go of those traditions, it did kinda get me down. So Mark and I went out to do some last minute errands on Christmas eve and knowing how much I missed my pretty lights, he made sure I would have some. This is what we ended up with.

I don't know what these trees are called. I described them to someone once as a cross between a pine tree and a palm tree. LOL. My mother actually had one when I was a kid and we would hang tiny little Christmas balls on it. (Like the ones on this one.) These days small decorative trees are apparently pretty popular because I've noticed for a few years now that you can get everything from the little balls to tiny ornaments and even little garland. I had another one of these a few years back and had already bought the balls and some itty bitty ornaments. Mark and I picked up the plant itself and one of those nifty little strings of LED lights that runs off a battery. We came home and I found my little decorations in one of my Christmas boxes that I store here in the house. I put the lights and decorations on it, then sat it on one of my end tables. (Those little presents are toys for our dogs. Couldn't let Christmas go by with nothing for them! LOL)

Honestly, I love my little tree. It's just so cute. And it helped satisfy my craving for Christmas lights. I'm seriously thinking of just leaving the lights in it permanently. They make me smile.

So, I got my Christmas tree after all. And more importantly, I got to spend the day with my husband. He was actually not feeling very well, so I did all the cooking. God was gracious enough to give me the energy I needed to accomplish that task. I even took the ham bone after I'd cut most of the meat off and put it in a crock pot with a pound of dried beans. They were done when we got up this morning. Pretty tasty, too. So I have a fridge full of ham, a bunch of leftover beans, and almost a whole turkey breast that I put up after Thanksgiving and got out for Christmas. (Mark's a turkey nut!)

I think I'll take some of that ham and make ham salad for Mark. I've got all I need for it, and a big ol' food processor to make the job easy. I even found the energy tonight to load the dishwasher! All in all, I'm feeling especially blessed. Mark's going to have a few days off this week and I'm almost half-way through my second dense dose chemo. I'll be getting treatment #3 this week and then there'll only be one more left.

I wish I'd felt more like keeping my Christmas traditions this year, but maybe there's a good reason that I couldn't. Maybe I needed to take a step back from all the lights and tinsel to remember the simple truth behind it all. A little more than 2000 years ago God Himself became a flesh and blood man. He set aside His crown and His glory and came here to live among us, to share our toils, trials, and temptations. He was born to poor parents and raised without any fanfare or luxury. He would eventually die a terrible death, all so we could know full forgiveness and reconciliation with our Creator. As much as I love my Christmas lights and music and traditions, I am even more grateful to BE LOVED by the One who sacrificed His all for me.

Extreme Yucky!

I can't believe it's been so long since I made myself sit down and write a post. Sorry about that. I assign part of the blame to me being pretty tired all the time. Well, not so much tired as just plain fried. I mentioned "chemo brain" a few times I think. Well, after 6 chemo treatments so far it's really kicking in on an epic scale. Here's a cute little example:

I think I mentioned several posts ago about hurting my foot by jamming a small tree branch into the top of it. It wasn't a major injury, just a deep scrape. It left quite a persistent scab, though. I don't know when it finally healed for good, but it's been a while now. It's right on top of my left foot. Anyway, the other day Mark and I were at Wal-Mart returning a heater that was part of a recall. We were standing in line at the service desk for I don't know how long. Too long as far as I was concerned, since by the time we finally got through the process of returning the heater I was already worn out and didn't really care if I got my groceries or not. LOL So while we were standing there, I got this odd little twinge on the top of my foot. I slipped my shoe off and glanced down and spotted this small red spot on top of my foot. I was thinking, "What in the world is that? Did something bite me?" I turned to Mark and said, "Look at my foot. What is that?" He glanced down, gave me a look like he wasn't sure I was serious, then said, "That's where you jabbed your foot with that stick." I had been telling him just how messed up my brain was. When he reminded me that the red spot was actually a scar, I had to laugh. I was like, "See, I told you my brain is fried! I really didn't know where the spot had come from."

If I'd been at home by myself, I probably would have sat down to look at it and realized it wasn't fresh. I'd have probably remembered what it was and where it had come from. But my brain is moving at roughly one half to one quarter of its normal capability. I cannot remember anything. I keep telling Mark not to expect me to remind him of things because I can't keep anything in my head. I have to write EVERYTHING down if I don't want to forget it. I told Mark that I sure hope the brain fog clears up quickly after the chemo is over. I've heard some say it took them months, even a year to get back to something resembling normal. Some say they never fully recovered. It's all just part of the "New Normal" we all have to learn to live with. Still, I'm not going to complain. It could always be worse.

So, on to my chief complaint these days.

I've had 2 Taxotere treatments so far. I get them every 3 weeks and I didn't think the first one was all that bad. I got the treatment on a Wednesday, then woke up the following Friday with thrush. That was the first time I can remember having it. Anyway, it was gross, but cleared up with the help of a rinse from the Dr. During the thrush I had a bad taste in my mouth as well as a truly weird "full" sorta feel in my stomach. My abdomen was actually hard. It was uncomfortable, but not horrific. I attributed both the taste and the stomach thing to the thrush. Then I got my second Taxotere treatment.

When I went in a week later for my Herceptin, I thought I must be coming down with thrush again. I'd noticed an off taste starting a couple of days before. It was worse that Wednesday, though. I tried chewing gum, but that just made it even more awful. So, on the off chance that I was getting thrush again, my nurse got me a script for more of the rinse. (Did I mention that it is nasty? No? Well it is.) I came home and used it that evening and nearly barfed it right back up. (You rinse, then swallow.) I told Mark I didn't think I was going to be able to use it. The thing is, I didn't have the white film on my tongue that I had the first time around. So I decided to do some research and low and behold, when I Googled "Taxotere" and "bad taste" I got all kinds of results. Turns out it's an issue with this chemo. And so is the stomach thing. I actually wound up calling the Dr.'s office the next afternoon, just to let them know about my symptoms because (confusingly) the side effect list I read listed the stomach swelling as both a "common" side effect and one that was "rare" and should be reported to the Dr. immediately. How's that for helpful patient info? The nurse didn't seem concerned, though, and confirmed that the nasty taste was likely due to the chemo. Yippee.

So, I've been trying all kinds of things to get this taste out of my mouth. For the most part, it isn't that food tastes bad or wrong. My mouth just tastes really awful. Well, it's actually better now, almost gone, thank heaven. For a week or so there, though, it was pretty rough. Mark had bought some candy (cinnamon and butterscotch) for work. I don't like cinnamon, so I decided to try the butterscotch and it actually did a good job of masking the taste. Of course, the instant the candy was gone the taste came back. Mint was really bad. I like Doublemint gum, but I cannot describe how horrible it tasted. And no amount of tooth and/or tongue brushing helped. It is just a really unpleasant side effect that I didn't have with the first rounds of chemo. Unfortunately, it will probably get worse before it gets better as each chemo compounds on the ones that came before. Double yippee.

Other than the nasty taste, the only other issue I have with the Taxotere is pain. The weekend after the first treatment saw me barely getting out of bed. It was very rough. When I told my oncologist about it, he decided to try skipping the Neulasta shot that I usually get the day after chemo. It causes pain as well, but also spurs my body to produce more white blood cells. Anyway, we skipped it after the second treatment and that weekend was a little better, but not a lot. It remains to be seen what my blood counts will be when I go in for the third treatment the week after Christmas. It's possible that he may reduce the dosage on the chemo. Or he may not. We'll just have to see.

The good news is that many of the side effects of the Adriamycin/Cytoxin are fading. My hair has started growing back. For a while there, Mark said I looked like I had a "5 o'clock shadow" on my head. Now he says I'm moving into the "Chia Pet" stage of hair regrowth. It's pretty fuzzy, about 1/4 to 1/2 an inch long. I've got a LONG way to go before I really have hair again, but at least it's starting. Although I did just notice in the last week or so that I lost most of my eyebrows. Don't know when, but they're mostly gone. I never had much in the way of eyelashes to begin with, but they're fairly thin as well.

So, along with the hair on my head coming back, some of the symptoms of the medically induced menopause are starting to ease, too. I still get the hot flashes, but not as often. On the side of less than welcome side effects, the return of my hormones also means the return of my migraines. I have had nothing more than a mild headache since the chemo started. Now that's starting to change. I took birth control since my late teens, mostly because it kept my cycles under control. (I do my best not to think about how horrendous they were when I was young.) The pills also helped even out my hormones so that at least the migraines were usually limited to a 1 to 2 week time frame each month, centered around my menstrual cycle. I can't take birth control any longer, though. And no hormones when menopause kicks in for real, either. I don't mind saying that I'm a little concerned about what that's going to mean for both the migraines and my menstrual cycle. We'll just have to see.

Like I said, I've got 2 more Taxotere treatments to go. I'll finish up the third week in January. Then, sometime after that, I'll get just over a month's worth of radiation treatments. I'll also do the Herceptin every 3 weeks until sometime in November of 2011. The Herceptin isn't nearly as horrible as the rest of them. Well, other than the risk that it'll do permanent damage to my heart. LOL At least it doesn't come with a side of hair loss, nausea, pain, and/or indescribably nasty taste. Like I keep saying, it could always, ALWAYS, be worse.

Chia Pet Hair

NOT my actual head. LOL

Life and Death and Memories of Both...

I'm generally an even keeled person when it comes to emotional stability. Well, I am these days. I endured a nightmare of very deep, out of control depression immediately after my mother's death. It lasted 2 years and if asked, I cannot give much info about those 2 years because I have no memory of them. I can offer a few anecdotes about that time, like I remember graduating from high school and returning to my home town for my prom, and a handful of other such "highlights" but the day to day living of that time is lost in a fog of desperate grief. Eventually the depression lifted, though I would fight it for years before finally admitting to a doctor that it was a problem. I've done therapy - still do, just to make sure I don't lose myself during this cancer battle. I also take a medication every single day and it has helped quite a bit. The depression isn't gone. I don't know if it ever will be. Perhaps some day God will choose to remove it from my life for good. Until that happens, it is something I live with, though I have enough experience now to see and feel it coming and to take measures to head it off before it can swallow me whole like it did before. That's what I'm going to do here.

I developed my depression coping skills over the course of a couple of decades. Once I rejoined the land of the living after that first major collapse, I wanted desperately to keep it from happening again. I've had some pretty rough patches, but I eventually learned to recognized the initial signs of impending trouble. I won't bore you with the details of it all, but suffice it to say that part of my way of dealing with it is to distract myself. This is a valid tactic, and works quite well until I take it too far and it slips into avoidance and denial. I tend to get to a point where I refuse to even allow myself to grieve. It's a lot of internal issues that I have, but basically I avoid the pain so much and for so long that it eventually becomes unavoidable. The solution is to let myself feel it. Seems simple, but no one wants to feel grief. No one wants to relieve the worst moments of their life. I know it sounds melodramatic, but for someone with major clinical depression, opening those windows to the past feels more like opening the floodgates at Hoover Dam while you're standing below them.

I wish I knew how to explain what clinical depression is like. The medical explanation is a chemical imbalance. But that doesn't even come close to touching on the reality of it. My brain just works differently than a normal person's. It isn't selfishness or a pity party, it is an intrinsic part of how my mind works. Kinda like being a pessimist and seeing the glass as always half empty. (Except, I'm not really a pessimist. If anything, I tend to be a little too optimistic.) Honestly, I've sometimes wondered if it might be more like possession. It's like there's this little voice in my head that does its best to turn every situation, every word or action by other people, into something dark and hurtful. It wants me to see the worst, to imagine the worst, to feel pain and sorrow and fear in every moment. The times it has overtaken me are the absolute worst times in my life. The medication does make a difference, which is a big indication to me that they might just be right about that whole chemical imbalance thing. I'm far less inclined to even hear that annoying little voice with the medication. It still rears it's ugly head occasionally, though, and the past few days have been harder than usual. The biggest reason for this is that yesterday, December 6, was my mother's birthday. She would have been 72 if she were still alive. Happy Birthday, Mama.

Wow, just saying it makes my throat close up and tears come to my eyes. I adored my mother. I never had any urge to rebel against her. I loved being with her. I loved talking to her. I was 17 when she got sick and died from pneumonia. She collapsed on Saturday morning and died on Tuesday night. My husband was there at the time, thank God, because I don't know how I would have gotten through it if he hadn't been. (This was in Mississippi, where I'm from. Hubby - before he was Hubby - had come down for a visit that weekend.) My sisters both lived far away, Debi here in Indiana and Connie in Texas. Without going into the ugly details, they both arrived before she died and I pretty much shut down the moment my uncle got to the hospital and took over making all the decisions. Mark had to tell me that the hospital was paging me when my sister called me back because I couldn't hear it. The shock had already started to take over. I remember her getting there, but oddly, I can't remember our sister Connie arriving. I just realized that. Anyway, it was a nightmare and it still haunts me to this day.

So I've been fighting the grief for the past few days. Feeling it pull at me and drag me down so that I'm quite to the point of not even wanting to speak. (gasp! to those of you who know me. LOL) And I feel antsy and anxious, plus have trouble sleeping irregardless of how tired I am. I've been avoiding it and that hasn't worked, so I'm going to embrace it. At least I'm going to try. And I'm going to do it by taking a trip down memory lane. Starting with some pics of my mom.

Taken at Shiloh National Park, just over a year before she died.

 

Mark took this picture of her during one of his first trips down to visit us. We took him to Shiloh National Park, site of the major Civil War battle. (In our corner of the world, this was one of just a few things to do. So few, in fact, that as a kid I took MULTIPLE field trips there with my school. So many trips that I and no doubt many of my classmates had much of the video that they offer memorized. LOL) But is was Mark's first time and we had a blast.

The entire time we were climbing up there, Mark kept yelling at us that we were gonna fall and break something. We didn't!

Mama and Mark, taken on that same trip. They were sitting in front of our fireplace. For those of you who know him now, look how black his hair and beard were!

I had no hair but Mama was determined to get it to curl and check out that beehive!

I don't know were we were going. Looks like a Christmas thing, but I can't remember.

Mark took this after a Music Mania performance. It was a big production our music department put on every year in the town's theater, known as the Colosseum. We were in the park, I think.

One of my favorite pics. Mark took this on that same trip that we went to Shiloh. Wasn't my mama beautiful!

I absolutely adore this pic of my mom. She looks so sassy!

My sister Connie and Mom.

Another shot of Connie and Mom. I don't know what's so funny, but there was always a lot of laughter when we all got together.

 I took this one of mom while my sister, Debi, was frosting her hair. That's my nephew, Dale, keeping mom from covering up her face.

And finally, a shot taken at a family reunion. That's Mama in the middle, looking backwards because our Aunt Geneva had done something to her right as the shot was taken. We come by our lunacy honestly. LOL

Man, do I miss Mama, especially now. I wish she could be here to do all the things a mama does, but I know she's in a better place. Doesn't make me miss her any less, though.

 Another family reunion, from L to R: My grandmother, Wyonia, Daddy (David), Mama (Carolyn), Me, my brother-in-law, Dale, nephew Dale, Jr., my sister, Debi, my sister Connie, my brother-in-law, Henry. (Just as an aside, those pants my daddy has on crack me up! LOL)

There are countless other pictures I could post. Vacations and Christmases, everyday shots of us just being a family. And Mama is the core of all of them. On a handful of occasions, she was the one behind the camera, but she was ALWAYS there, always the heart of our family.

I miss you, Mama, so very, very much.