The (Punk) Haircut

Unfortunately I destroyed most of the pictures of me with
short hair. I do have a few in the storage unit, but
graduation pics last forever (I stole this one from my
sisters' FB photos).

     Right after I found out about my cancer, I had a couple of close friends contact me privately with some carefully thought out advice. "Have you considered cutting off all your hair before chemo? You could donate your hair to locks of love..." it went about like that, but more compassionate! Anyway, I love my hair long. I cut it short once in High School and well, it just never looked right. I never got the hang of styling it. I grew it out as soon as possible, and it was terribly, horribly awkward for most of two years. I swore I would never - NEVER cut it shorter than my chin again. Unless I had cancer. ;)
     I was also a bit confused about what to expect regarding hair loss at first. People kept telling me they knew someone who didn't lose their hair during chemotherapy. Like, they lost some hair, but kept enough to look normal. I did some research and discovered something like 80% of patients lose enough hair to shave it (actually, there was a LOT of conflicting information about numbers of patients with hair loss, but it was almost always in the strong majority). I thought, "Well, I will take the chance that I'm one of the 20% then..." But, when I spoke with my oncologist he made it sound like a for sure thing. "You will lose your hair around day 21." There was not a "most people" or a "chances are" or any qualifier on that statement. It made me uncomfortable that he seemed so certain. So, I did more research, and this time, I included my chemo drugs (cytoxan and taxotere). I found on the Cancer Research UK site this little gem:
Side effects:

• Hair loss – in 8 out of 10 people (80%) hair falls out completely but it grows back once the treatment ends

Notice that word 'completely'. Yeah. That means 2 in 10 still experience hair loss, but they might not lose every hair on their body. Maybe they keep their toe hairs! I read a lot of forums too, and the consensus was that patients start losing their hair on day 14 and by day 21 if they hadn't shaved it yet, they gave up and did!

Free online virtual makeover but don't get started
unless you have hours to spend playing with
the different styles!

     So, I decided if I was that likely to lose it all and shave my head anyway, I might as well get rid of most of it. I all ready struggle keeping my house clean - I don't want to add a full head of hair lost strand by strand to the mess! I did a virtual makeover or twenty. I searched pixie cuts, knowing it was likely I'd want some kind of style as it grows back in as well as while losing it. And, who knows? Maybe it'll come back in super curly - which is quite common! 

     How many times in life does a woman know she's going to lose all her hair? I figured I might as well take advantage of the experience. I pinned images to Pinterest and started speaking with my amazing sister-in-law/hair-stylist, Nateal, about what I might be wanting. (Just as a side note - I have 3 amazing s-i-l/hair-stylists. Nateal just happens to have lots of experience with the kind of style I want to go for.) She didn't even question me, but said "Okay, yeah, we could do something like that." She admitted to me as we got started today that it did make her just a bit nervous, but when she spoke with my brother about it, he reassured her by saying something like "That's just Megdalynn. Once she decides something, she jumps in with both feet. Don't worry about it, she knows what she wants or she wouldn't tell you." I love that he knows this about me! 

Aw, look how old I got!

     I'm actually sitting in the salon, writing this post as we get ready for the next step. By the way, Nateal is still taking clients at Relik Salon & Spa in Orem. Give her a call at 801-22-1947, she's got skillz! And let her know I sent you! (Yes, she can do NORMAL stuff too.)
     The best part about this? I CAN'T WAIT to see people's reactions!!! My kids, my husband, my classmates, my gym friends, ... my primary class.... Oh boy. Too late now! The box of color has already been opened. Might as well do it right! 

     Honestly, the virtual makeovers did not do a lot to build my confidence for this. It didn't help when I showed my dad the images and he said, "That doesn't even look like you." I replied, "I know, but it's me." "Well, what picture did you start with? Are you wearing any make-up?" LOL! My dad, bless his heart, does not like short hair on women! 

     Here are a bunch of pictures from the salon.

    I thought I would cry today, especially as the locks started hitting the floor - but what burst out of me instead was an intense fit of the giggles! 

 I like the cut way better than I thought I would. It doesn't add 20 pounds to my face the way the one I had in High School did. Or, at least, I hope it doesn't! The funny thing is, even if it does, the attitude it incorporates screams "I don't care!" anyway!

I laughed all the way through the cut, and had to take a little break to collect myself before the fade design - so it wouldn't get messed up by my laughter!

Original hair design by Nateal Ernst, Relik Salon, 801-225-1947

I loved it when my friend shared my video post on FB and said "she's fighting like a girl"! I think that will be my motto this week. It's going to be a long one, filled with doctors' offices. I'm earning that spring break!

 

The Gym

     Why am I writing about the gym on a cancer blog? Because it's part of my story, part of how I deal with my cancer, part of me and my life! I started going to the gym when I was 18 years old. My parents are not gym people. I don't know how or why I fell in love with the gym, but I am a total gym rat! I like it so much, I even took a class at BYU to certify to teach aerobics. If I were going to rank my favorite things to do at the gym my list would look something like this:
     Zumba/Yoga (tied for first place)

A treadmill and climbing wall in one!

     Group weight lifting classes
     A tread-climber
     Kick-boxing (I'm still new to this)
     Water aerobics
     Circuit training
     Floor combos (my own combination of cardio machines and weight lifting after)
     Volleyball
     Indoor track
     Anything else on a court (dead last!)

     Notice the obvious absence of swimming? That's because I don't know how to swim for fitness! I cried my way out of swim classes as a kid, and gave myself terrific anxiety over the water, but love being in it for fun. Maybe someday I'll try taking a class again...
     Anyway, adjusting to life in the Caribbean really did a number on my gym attendance. I tried running on the island, but never got used to the humidity the entire time I was there. I did put forth some effort at staying in shape, but nothing quite like the gym rat life I had been comfortable with before. Then when I got morning sickness with my son, my workouts REALLY fell apart. I was a sporadic exerciser for years after that. We had a membership at the YMCA in Georgia, which was awesome, but I never attended as regularly as I expected myself to.

The Y in Lawrenceville, GA

     Then we moved back to Utah, licking our wounds, and when I tried to do yoga it wasn't the same. My body was still stretched out from childbirth, and it made embarrassing noises! We were broke and broken. We were blessed to live in a basement, but with 6 people in two rooms, and all the stress of unfinished medical school, a newborn, and getting used to living in someone else's home... it was a lot to handle. I didn't handle it well. I knew I needed to change something, but didn't know how. Then things got worse. And even worse. And even though people thought I was a pleasant, happy person, I was deeply depressed. "Pleasant and happy" for me is a far cry from the enthusiastic and bubbly personality that normally just oozes out of me and permeates everything around me, causing people to groan and say "You are SO annoyingly happy, I hate you!" and they weren't joking. I've heard that statement several times.

     So, I finally (FINALLY!) dragged my butt in to see the Doctor and discussed my depression with him. He put me on a medication that helped me not be the crazy lady on the news who drives off a cliff with all her kids in the car. Things were a little better. I started training for a 5K to get my butt out of the house and moving. As soon as I could run 5K, I quit. Then my parents' apartment in their basement opened up. There's just something about having your own laundry and kitchen space (even under someone else's roof,) and things were a little better again.  A few months after moving I brought up the subject of joining the gym with my husband. We discussed it, with the conclusion that we couldn't afford it. But I couldn't let it go. I needed to be at the gym. I prayed about it, and felt strongly that I needed to join. I discussed it with my husband again, and he supported me in joining. Since this process took a couple of months, I ended up joining the first week of January. The absolute WORST week to join a gym! I started off on the cardio machines. I slowly started incorporating some weights, but not very much. I felt a little better. I would sneak peaks at the classes, and wish that I was in good enough shape to be in them. My sister-in-law attended a Zumba class with me, and after that, I joined a different class every day of the week, and sometimes two classes in one day.

Two of my instructors AFTER class. Nobody really
wanted to be in a picture after class, but it was my first
day back after the surgery, so they humored me.

Now, when I miss a day at the gym, I feel it. Not so much physically, but psychologically. Every time they come out with another news bit on physical fitness and depression I wish I could explain how remarkably I have felt the benefits of physical fitness in my life. I've also met amazing people through the gym. I've struggled making friends here, but the gym is the exception to that. It has blessed my life in so many ways!

I took this on the day of my cry fest with my friend
who gave me the "BE BRAVE" necklace.
We were still crying when I took it. :)

     If you were wondering where the part of my blog is when I talk about God, here it is. The timing of all of this - from my children, to my husband's career, to something as simple as my physical fitness - it all testifies to His plan. He prepared me. He lead me, even when I didn't want to be lead. I can't imagine how things would have gone if I had discovered my cancer in the midst of my depression. I can't imagine how my life would be. It's likely it would not be. My fitness level has enhanced my recovery. It has given me an outlet for my stress. I could go on, and on, but for tonight, my message to you, dear reader, is to take good care of your health. Make one change toward healthier living today. Add to that change when it becomes comfortable. Healthier living helps us to be happier, and God actually wants us to have joy. Do your monthly self breast exam. Park at the end of the parking lot. Drink an extra glass of water. Take a hike. Whatever you can handle - one small change, which will lead to another... 

God's Will

     Yesterday was a very difficult day for us. My husband didn't match to a residency program. This was not his first try. When I received my cancer diagnosis, I thought about how we are 'stuck' someplace we do not want to be. We have known for awhile now that being stuck is part of God's plan for us, but it's one of those trials I spoke about earlier - where I am selfish and can only see how it's hurting me and my family. We live in my parents' basement apartment with our four children, and before we lived here, we lived in my husband's parents' basement. In light of the cancer, I wondered "Maybe we were meant to be stuck here because I'm meant to deal with this in the middle of the largest support system I could have." As the oldest of eight children, and being married to the oldest of seven children, we have a large family support system! Our parents live less than two blocks apart, but they attend different church congregations. We have attended both congregations, and now, both of them are supporting us. I can't imagine how difficult treating my cancer would be if we had relocated 6 months before my diagnosis! And my support system - both near and far - is AMAZING. Absolutely amazing.

     Several years ago, we were engaged in prayer regarding when we needed to try to have another child. I get very morning sick, so being able to cope with non-stop nausea for roughly 6 or 7 months is a pretty big deal in the planning process. At the time, we were preparing for Shane to finish medical school, and to apply for residency. I was very concerned about how we would provide the financial support for another child, should God wish to send us one. I prayed often. I was uncomfortable with my answers, so I went to the temple and prayed there also. I plead with my Father in Heaven, "I cannot handle another child without knowing that we will be able to provide for the child's basic needs. I need confirmation that not only is this thy will, but also that we will be able to take care of our children." It took a lot of faith to accept His answer and conceive our fourth child.

     When Shane didn't pass his board exam on his second try I struggled with what I knew it would mean for his career, and felt anxious about our future. We were struggling financially and baby number four was growing away. I'm not going to downplay it - we miraculously received a student loan check we were not expecting which helped us be able to complete Shane's schooling. We even received help from the church on our way out of town. There was just no money to go around! (Well, that's been the story of our entire medical school journey!)
     For a long time, I questioned "why?" Why would I be told to bring a child in the world we were not going to be able to provide for? Here I am, four years later, with a cancer that is fed by female hormones. If I had not listened to God's will, I might have ended up with a much larger cancer problem, or without my precious daughter.

     Yesterday as we were processing the bad news, again, of Shane not matching into a residency program, my sister reminded me of my prayers during the previous summer. My question at that time was also regarding God's will for our family. "Do I have another baby, or should I go back to school?" The answer to go back to school was clear. It felt selfish at the time. I questioned whether I was listening to my own will instead of God's, but His will was reinforced by His tender mercies. I know I was supposed to go back to school. My sister asked me "Could you imagine if you had been pregnant instead of being in school?" It really made me stop and think. If I had not listened to God in the first circumstance, I might have tried to squeeze that baby in later. If I had not listened to God in the second circumstance, I would have been diagnosed with cancer while pregnant with those hormones making the cancer grow like wildfire! The match news would not have been a setback, it would have been truly devastating with the added concerns of a fifth child and my possible death.

"The submission of one's will is really the only uniquely personal thing we
have to place on God's altar. The many other things we 'give,' ... are
actually the things He has already given or loaned to us. However, when
you and I finally submit ourselves, by letting our individual wills be
swallowed up in God's will, then we are really giving something to Him!
It is the only possession which is truly ours to give!" -Neal A. Maxwell

     I know God knows and loves each of His children. I know He has a plan for us. I know He will guide us to His will if we will search it out. I know He speaks to us through scripture, prophets, and personal revelation. I know miracles occur. I know that we can put our trust in Him, and that all we accomplish in this life is by His grace. I know His son, Jesus Christ, atoned for our sins - and suffered our pains and tribulations. He is the light of the world, and He was/is the perfect example of listening to and following God's will. My life has shown me these truths over and over again, and I am grateful for the knowledge!

Mastectomy - psychology and recovery.

     Argh. I am so behind on my blog! But, hey, aren't you proud of me for taking some time to recover? OK, OK, I admit, I have pushed myself too hard a couple of times. I am trying hard to be a patient patient. Well, hard for me... My recovery has gone quite well. The Doctors are impressed, but not actually surprised since I am fit and young compared to the majority of their patients.
     I'm going to get personal here again, so if you want to skip six paragraphs...

This image from Google is pretty representative
of my scars. Not bad, huh?

     My scars are pretty awesome. On my left, under my breast, my scar measures about three inches. I have two on that side because they spared my nipples. My scar above my nipple, over where the tumor was located, is about two inches. My scar on the right side is barely two inches, and all ready fading into obscurity.
     The pathology from my surgery indicated that my Invasive Ductal Carcinoma (IDC) was surrounded by Ductal Carcinoma In Situ (DCIS). Sometimes the medical personnel try to make that sound less scary by saying the cancer was surrounded by pre-cancerous cells. They are trying to simplify the difference between the invasive cancer and the non-invasive, but they're not fooling me.
My grandmother had a double mastectomy to remove DCIS. Hers was not invasive, but still warranted removal. Anyway, treatment choices for the remaining DCIS (which is microscopic) include either radiation, or further excision. Based on my own feelings, and the recommendations from my tumor board, we are going with further excision. Dr. J, the plastic surgeon, will use the same incision line they used to remove my tumor to cut out just a little bit more tissue. The DCIS remaining was like a tail, or a feeler, extending toward my sternum. I am pleased to avoid the radiation!

     Within half an hour prior to my surgery, Dr. J. came to visit me practically skipping. He was excited that Dr. T. planned on saving my nipples! Ha! He was more excited about it than I was by far, but his enthusiasm was encouraging. I didn't really view the changes to my body until I got home, though I did pay some attention as the nurses and Doctors checked my incision sites. I ended up with bruising covering the lower half of my left breast, and a scab over my left nipple caused by a small disruption of blood supply as my body started figuring out how it was supposed to function without my breasts. I also had some skin puckering or dimples.

I had two drains, one for each side. A tube, sticking out of my body, connected to a plastic bulb shaped about like a grenade. The drains collect excess fluid to reduce swelling. Gone were the breasts that had fed four children. They had expanded and retracted so many times they were no longer perky. They were no longer full. They were so small, they were also (fortunately) not saggy. I earned those imperfections. They were mine. Looking in the mirror at home - at my skin beaten up and stretched over the expanders - I observe the new perkiness and mourn the loss. Is it weird to miss something imperfect? To trade imperfection for something most women desire - and feel like you got short-changed?
     A long time ago in my youth I was obsessed with my body image. I tried so hard to create a body that was not mine. I starved myself. It took many years before I realized why I had been sinning. During my time teaching young women in the church, I shared with them the story of my journey, and the testimony I gained about loving our bodies because they are God given. He doesn't create mistakes. I learned to accept my body and my perceived flaws because those very flaws are a gift to me from God. I no longer mocked His design. I was grateful for it. I changed my psychology. And now, my figure more accurately reflects what society says women should look like. It disturbs me.
     When I first discovered my breast cancer I was unaware of the congressional act that mandates insurance company coverage of breast reconstruction for policies which cover lumpectomy or mastectomy. I anticipated attending my classes with one breast, as I knew it would be unlikely I would be able to tolerate a prosthetic for several months after the surgery.

Mastectomy Swimsuit Fashion
I love the empowerment in these pics.

I was okay with that, but I knew it would be difficult at times, and that no matter how much I tried to 'gear myself up for it', I would mentally struggle with the implications. I was relieved to find out about the act of Congress in response to my personal situation. Upon further research, I discovered the act was passed based on research into patients' psychological well being post-mastectomy, with or without reconstruction. The evidence heavily supports healthy psychological outcomes for reconstruction, and especially for younger women. I am also grateful that each woman can choose what is right for her personal well being. I would completely support a woman of any age desiring to forego reconstruction. So why did I choose reconstruction? It's complicated. I didn't mind being small, but I have to admit, part of my self identification as a woman includes my breasts. Beyond that, I considered the effect on my family.  My husband is tremendously supportive of me making whatever decision I want regarding my own body. He wants me to be happy, and I have to speak with him at length before he expresses even the hint of an opinion. Still, he is a man, and he admits he enjoys breasts. I considered our intimacy. I thought about my children. I'm still uncertain regarding the lessons my children would have learned from either outcome, but felt strongly that my youngest ones would have had a much harder time without the reconstructive surgery. I struggle with my culture's view on women's breasts. I have for many years, but my breast cancer brings the topic to my mind often.

Are you kidding me?
That's the biggest syringe I've ever seen!

     My expanders were 'filled' for the first time today. 100 mL of saline were pumped into each side. The procedure itself was not painful, but the same places that have been causing me discomfort this week have hurt more since we left the doctor's office. It reminded me of water balloons being filled. My husband thought it simply erased some of the skin dimples and puckers that had resulted from the surgery, and didn't see any size difference. They will expand them one more time than what I feel is 'my size' so that the implants do not damage my skin. What is 'my size'? I don't know. I all ready feel more blessed by the extension of my life than I deserve. I all ready feel more perky than I would like to be. I all ready have more... fake breast (?) ... than I started out with! Does it even matter? I suspect I could have made my way through life without breasts and still been just fine. My own psychology confuses me. Oh, and you can feel the unnatural nature of the expanders underneath my skin. It is very... weird! I try not to think about how alien the expanders are because I don't want to convince my body to reject them! Even other people can feel the expanders - they are a little creeped out by the unnatural feel of the plastic underneath my skin.
     I started doing physical therapy on my own before receiving clearance from the doctor. I was ready! I'm glad I will see her again this Tuesday because I want to start doing yoga again. I miss the gym!
     

Equity, and my *only* surgery

My surgery went better than I had hoped on Friday, the 20th. I had completed my pre-screening at the hospital the day before: two blood tests, a urine sample, and a chest x-ray.

My report time for the procedure wasn't until 11:00 am, so I had plenty of time to not eat or drink anything in preparation. Normally this would have bothered me, but my nerves must have helped me ignore my thirst and hunger. When I checked in at surgical services, I was sent back over to the imaging lab. Wasn't I just here? Deja vu! Third time's the charm I guess. This time I was lead to a room with a a curtain and bed in the back of the room. The nurse and tech explained that the radiologist would be inserting the radioactive dye used to perform the sentinel node biopsy. Oh boy. I had hear that sometimes this procedure is done through the areola, and that it can be very painful. I took advantage of the opportunity to ask the nurse. She told me it just depends where the cancer is at, and that the pain felt varies from patient to patient. Super reassuring. The radiologist comes in, and gives me a small shot from the outside of my breast. He explains this procedure has gone through a lot of changes in the last couple of years, that yes, some patients find it painful or experience a burning sensation, but that most find its pain similar to that of a lidocaine shot. Sure enough, it is no big deal for me.

I'm so relieved, that my nervous joking goes beyond my normal comfort level - the nurse tells me I can turn the hospital gown around, with the opening in the back so that it is less revealing. I say "what if I want to show them off while they're still real?" She says "everybody has their own way of coping with this situation, I even know some women have "revealing" parties after their surgeries." I blush at the thought that I was joking and she thought I was serious! I try to assure her I was joking, and then curiosity gets the best of me and I ask about the revealing parties. Yeah. Sorry guys, that is just not the way I'm going to handle having falsies! Later on as we are preparing for surgery the nurse flips through my chart with a confused look on her face. "Do you have any allergies?" She asks me. I smile and say "Nope. I'm perfectly healthy other than the cancer."

She keeps rapidly flipping through pages and says "I can't seem to find the record of your prior surgeries..." to which I reply "That's because this is my only surgery." "You've never had another surgery?" "Nope. I've never been placed under general anesthesia before. I don't plan on doing it again, either." The plastic surgeon comes in with a marker to draw lovely curves on my skin so that they will make sure to put my fake breasts in the right places. I'm glad it's so technical. ;) He is very optimistic, and tells me his cancer patients often look better than before they started. Then he laughs self-deprecatingly, and says "Maybe I shouldn't over-promise!" His nurse reminds me that this procedure today is not about looks. She stumbles around it a bit, and I catch on that she's concerned I might think I will come out of the operation with normal looking breasts. I try to reassure her and be funny - "You mean, I'm going to have a double mastectomy, and I'm going to look like I've had a double mastectomy, with the beginnings of reconstruction. Okay. Yup, got it!" I smile at her so she'll know I'm not being crazy positive because I have unrealistic expectations!

My memory is pretty spotty after they wheel me toward the operating room. Retrograde amnesia, my hubby reminds me, is one of the side-effects of general anesthesia. But, I do remember most of the recovery room. It was pretty funny. Apparently I inherited the "talk it up and share lots of jokes in the recovery room" gene from both of my parents. Their stories are far more humorous than mine. I woke up to the plastic surgeon telling me the procedure was over, and it went great. I must have recognized his voice, because I certainly don't remember seeing him. Several silly minutes later I was in my hospital room. It was strange to be back with my family members and have them know more about the surgery than I did, but I am grateful the docs and nurses kept them informed. All of the five lymph nodes they removed looked clean. Dr. T. reminds me they have a 90 % correct track record on this in the OR. Amazing! I wake up pretty sore, and soon discover that oxycodone is my new best friend. One night I try just taking one pill, instead of the two I am allowed, and I wake up in pain. The nurse offers me some morphine until the second pill arrives and then has time to take effect. "Huh," I tell her "I didn't realize I had a headache. But nothing else changed." Turns out the morphine was nearly unnoticeable! Oh, yeah, and the blue dye they gave me during the operation to help identify my sentinel lymph node turned my urine the same color as lime green jell-o!

Lime Jell-O will make me giggle for a long time!

That was freaking awesome! I spent a lot of time sleeping and visiting with amazing nurses, techs, housekeeping staff, dietary staff, and family and friends. All in all it was like a vacation where you're woken up several times a night to check your vital signs and where you need help getting to the restroom. Oh. That doesn't sound much like a vacation, does it? Good thing they sent me home a couple of days later! I spent as much time as I could sharing my testimony with people. It seemed really, really important that they hear about these really cool faith-building experiences I kept having. I'm not sure many of them 'got' what I was trying to communicate. Maybe I'll do a better job sharing here.
Thursday night I had another profound spiritual experience. As most of you are aware, I belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I'm a Mormon. Like most Christian religions, we believe in "the laying on of hands" as mentioned in Hebrews 6:2, or perhaps a better example is when Christ's disciples "anointed with oil many that were sick, and healed them" in Mark 6:13. Anointing and healing through the power of God is mentioned in many places throughout both Old and New Testaments. I've had practitioners of other faiths lay their hands upon me and bless me in Jesus' name. I've also been anointed and blessed through the Preisthood power by members of my church. I have faith that miraculous healings occur through the power of God (and through our faith) even in modern times.

While I knew this kind of healing was not part of God's will for me during this trial, I also have faith that He might have other, more important blessings to bestow, so I asked for such a blessing the night before I went into surgery. As my father placed the oil on my head, I felt a little surreal moment, and said "I feel like we just barely did this. Would you guys mind if we switched it up tonight, and Shane anoints me and my dad gives the blessing?" To be honest, it had only been a week and a half since my last blessing, so we really had just barely done it. "Whatever you want!" They both say, and promptly trade jobs. So. My dad gives me this incredible blessing. My mom and husband are listening. My dad does his best with interpreting what the spirit gives him to say, which apparently includes blessing me with equity. And telling me about the equity I am being blessed with. And what I will do with the equity I am being blessed with. As the blessing closes in Jesus' name, I say "Wow. I'm not sure I know how to react to that." My mom shakes her head and lets it drop into her hand as she says my dad's name with her "what were you thinking?" tone. He starts to apologize to me - "I'm sorry babe, I know that blessing didn't make a lot of sense..." and I stop them both and tell them "NO. That's just it. It made perfect sense TO ME. I know you it didn't make any sense to you. That's why I don't know how to react. That blessing was to me, the words were meant for me, and I understood what Heavenly Father needed me to hear." Then I got to share some pretty amazing things with them, and clearly, I am not sharing all of these things on my public blog, but let me tell you about this one. Equity. When that word came out of my father's mouth during my blessing it was like someone else was talking to me. When he expounded on the equity I was being blessed with, and what I am destined to do with that equity - I'm telling you. It was divine. What my spouse and parents didn't know was that I have been studying the health economics of breast cancer for my English class. During my brief examination of the articles I'm considering using for my research project I became a little bothered by some of the moral implications of the studies. Since I want to become a health economist, it's kind of a big deal that I not have moral reservations regarding what I want to do with my life, you know? So, during my study I decide I'm going to tackle a rather hairy aspect of the research. The two objectives of health economics are efficiency and equity. I'm going to examine the equity side of the issue, and try to hold health economics accountable to these objectives. The two objectives are almost mutually exclusive. This is why it is so critical that both objectives be acknowledged and promoted. One without the other will not lead us to optimal health care knowledge. It's massive. It's just this huge thing to me, and it's all wrapped up in this giant process of me deciding what I want to be when I grow up and how I will make a significant contribution to the world. And there it is. In my blessing before my double mastectomy. I am blessed with equity. And I KNOW.

This is inspired. It is not a coincidence. Our language is beautiful and complex, but a word like equity doesn't randomly show up in a blessing for health. I just can't seem to communicate how cool this is to people. It's profound. God spoke to me, and He made it obvious that it was coming from Him. I mean - I know He's there. I know He loves each and every one of His children. Sometimes it just feels like "but there are so many of us..." or "but He's so busy..." or a million other ways in which we discount the enormous magnitude of His belief in us! That word - equity - it was not my father's word. He didn't know what he was talking about. My mother was almost disappointed in the blessing because I wasn't blessed with the things that you would expect to hear in a pre-operation blessing. But I was blessed with what I needed. And I was told what I needed to hear. And whether you know what "equity" or "efficiency" or "economics" mean, I think you can recognize that this was not an average experience. There is a grand design. God loves us. He loves me. He loves you. 

Plumbing the depths of my selfishness

     This may be the weirdest post you've ever read. But that's okay, because it's mostly for me, and, since this post is all about me and my selfishness, I figure that's appropriate. Just to be clear: as I ramble about my feelings, impressions, and lessons, I am NOT preaching to you about how your life should be, about why you should change, or anything remotely resembling those things. Caveat over - spotlight back on me.
   

We are all selfish by nature. Learning to live without being completely self-absorbed is so rarely accomplished, we usually refer to people who have achieved it (even temporarily) as saints or prophets. As a deeply spiritual and religious person, I have been trying my entire life to develop a less selfish perception of the world. Let's just take a look for a moment at how well I've done:
     1. As the oldest of eight children it is all about me. If a sibling makes a mistake it is because I have not set a good enough example. If a sibling achieves success it is because my parents raised us right. Oh, yeah, and I set a good example.
     2. As a student it is all about me. I want to have both the top grade, and be the teachers' favorite. If there is an award or recognition to be had, I want it. If this means running against a friend for a student council position for which she is more qualified, then I will run and win.
     3. As a wife I want people to know just how much I have sacrificed for my husband. His success is due to my support and hard work.
     4. As a artist of sorts (whether as an author, on stage, in the orchestra pit, or behind the piano) I must give nothing less than my best performance. I strive for the lead roles and solos. The more my name is printed, the better.
     5. As a mother I must be conscientious about my children's needs, wants, and milestones. Like my siblings, their mistakes are my mistakes, their triumphs are mine also. I am the center of their universe because I am MOM.
     Are you sick yet? This is just the tip of the proverbial iceberg people! I'm not saying I haven't chosen to be selfless at times. Brief times. Not so long ago, if you had asked me "Are you a selfish person?" I would have responded with a "No, at least, I try hard not to be." How naive I was. I truly believed that I had made progress throughout my life on becoming less self-absorbed. I am now chagrined at what I had deemed 'progress'. This next part is very difficult to share, because it is close to my heart.

     The day I found out I had cancer I spent some time in prayer and meditation.

I had a very specific impression come to me. It was not my own thought, it came from somewhere else. Since I recognized this immediately, I also knew its source. Fortunately, despite the multiple screw-ups in my life, I have at least successfully learned to identify the Holy Spirit! The thought was something like this: "IF you wanted to be healed (and had enough faith to be healed) through a priesthood blessing/miracle, that is a choice you may make. However, if you want to fulfill God's will for you, this trial has been sent to you not for your own growth and understanding, but on someone else's behalf." Now, sometimes the spirit speaks in words, but sometimes it speaks in impressions. This one was kind of a combination. The part about this trial being for someone else had a deep meaning to it that was not communicable through words. It was powerful. It was also like a conversation, because I knew that I had the faith to be healed, and could request a miracle, but I also told my Father in Heaven that I primarily wanted to accomplish HIS will.
     Anyway, time passes and I tell people I have cancer and they tell me repeatedly how: positive I am, brave I am, inspirational I am, strong I am, etc. etc. But all I can think when I hear these things is "But this trial isn't about ME. It's for the benefit of someone else," and this leads me to examine my reactions to some of the other trials I've had in life. Some have been excruciating. The strength and courage and positivity I had to exhibit were inspirational as far as the way in which I approached the trial: SELFISHLY. Completely absorbed in myself, and my trial.
     I asked all the normal questions with these trials: DEAR GOD,

WHY ME? WHY? WHY? WHY? Please remove this trial from MY life. This trial is hard! It hurts! I know you want to refine me in your fire, but isn't there another way? WHY?
     I'm sure most of us are very familiar with these questions.
     So, here I am, diagnosed with cancer. I experience no "denial phase". I haven't yet experienced an "anger phase" and I'm hoping I won't (though it may come as a result of hormones, and if it does, I expect it to be short-lived). Because this time, this trial, my focus has been removed from MYSELF. I'm sure there are those who may read this post and not understand my faith, and they may say "her 'impression'  is a form of denial," but I testify that it was of divine origin. It has taken me weeks now to process the experience and even get this close to explaining it - but you better believe I didn't do it justice.

Now if that's not a miracle, I don't know what one is. This is new ground for me! A trial given to me, for which I am not concerned with the whys, and the normal rebellious attitude. I have embraced this trial. I've heard brothers and sisters in Jesus Christ try to explain the tremendous blessing that trials are to our life, but I've never so fully embraced and welcomed a trial before. This is what is seriously throwing other people off as they try to sympathize and empathize with me. It is why they are worried about how I'm handling it, because I clearly "must be in denial," or "it just hasn't hit her yet," or "she's just putting on a brave front". It's dramatically different than those situations. So different, I struggle explaining it to people.

      A friend of the family came over to speak with us one night. She shared a story she had read in a book. She couldn't remember the name of the book, if you recognize it please share in the comments! The story went like this: One day a woman entered the church's restroom to see a young mother with her baby. The baby had suffered severe burns to its hands from touching the glass covering a gas fireplace. Part of the recovery process for this little one required the mother to stretch the tender, healing skin grafts every hour. This caused terrible pain for the baby, but without it, the skin would not grow and learn to be pliable, and the child's dexterity would be severely limited for the rest of the child's life. This mother had to put her baby through excruciating pain to help it. The author used it as an analogy to our Father in Heaven. He stretches us through trials and tribulations. It hurts, but it is for our own good.

   

 This story reminded me of when my oldest suffered severe burns and required skin grafts when she was two years old. I can remember wishing with every fiber of my being that as her mother I could take her pain upon myself. If that act is what my current trial - my cancer - is accomplishing, I volunteer with all my heart. I will embrace it, and make people sick with my positive attitude. If it is accomplishing God's will, and helping someone else, I will gladly give up my selfish attitude and support His plan.

The Cry Fest

Yup. It happened. We all knew it would. I woke up Friday morning with a dull ache in my left breast. It wasn't in my head! My cancer was causing me pain. Mild pain, mind you, but I could FEEL it. <shivers> I was up early, because I have so much to do, but despite my best efforts, my littlest was pushing all my buttons, and we left late for my regular yoga class. Again. My little one did not want to go into the gym's daycare - which is unusual for her. I knew I needed yoga. It may be the last time I do it before my surgery.

I tell her "Listen. You can either hug me and hold me and have an angry mommy, or you can let me go to yoga, and I will hug you and hold you after and be a happy mommy. You choose. Happy mommy or angry mommy." She cheered "Happy Mommy!" and ran into the daycare as happy as could be. We had a substitute teacher in yoga. She was great, but a different instructor can really mess with your practice, even if they're good. I couldn't help but gripe in my head a little. I wanted the workout I had expected! Still, we got to the end of class, the Shivasana that everybody loves where you lie in Corpse pose on the floor and try to relax completely. Everything is fine for the first 5 minutes, but the last few are a different story. I begin to weep. As we come out of our shivasana I attempt to 'hide' my tears by engaging in a few more stretches. The tears don't stop. Then my friend asks "Are you okay?" So I tell her, "I think I'm really emotional from all the stress. I'm okay. I'm going to be okay, but I think I just need to cry." She invites me to the steam room, where she allows me a good cry, and says super supportive things. I tell her "I just want IT OUT. I just want them to CUT IT OUT of me all ready!" You get the idea. And no, those capital letters aren't just emphasis like I normally use them, they're the actual yelling kind of capital letters. Those things are handy after all! So, on our way out of the gym, my friend takes her necklace off and puts it around my neck. It says "BE BRAVE".

I ask if I can return it to her when I'm done with it. I don't love accepting things from people. She says "Pass it on to someone else who needs it. Someone gave it to me." I'm hoping to learn more about the necklace's history. Anyway, part of why I was so stressed was because I was trying to get ready to leave town for the weekend.

My dad's parents

My grandparents left their home in a trust fund for their children to use. We only get the opportunity to visit it rarely, but it is in a very rural location. It reminds me of being a child, and of my deceased grandparents. It feels secluded, and free. I love it when we get to spend a few days there. My children love it too - maybe even more than I do! I knew as I began this process that a weekend away together before my operation would probably be a good idea. The hard part was trying to get enough done to go! I thought about all I had to do as I drove home. I knew I could call someone over to help me, but I also felt like the time when I really need that is still coming. I said a little prayer, and went to the Junior High to check my oldest out of school. I made sure she was going to be okay with missing the rest of her classes, and then explained my emotional state to her. I told her I just needed to be with her, and have her help, if that was okay. She was thrilled. She got a little bit done, and I got a lot done. We left on our trip two hours late, but it was okay.We had a great time in my grandparents' home. I got lots of homework done, and the kids got lots of playing done. It was exactly what we needed, and we may go back for spring break.

My parents and grandparents

I'm so grateful for my parents, and my grandparents, and their legacy. I drew strength from having a retreat with my parents in the home of my grandparents, and returned ready to sprint to the first mile marker in this journey. Two more days. Today, and tomorrow, and I will be in a world of pain and drug induced lack of pain accompanied by drowsiness. BUT, the cancer? It'll will be GONE. I can't wait!