Off to see the Wizard...

Today I should get the results of Saturday's PET scan when I go for chemo.  Please be in prayer that the chemo is working. 

A Quick One Before I Go

I'm off to the hospital this morning to get a lumbar epidural.  I had an MRI just before New Years and found that I have two herniated discs - one pretty bad, the other not so bad.  That, in addition to the neuropathy caused by the chemo medication, is rendering me pretty much useless lately.

We bought some bar stools that I am now using in the kitchen, since I can't stand for any length of time.  They've been a huge help.  I'm taking Lyrica and Percocet for the pain, and am hoping to get off of both once I get the epidural done.  It's just a temporary fix, but can be done again when needed.

Had a second PET scan on Saturday.  I should get the results of that when I go for chemo tomorrow.  We'll see how treatment is progressing then.

In other news - David changed my blog layout, so leaving comments should be MUCH easier now - give it a try!

My day so far...

Go to oncology office and sign in.

Get called to front desk and told I do not have an appt because I cancelled it.

No I didn't.

Yes you did.

No - I didn't - I need to have my bloodwork done.

You had that done last week.

I know.  I have it done EVERY week.

Oh, okay.  Have a seat and we will work you in.

 

Get into room to have blood drawn and sit down.

Realize I sat in doc's chair instead of patient's chair.

Burst into tears for no reason. 

Switch chairs.

Continue to cry after nurse comes back and while she draws blood.  No idea why.

Continue to cry as nurse leaves to run my blood.

Still crying as doctor comes in.  He puts his arm around me and pats my shoulder.

"We'll blame it on the chemo" he says.  Okay.

 

Go to orthopedic surgeon's office.

He has not seen me in 10 years, so I fill out new paperwork.

See surgeon.  I have no reflexes due to chemo.  Weird, but he says that's normal.

He says he does not want to do surgery; thinks I will do better with a cortisone injection in the spine.  They will call me to schedule.  I ask if I can have something for the pain until I get the injection.  He says "Sure - what do you want?"

Tell him I do not care as long as it makes the pain go away.

He writes Rx for Vicodin.  I should have told him I've always wanted a sports car.

 

Go to Target.  Turn in Rx and wander the store.  Find cute lamp for kitchen.  Find a smaller lamp for kitchen.  Even cheaper.  Might be too small.  Not sure.  Get paged to pharmacy.  Return to pharmacy.  Doctor dated Rx for 1/12/12.  They cannot change it because the prescription is for a controlled substance. Purchase small lamp and leave.

 

Go back to surgeon's office and wait for new Rx. Carefully scrutinize Rx before leaving. Take it back to Target. Get batteries I forgot the first time.  Pick up all Rx's.  Drive home.  Take printer ink cartridge out of pharmacy bag.  This is not mine - have never seen it before.  They charged my HSA card for it.  Need to take it back.  Not today.  Take Vicodin.  Sit down to read email.

A Christmas Tradition

At our house, it wouldn't be Christmas without Monkey Bread for breakfast.  This year Katherine asked me to share the recipe with Colby's mom.  I told her there's really not a recipe so much as a suggestion.  Here then is the suggestion, complete with photos to guide you (and Colby's mom) along the way.

This is what you will need:

3 cans of buttermilk biscuits (any brand)

1 cup granulated sugar

2 -3 Tbsp. (or more) cinnamon

1 stick butter, melted

1 cup (or more) brown sugar

Put your granulated sugar and cinnamon in a gallon Ziploc bag.  You could use a bowl if you wanted to, but the bag is easy and disposable.

Shake it up well.  We like lots of cinnamon - you can use however much you like.  I love Pampered Chef Korintje Cinnamon, but use whatever you have. Now unroll your biscuits.  These are from Aldi and they work just as well as the name brand ones. If you are Katherine, jump in startled surprise every time you pop a can open.  Cut each biscuit into quarters.  We like to use our Pampered Chef scissors for this.

Drop the biscuit pieces into the bag of cinnamon sugar and give them a good shake, coating each piece thoroughly.  Then, pile all of the pieces into your Bundt pan.  (If you do not have a non-stick pan, you'll want to spray it with Pam first).  When you are through, it should look like this:

I sprinkled some of the leftover cinnamon sugar on top.

Now you're ready to make what my husband likes to call sludge.  Melt a stick of butter (yes, a whole stick) and stir in about a cup of brown sugar.

 I say "about" a cup because I really have never measured it.  You'll want to keep adding and stirring until it looks like this:

Now, spoon your sludge all over the biscuit pieces in the Bundt pan.  It should look like this when you are through:

At this point, you can either bake your monkey bread or cover it with plastic wrap and refrigerate it over night.  That's what we do - it lets us get to the presents faster on Christmas morning.

Bake the bread at whatever temperature is specified on the biscuit can for about 25-30 minutes.  Check the pieces with a fork to be sure that they are cooked through.  (Check one just under the top layer)

Unmold onto a plate to serve, and you will see something like this:

You could easily add nuts to this recipe if you wanted to, but Katherine and David prefer it without, so that's the way we do it.  This bread is delicious with a big cup of coffee or a big glass of cold milk.  The leftovers (if there are any) can be microwaved for 15-20 seconds, and they'll be as good as when they were first baked.

Enjoy!

Cancer is like an ogre....er....onion

It's got layers.  Cancer is huge, and when it gets dropped on you, initially you feel the whole crushing weight of it.    Friends tell me they don't know how I handle it.  Well, the thing is.. you don't handle all of it at once.  You peel off the layers, and you deal with each one as it comes.  Sometimes they make you cry.

The first layer of my onion was the diagnosis and the tests and the surgery.  They all came together in one big thick layer.  I was still reeling from having the whole thing dropped on me and I stumbled through it blindly, feeling my way, putting one foot in front of the other cautiously, trying not to fall off the edge of the earth.

Chemo was one of the next layers. And chemo itself is an onion... lots of layers of it's own.  Side effects - the ones you expected and the ones you had no clue about.  I expected my hair to fall out - something that really hasn't happened to any great extent yet.  Every morning I get into the shower and give it the Dirty Harry treatment - I rough it up and ask it "Do you feel lucky, hair?  Well, do you?  Are you gonna hang on to the scalp for one more day?"  So far, it's proved to be as tough as the rest of me.  We're all hanging in there.

The side effect I didn't expect was the peripheral neuropathy.  Nerve damage.  One of my chemo drugs is causing it.  The side effects?

• pain
• burning
• tingling (or a "pins and needles" feeling)
• muscle shrinkage
• weakness
• balance problems
• trouble with tripping and stumbling while walking
• loss of feeling (numbness)
• decreased or no reflexes
• increased sensitivity to temperature (usually cold) or pressure, so that things hurt more than usual
• constipation
• trouble passing urine
• blood pressure changes
• trouble swallowing 

Nice, huh?  And I'm having... oh, let's see...  all but the last three and the decreased reflexes.  In other words, I'm limping, stumbling, tripping, stiff, in pain and constipated (when I don't have diarrhea).  Medication helps a little, as do the electric zippy carts in the store.  (Plus, they're just so darned much fun to drive!) Today I got back into the gym which helped a little too.

Okay.. so the next layer.  This is the one I peeled off recently.  Length of remission.  Somewhere along the line, David and I both "heard" that a standard remission period for my disease would be 3-5 years. (Non-hodgkins follicular lymphoma is incurable.)  Last week, my oncologist told me that he would consider a "good, long remission" for me to be a year to a year and a half.  Wow.  It took me several days to process that information.  I couldn't even ask anything else after hearing that because it filled my whole consciousness, pushing out every other rational thought I might have had.  The rest of the day kind of passed in a haze, and I spent a fair amount of time reflecting on my own mortality.

Let me say here that I am a Christian.  I have been born again in Christ and am assured of my place in Heaven with my Lord and Savior.  I know without a doubt that this life is not all there is. That said, I am not ready to die.  I am not nearly through with this life, and I intend to fight like a tiger to grab as much time as I possibly can.  So, I tossed that layer aside and went out for coffee with my girlfriends.  Girlfriends and caffeine are gifts from God.  Never doubt that.

The next layer?  We're waiting until after the holidays to peel that one off.  It's going to be a consult with the doctor in Greenville who will one day do my stem cell transplant.  But that's another layer for another day.

They could've danced all night...

Well... Colby could have, but Katherine, as she will tell you, does not dance.  Funny, but she used to.  I have fond memories of her enthusiastically doing the chicken dance, the Electric Slide or whatever else you were willing to get out on the floor and do with her.  She won a dance contest at the cheerleading banquet when she was in fifth grade.  You could take her to a wedding and she'd dance with anyone - with everyone!  "I was little then." she would tell you if you brought this up.  She's not little any more and now she does not dance.

So... she and Colby went to the band dance in all their finery.  And Katherine spent twenty minutes texting her mother.  And trying to get the chaperones to let her go outside and get her Chapstick.  Because apparently her lips hurt real bad.  Ah, mad youth.  That's why it's best left to the young.

She sure did look pretty though.

A baby Gamecock is born!

From the moment Katherine toured the USC Columbia campus, she knew she was destined to be a Gamecock.  Was it the Strom Thurmond Fitness Center?  Was it the spacious dorms?  Was it the twenty seven on campus dining options?  Was it the cute guys jogging across campus in their shorts?  Maybe it was a little bit of all of the above.   Anyway, she applied.  And she waited.  Acceptances and scholarship money poured in from other colleges anxious to woo her, but she held fast.  She waited.

One December day, her friend Nicole from down the street went to get the mail.  When she saw her acceptance envelope, she raced down to our house to alert us.  Katherine and I flew to the mailbox.  Yeah, I totally beat her.  I'm fast like that.

And there it was - the long-awaited envelope!  Yes!

And that's how Gamecocks are born.