September I'll Remember - Part II

Why do I go to the Utah State Fair each year?

a) To see the new culinary atrocities presented, e.g. deep fried bacon dipped in chocolate.

b) I like to pretend I’m at a Jazzy/Rascal power scooter convention. Seriously, it’s like watching the live version of WALL-E. “Time for lunch…in a cup!”

c) It makes me feel better about my hair and my full set of teeth. I’m the last person to be criticizing hair-styles, but good gracious, will the mullet EVER die?!

d) I find a certain joy in walking around the pig pens next to Derek in his uniform, just waiting for someone to make the obligatory “pig” joke.

e) It is better than a trip to Wal-Mart!

f) all of the above.

I'm quite sure this is the guilty one.

***

A Day in the Garden

Last week, I spent a day with Thing 1 & 2 at Red Butte Garden. This is one of my most favorite places in Utah. It was beautiful weather and barely anyone else around. It was perfect. They splashed around in the stream, watched the frolicking squirrels, looked for snakes, and found handfuls of acorns (coconuts according to Tyler). I can’t explain the delight it brings as they walk around the garden and point out certain flowers, by name, that they know & love.

Yes Tyler, fish do have tongues.

September I'll Remember - Part I

I’m allergic to cats. After being even remotely near them I break out in hives, sneeze non-stop, and my eyes swell shut. About a week ago, I had a brief visit with the neighbor’s cat. Afterwards, I promptly washed my hands & arms, but they still itched and the “hives” began to sting. The next day they worsened and moved further up my arm to my shoulder & upper back. A visit to the Dermatologist confirmed that I had shingles.

Back up 28 years ago to Miss Denny’s first grade class, my friend Ben Holbrook was absent for about a week (to a 6 year old that translates to forever) because he had chickenpox. I wish I could convey the dramatic effect that had, sitting at our table of four, but missing one classmate. A few days later I stayed home sick. I just didn’t feel right & had a headache. The nice thing about being sick when you’re little is that you’re treated like royalty. Ok, so maybe not a lot has changed for me since then, but having the T.V. wheeled into your room, the constant availability of Sprite, and being allowed to eat in bed was an extraordinary experience. During one of my mom’s frequent checks on my state of malaise, I pointed out to her that I had this insatiable itch in my armpit. She lifted up my shirt and found that I had chickenpox. Hooray…several more days of special treatment! A few days later, the blisters on my feet were so painful they made it impossible to walk comfortably on the orange shag carpet throughout the house. Since my two younger brothers had also joined in the festivities of itching and scratching, the T.V. remained in the family room. They were so sweet to pull me down the hallway while I sat on my blanket (perhaps another contribution to my princess complex) to avoid any contact with the aforementioned carpet.

Day 2

At Tyler’s last well-visit with his Pediatrician, he recommended that we skip his vaccination for chickenpox because it contains a live strain and I was still in Chemotherapy. I was already taking Acyclovir during treatment due the risk I had with my suppressed immune system, so this seemed like another logical precaution to take. Guess who has chickenpox now? He’s such a trooper; he hardly seems bothered by them and has only slightly complained about how they itch. If you want your non-vaccinated kids to have the experience of a lifetime, send them on over.

Day 3 of my bespeckled wonder. Bespeckled, there's a great word that doesn't get enough playtime.

My Contribution to the 1st Day of School Commentary or Let Her Touch the Butt

Today was Riley’s first day of Kindergarten. I kept thinking of the movie Finding Nemo. Aside from the obvious “First day of school! First day of school!” scene, I could relate to Marlin (Nemo’s dad for those of you who haven’t seen the movie because you dwell in the outskirts of the Himalayas and let’s face it, you’re not going to be reading some narcissistic blog anyway) and his struggle as an overprotective parent.

Riley with her best friend.

The hand-holding was completely unprompted.

Instinctively, all parents want to ensure no one will hurt our kid’s feelings, that they share with their peers, and they wash their hands when they’re supposed to. I expect the desire to comfort and protect them will intensify when they’re about 18 years old. Especially if it involves issues such as not being accepted to the University of Utah and having to attend BYU instead. That they don’t eat a dog turd, roll bowling balls down 1800 south, or stick marshmallows between their butt cheeks & run around, no matter how important the dare may seem.

I have to remind myself that it's not the end of the world if she doesn't always remember to brush her teeth, outfit's she picks out won't always match, and it’s ok to let her “touch the butt.” I won't always be there to hold her hand and she may get hurt on occasion. Failure is also a part of learning and though it may be difficult, it’s also a crucial part of growing up. In the meantime, I’ll try to be more like Crush and sit back for a few and watch what Squirt can do.

My first day of Kindergarten, 1981.

Check out my chic Velour shirt (picked that out myself) and creased jeans!

Happy Campers

Last weekend I went camping at Washington Lake in the Uinta Mountains, near the Trial Lake trailhead. My first real memory of camping was in North Canyon when I was probably 6 or 7 years old. I went with my Dad, Uncle Mike and my cousins Kevin & Tracy from California. I’ve been almost every summer since I can remember. The only time I didn’t enjoy going was during the too-cool-to-hang-out-with-my-family (13 to about 22 years old) phase.

Circa 198?-still-looks-awesome-when-you-tuck-your-shirt-into-your-ridiculous-hiked-up-sweatpants.

So much has changed since my family first started going to this particular lake. There is now a paved road to get there and quite a large campground where many of the sites now require reservations. It was saddening to see the amount of broken glass, soda cans, plastic bottles, fishing line, globs of power bait and socks galore (that one I can’t figure out) littering the lake shore. I kept thinking “stupid humans.” The constant drone of power generators from 7 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. was a little annoying. I admit I’ve been very grateful for the one my parents have with their modest trailer, but the day they hook up a satellite for t.v. while camping, I’m calling it quits.

The offspring love to go, but they have already grown accustomed to certain luxuries that come with being Grandma’s & Papa’s camping-mates. Riley caught her first of many fish this trip. It’s a rite of passage and Grandpa couldn’t have been more proud. I’m no longer a big fan of fishing, because I don’t eat them, but it was exciting to watch Riley fish from the canoe, pleading to catch “just one more” and not wanting to come in from the lake. She is my water-baby.

Tyler on the other hand, is the opposite. He’s more comfortable with his feet on the earth, rocks or in the mud. He was more interested in finding and collecting rocks, bugs, sticks, dogs, the camp host and other toddlers. I won’t be surprised if this kid becomes an Entomologist, Paleontologist, or Ironman.

Tyler charmed the camp host right out of his golf cart.

I was expecting a better show from the Perseid meteor shower. I stayed up until midnight, but didn’t see more than any other time in the mountains. However, the view of the Milky Way was incredible, the stars were majestic and the sky was completely filled with them. After proving that I have mastered the skill of roasting marshmallows to perfection, I’m content for another year.

Amélie would love this place.

The life of Riley

This is a long-winded post, but it’s mostly for Riley to read when she needs it.

Five years ago today, my little angel arrived and changed my life for the better ever since. I was elated, a new role as a parent, though I admit I was clueless. I had rarely held newborns and had changed a diaper maybe once or twice. I read all the popular baby books and the baby’s room was ready & waiting.

During my 8 month prenatal visit, my O.B. asked me how long I’d been having Braxton-Hicks. I replied, “I haven’t had any yet.” She looked at me and with all seriousness said, “You’re having one now.” Oh. That frequent, rock-hard tightening of my stomach was a practice contraction? Yep, I was completely naïve to the whole realm of pregnancy. I didn’t want to know the gender of the baby until “it” was born, but I also had a problem with referring to the baby as “it.” I don’t remember exactly how the name “Bean” came about, but it stuck and she introduces herself today as such.

My pregnancy had gone rather well, no complications & only minor discomfort from heartburn, sleepless nights, temporary carpal tunnel and cankles. Hmmm…not much has changed. I had no idea what was in store. The morning of July 7th, I woke up & something just felt different. I can’t explain it in words, but I was at peace and remember thinking, today’s the day Bean will be here. This was the calm before the storm.

I had my weekly appointment with the O.B. that morning. Derek & I were carpooling to work as there was only an hour difference in our shift schedules. He kept my hospital bag in the patrol car, just in case. We went to the doctor’s office before work. After the exam, she said everything looked well and wouldn’t be surprised to see me again that night. This baby was on the way. I wasn’t having major contractions, so she told me to go home and take it easy. I asked if I could just go to work instead. She laughed and said, “Sure, if you want to.” I didn’t want to waste my maternity leave when I just sat on my ass at work anyway, and it was only a few blocks from the hospital.

Following the appointment, I walked across the street to Einstein’s on 500 East for a Tasty Turkey sandwich on a sunflower bagel and Odwalla lemonade (I passed on the grotesquely large dill pickle). I can remember exactly what I ate for lunch five years ago, but not what I had for breakfast yesterday (thank you Ambien!) Then I walked to work. My shift began at 2:00 and usually ended at 11:15 p.m. I made it to 10:45. The contractions had become too painful to sit still. I called Derek (his patrol shift ended at midnight-thirty & he notified his Sergeant that he needed to leave. He picked me up from the station and we went to the hospital.

My O.B. was the on-call that night and just happened to already be there. She did a quick exam and as she started to leave, my water broke. She walked back to me and noted the presence of meconium. The NICU was advised so they would be present for immediate suction of the baby’s lungs upon delivery. That’s what would happen in a perfect world.



You’re probably familiar with my tolerance to pain. I welcomed an epidural and can’t imagine labor without one. It was so effective that I was able to sleep throughout most of the night. I can’t say the same for Derek. My room faced the “U” on the mountainside and I watched the sunrise that morning. As the contractions became closer together my doctor and nurses gathered in my room. Derek was instructed by my doctor to call the NICU and tell the nurses to “get in here now!” as they had not responded to her previous requests. After 11 hours of labor, Bean couldn’t wait any longer. At 9:58 a.m. she was finally here. My doctor did the best she could, but the NICU nurses were too late. Riley (Bean’s a baby girl!) had aspirated meconium. She was cleaned up, bundled, and handed to me. Of course she was beautiful beyond words.



As I held her I noticed Riley’s fingers were turning blue. I held an oxygen mask to her for awhile, but the nurses needed to take her to the NICU. She was having difficulty breathing on her own. Her little body was working so hard at fighting off infection in her lungs that it would sometimes forget to breathe. Throughout the day, Derek would give me frequent updates on her progress. Despite all the efforts made, she would stay the next week in the NICU to be monitored and treated with antibiotics. Having experienced an ideal pregnancy, I was not prepared for the reality that things could go wrong during or after delivery. I was devastated.



Following my discharge, the hospital allowed me to stay there for the remainder of the week at a minimal cost. This allowed me to be with Riley as much as possible. Derek would arrive at the hospital first thing in the morning and didn’t leave until late at night, sometimes after her 1:00 a.m. feeding. At night, the nurses would call my room as soon as she woke up to be fed. I’d go quickly, just short of running, down the hallway to the NICU, scrub in, and try to get situated in a rocking chair. I hated hearing her scream as she waited for me. There was little to no privacy and being a first-time mom, I was awkward and clumsy as hell when it came to nursing her. However, after having a handful of strangers gawking at you below the 50-yard line just days before, for the moment you sort of don’t care.



The night before she was released, she was able to breathe on her own. One nurse was shocked by my patience as I sat with a sleeping Riley in lap and using a Q-tip, slowly worked baby oil under the sticky tape on her cheeks that held her cannula (the small tube that delivered oxygen to her through her nose) in place. I couldn’t imagine ripping them off like a Band-Aid from her delicate new skin.



As with so many of life’s lessons, this too was bittersweet. I learned a lot during that week, albeit the longest week of my life. Nurses taught me things that were not in books. I cried as hard as Riley did when the doctor had to relocate her I.V. I’ll never forget the nurse (not one of Riley’s) that told me I was starting a bad habit by sitting in the rocking chair, long into the night, and holding her while she slept. Seriously? She had to be kidding. I couldn’t stop staring this perfect being and was enthralled by every little movement she made. Bad habit or not, I didn’t want to leave her.



You can imagine the delight in being able to take her home. Riley was healthy and thriving. The wait lasted all morning before she was finally discharged. This was the middle of July and a summer I’ll never forget. Daylilies in bloom, hummingbirds & thunderstorms to be watched from the balcony to ease colic, a month later Katrina wreaked havoc and death would knock on my Dad’s door, only for him to say, “I’m a little busy right now, you’ll have to come another day.



It’s no secret, I’ve always been proud of my little Bean. From the start, she’s been feisty, stubborn, very independent, and strong willed. Sound familiar? She’s also quick to forgive, tender-hearted, and the most loving little creature I know. I still have a lot to learn from Riley.



HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

This pretty much sums things up.

Of all the cancer-swag, this is one of my favorites. Thanks Derek.




The only thing missing from this list is the immeasurable support, prayers and love from friends & family.

Today was my last treatment. With a few more items of cancer-swag, Chewy, graduation certificate in hand, and a significant amount of tears shed between the staff & I, it was bittersweet leaving the Huntsman Radiation Department. It was one of those moments when the reality of it all hit me again, and life seemed to move in slow motion for a few minutes. Five months ago, upon hearing my diagnosis & treatment, it felt like it would be an eternity before this day would be here. Here it is.

Many of you have commented on what you perceive as my super-human strength. Well, take a step back and look at where that strength came from. All of you. You unknowingly and effortlessly provided something more powerful than any chemical concoction could do. I only hope that I can return even a portion of that to you in this lifetime. You are the super heroes.

What will I do now? First, I'll enjoy doing NOTHING for awhile. I'll still post my random thoughts & rants, experiences about the never-ending mischievous ways of Thing 1 and Thing 2, maybe blog about other blogs (I'm so embarrassed I used that word twice in one sentence) and updates from the few remaining scans that I have over the next 5 years.

Love you all,
Shel
Shelly
Roach
Rasha
Raco
Rach
Achelle
or however else you may know me
*Rachelle*

100% awesome is right!

I have a couple of dates with Chewy (my medieval radiation mask) and 360 centigrays* of radiation left this week.
*Each daily treatment is a healthy dose of 180 centigrays and you're smart people so I'll let you do the math.

Chemo Strikes Back

You have got to be kidding me! It’s been 3 weeks since I’ve been off the juice and NOW half of my eyebrows & eyelashes decide to abandon ship??? If you listen closely you can hear the sigh of utter disappointment. However, I am sporting a nice start of peach fuzz on the noggin. It’s very translucent. I can’t tell if I’ll be completely grey or the natural blonde I’ve always wanted.

Oh yeah, I did go swimming a few times this week.

Chlorine, I missed you so.

Claustrophobic’s Nightmare

Last week I was prepped for my radiation treatments at the Huntsman Cancer Institute at the University of Utah. The first step was having a mask made that covers my head, neck, and shoulders. The mask attaches to the table I lay on, much like having a CT scan or MRI. It keeps my head from moving and aligns my body in the same position for treatment. It also hyper-extends my neck to keep as much of my throat out of the field of radiation as possible, and my shoulders pressed back. The mask is made by placing a warm, wet, pliable plastic mesh over my face, and then it’s secured to the table. It shrinks as it dries, becomes tight, and conforms to my face. The longer you can lay there to let it dry, the better fit it creates. This took about 30 minutes.

It was so tight I could not open my eyelids and as you can see in the photo, it left indentations on my skin. I had to tell myself, “Just keep breathing.”

After the mask was dry enough to remove, I had 3 permanent markings (tattoos) placed on my body, they are used for alignment too. They are small dots that look like a mole or a freckle. It was not painful getting them, but the 2 on either side of my ribcage tickled and that was hard to sit through without flinching.

Wednesday of this week I had my simulation or dry-run for treatment. The therapist made sure the mask fit and everything was aligned where it should be. Then a series of X-rays were taken. All systems go.

Yesterday was my first of 20 treatments. After changing into a flattering hospital gown, patients wait in a gender specific waiting room. The therapist comes to get you when they’re ready and walks you back to the treatment area. Prior to treatment, I have to stop at a desk where my patient information and photo is displayed on a computer screen. I have to tell the therapist my last name and date of birth. I can see why this precaution is necessary. Hordes of people must by trying to sneak in for some free radiation. Ok, I understand it’s to make sure they have the correct patient, because all us bald heads walking around in hospital gowns look the same and that could cause some confusion.

Once I’m aligned on the table and the mask (which by the way, I taking suggestions on what to name it) is secured, the therapist leaves the room. The machine itself is a large arm that rotates around me. I get a low dose of radiation to my back and one to the front of my chest. The whole process is about 2 minutes long and it’s very loud & noisy. Even worse is the music they play in the room, one day it was country and I have no idea what the crap I was listening to yesterday. I miss my iPod for those 2 minutes of my life.

Here’s an observation I’ve made during my visits. While in the waiting room, it’s very obvious that many of the other patients are smokers. I’d guess 1 out of 3 reek of cigarette smoke. You know they’re patients for radiation because they’re fighting off some nasty disease too, but at the same time they’re putting themselves at risk for another one. It’s like a skin cancer patient jumping into a tanning bed everyday. What the hell? I did find the 70-something year old patient lounging around in his SpongeBob Squarepants jammie bottoms pretty cool. He made my day.

Luminous Beings - Part II

Leia: I love you.
Han: I know.

I had a love/hate relationship with my PICC line, Han. Hated him at first, then he grew on me, and finally, I came to love him for the mere fact that he prevented me from being stabbed with a needle every week of treatment. Now that chemotherapy has been completed, and the PET scan results were excellent, it was time to say goodbye to Han. It's been a good three months buddy.

Now I'm going swimming.

Ready, set, pull. Gross huh?

It was completely painless coming out.

As for the results of the PET scan, the report indicates there is no significant residual activity identified within the mediastinum (marla), no new areas of abnormal PET accumulation.

Or just look at the pictures.

February 5, 2010

Three months and a myriad of chemicals later...

May 5, 2010