Tag: Children

Sailing Strong in the Winds of Affliction

by Seaglass4Nicole, posted in Beachcombing My Way through Breast Cancer, Raising Princes in a Pauper Society, Uncategorized

Adversity is the diamond dust Heaven polishes its jewels with.

Thomas Carlyle 

On the tender heels of Thanksgiving, my 11-year old, Colby asked to share a bit of his heart from this past year.  I’m overwhelmed posting this … but it’s wonderful to see my 3 beautiful boys holding on and pressing in to the gift of Faith that they have eagerly unwrapped.  I am blessed.

A Year of Cancer through the Eyes of a Child

Colby

Thanksgiving was a really good time for me to look back on my life, including the rocky road of the last year and find all of the blessings that abound.  I truly thank God for my life, my health and SO much more … my family, house, food in my stomach, a free country, my Mom’s health, my education, and the very air I breathe.  I realize that sometimes God throws tough times (tests) at you.   In order to get an A+ on each test, you must remain faithful to Him, and never give up.  Even though this was a struggling time in our family we never gave up on Mom, or God.

So the big test, the journey we never expected to take was this past year.  The test has been the most difficult one I’ve taken so far in my 11 years.  On December 26, 2012 my Mom and Dad called my brothers and me into their room.  As they told us that the call came and a stage III breast cancer diagnosis was confirmed—I felt a sudden pain in my gut.   At that moment I knew it was serious … this was really happening.   My parents were open and honest about everything they knew, and that alone helped to make us feel safe.  Though I know people who have gone through cancer, it’s hard to imagine it happening to my Mom.  It was very hard to believe, and though at first I didn’t want to, I knew that I had to face reality and trust God to take the wheel.

Before that dreaded day, we knew “cancer” was definitely a possibility.  But regardless of that thought lurking days before Christmas, my parents made everything as normal as possible and full of love.  They still showed us the wonder and generosity of the season in the face of such upsetting news.  Shortly after diagnosis, the next challenge was learning that chemotherapy treatment would be the first thing my Mom would experience.  My parents helped to explain chemotherapy and the side effects that would likely happen.  It helped me to know that if and when Mom was sick, it was not because the disease was making her sick, but instead because the medication was attacking the cancer cells with the intent to make her better.

My Mom was strong and worked through treatment.   Every Thursday for 20 weeks starting in January, she would go into Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. Though I was not able to go with her every week, my Mom made special arrangements to be sure we went with her at least a few times.   I think my mom wanted my brothers and I to see that chemotherapy wasn’t scary.  The first time I went to Dana-Farber I was a bit nervous, thinking it would be creepy with a lot of very sick people there.  It didn’t take long to learn that my fears were far from the real thing.  Though difficult for the patients experiencing chemo, the people and atmosphere were both warm and welcoming.

Chemo was still sometimes scary for my brothers and me.  It’s awful when you want so much to take away someone’s pain but can’t.  During this time I tried to help in every way possible throughout the house.  Since mom was getting weaker after many treatments, her ability to do all the things she used to do in the house decreased.  I tried to spend time after school doing some simple cleanup and chores around the house.  It felt good to give back to her, especially when she was tired and struggling with a serious illness.  I hated seeing her sick and really loved making her happy. I knew that as tough as chemo was, it was made to help stop the cancer in its tracks.

When my Mom started to lose her hair during chemotherapy, as a family, we gathered and made a family time to shave her head.  I know it was hard for her to lose her beautiful hair, but we helped to lighten the mood with a little “buzz” party.

Chemo was a very difficult time, but we got through it as a family.

Things moved fast.  After Chemo was finally over, Mom was trying to get strong for surgery.  The goal of surgery was to remove any remaining cancer out of her body.   I was very scared for her. Every night I prayed, and prayed that she would be fine. The day of surgery finally came (actually on my younger brother, Logan’s birthday).  My Mom was a brave person on that day.  She was in the hospital for 5 days and we missed her so much.  My grandparents watched us and helped prepare for Mom coming home.  Before she arrived, we made her a big “WELCOME HOME!” sign.   She lit up seeing that and it made us so happy!  When she got home, things were tough for a while.  She was always very sleepy and never felt good.   But, The Lord is good.  He kept her safe through all of this.

Radiation treatment came next.  Mom was a little anxious at first, but then she learned that it wouldn’t be as bad as the other treatments.  I was so thankful that she had gotten through the treatments before. Through the house, all of us were asking questions like “Doesn’t radiation give you cancer?” and “Won’t you get burned?” All of the questions were answered, and we weren’t as anxious as before. The family got together and prayed that mom would get through the last treatment. Mom did get some burns, but she took it in stride … nothing too bad.

I love that my parents have been honest with everything going on.  They always make us know that we can go to them anytime with any question and we trust and believe that they will answer it honestly.

I thank God every day for Moms health. I hope and pray that God will always keep her in his healing hand.

My heart goes out to other kids traveling this same road.  My prayer is that they will have Faith and believe that God has them in the palm of His hand regardless of the situation.  Thieves can’t take you away when you’re resting in the palm of His hand.

–Colby

“For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast”      —Ephesians 2:8-9

Life in a Snow Globe

by Seaglass4Nicole, posted in Beachcombing My Way through Breast Cancer, Raising Princes in a Pauper Society

snow globe

(originally posted on my CaringBridge page on 2/ 17/13)

We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.

Martin Luther King, Jr.

Snow globes.  Children always seem to have an innate attraction to them.   Once upon a time, I distinctly remember that giddy feeling, especially during the Christmas season when stores would display beautiful collections of these magnificent little transparent worlds frozen in time.  Instinctively, I’d rush to stir up the beautiful, idyllic scenes in each one, watching the snow gently fall over each perfect little landscape.

As I found myself pondering magical snow globes this past week, I’m not sure why, but I recalled a moment in a disturbing, but brilliantly written novel by Alice Sebold I read several years ago—The Lovely Bones.   I distinctly remembered a part in the book referring to a snow globe.  I found the book on one of my shelves and looked up the part that came to memory:

“Inside the snow globe on my father’s desk, there was a penguin wearing a red-and-white-striped scarf. When I was little my father would pull me into his lap and reach for the snow globe. He would turn it over, letting all the snow collect on the top, then quickly invert it. The two of us watched the snow fall gently around the penguin. The penguin was alone in there, I thought, and I worried for him. When I told my father this, he said, “Don’t worry, Susie; he has a nice life. He’s trapped in a perfect world.”

Trapped, isolated in a world being stirred up beyond one’s control is most definitely a lonely place.  The penguin, in many ways similar to how I see myself some days . . . stood lonely, frozen in time, with no control over anything going on around him.

On Tuesday night, while I was running my hands through my long, lavish locks (just kidding, they don’t exist)—I felt a very real, immovable lump at the base of my skull, an occipital lymph node, as it were.  John felt it and insisted I call the doctor in the morning.  Without having an active infection that could cause it, and also already having positive axillary lymph nodes, it was unsettling to say the least.  On Wednesday I called, and the oncology team asked to see me on Thursday prior to chemo, to check it out.

Thursday arrived—Valentine’s Day, and my four princes blessed me with love.   First and foremost, John and I were both overwhelmed by our three little men who wrote us a beautifully-written letter expressing their appreciation and love for us  . . . we were both moved to tears.  They had also put their own money together to buy us a Valentine’s Day gift.  It was beyond heartwarming.   I was later greeted to 2 dozen long-stemmed roses to beautifully color my office . . . from all my boys.

The pre-chemo Valentine’s Day blessings continued, as my best Valentine’s Day gift arrived, meeting me at work to be my Dana-Farber date . . . Jean McAdams-Jenkins.  Those of you who know Jean, know that she is that gift that keeps on giving.  As she says, once you’re in her life, you are there to stay.  So true.   Thank God.   Though I would have withdrawals, you could actually go months without seeing Jean, but just as if time stood still . . . as soon as you reunite, it would seem not a day had lapsed.   She is low maintenance with style.  Always there no matter what.  There’s not a day that goes by that Jean isn’t praying for hundreds of people . . . seriously.  The list, though miles long, is never forgotten in her memory.   I have absolute confidence that if there were no one else on the face of the planet praying for me, Jean would be.   Additionally, her life is a living, breathing testimony of God’s miracles—she is a 15-year pancreatic cancer survivor.  That is just one of the many ways her life has been an example of God’s merciful love and grace.

Needless to say, I was blessed beyond measure to have Jean with me on Valentine’s Day.  You always know you’re in for lots of laughing intertwined with many more moments of wisdom and thoughtful reflection when you’re with her.

I was seen by the oncology team regarding the enlarged lymph node.  Though there is a possibility that the node is in fact cancer-related, there is also a possibility (my hopeful one) that this could be a Nicole-variable.  A lymph node that may just be part of me.   They are thrilled by what they are seeing with regard to chemo-shrinkage in the breast and other nodes . . . and are hopeful, that if this were cancer-related, it too will suffer the consequences of the juice.   Time will tell.  In the meantime, they are keeping it under close weekly watch and have measured it for comparative purposes.

I think of the Dad in The Lovely Bones, assuring Susie of the Penguin’s nice life in the snow globe . . . trapped in his perfect world.  Though I feel Susie’s worry in the face of isolation and loneliness—having no control over the circumstances swirling all around me, the dad’s right.  In the midst of the inverted globe, life’s disasters and worries stirring about, the penguin remains immoveable— in a sense trapped in a perfect world.

There is nothing more meaningful and real than knowing earnestly your life is in the Lord’s hands.  I love the verse in John:  “I am the vine; you are the branches.  If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.  If you do not remain in me, you are like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned.  If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you . . .” (John 15:5-7)   It’s not that we make a wish and get what we wish for . . . instead it’s all about the steadfast dependence on Him.  As long as we remain in Him and His words remain in us, our desires will align with His will, and our prayers will reflect that.

It is in my best interest to embrace my scene in this snow globe.  I am safe there.  He will allow the snow to swirl around me, yet I can remain safe in His presence . . .  unharmed, immoveable.  It is a perfect place to be.

I can truly do nothing apart from Him.  Even when shaken, I hope to remain steadfast . . . abiding in the one and only true Vine.

Thank you all for being vessels of encouragement and support.  Please continue to pray.  I feel them.

Loads of love from the globe.

Bottled Up Air

by Seaglass4Nicole, posted in Beachcombing My Way through Breast Cancer, Raising Princes in a Pauper Society, Uncategorized

Bottle

(written on 1/2/13 originally on my CaringBridge page)

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. 

~Hebrews 11:1

2013.  A new year, a new journey.  If I was in control of this ride, I’m quite certain my GPS would not have chosen this route…there would have been a definite “Detour” notification.   But, the good news is, I’m not in control.  It’s hard to admit that, but reality check:  I can do nothing in my own strength anyway, so I’d rather not be in the driver’s seat.

I must say, it was wonderful to wake up this morning and get back to my “normal” daily routine—packing lunches, checking backpacks, and hitting the road for school and work.  All morning, I tried to block the mental anxiety of waiting on results from pathology.  I think I anticipated that first thing in the morning I’d get the call and be able to move on with the next step (a somewhat narcissistic notion that I’m the only patient on my island of disbelief).  The morning, however, came and went with no news.   Finally, I got the call from one of the oncologists . . . results in.

Ahhhh, the news we were all hoping for:  Estrogen and Progesterone +, Her2 -.  In non-scientific terms, the best case scenario for treatment all around!   Let’s face it, I never envisioned a day would come when I would find myself giddy over cancer cell composition, but that is my new reality . . . and I’ll take any giddiness I can get my hands on.

In addition to results, I learned that the rate of growth on my tumor was at the highest end, a grade 3…3 being the most rapidly growing type of cancer.

Stage III.

Time for treatment.  Let’s get ‘er done!

My oncologist informed me that finally, with all the facts on the table, I was eligible to participate in a clinical trial for my “type” of breast cancer.  This would be in addition to standard chemotherapy, which will start next week, once a week for 20 weeks.  Basically, DFCI will be home away from home for a while.  This clinical trial works in synergy with the chemo, an antibody used to attack a certain protein found in tumors.  The side effects aren’t too bad and it would be done in conjunction with Taxol, a lovely member of the chemo cocktails.  A couple of cons with the trial . . . only 2/3 of eligible participants actually receive the drug.  If you are not picked, you still must complete 2 additional core needle biopsies.  One done the first day of chemo, the second, two weeks later.  Though it sounds like an additional burden if you’re not receiving the drug … it’s going toward cancer research, and by golly, I’m taken one for the team if it may help find new answers to this nasty mystery.  Tomorrow I will meet with my oncologist and NP to finalize the paperwork for the trial and I can get more details on the chemo regimen.  Please pray I’m one of the chosen ones for the trial.

The award-winning moment of our New Year’s “celebration” came when Logan—my 8-year old, Naturalist (his dream profession) was walking around with a container tightly sealed in his hands.  When we asked what he was doing, he said “I’m trying to preserve the air from 2012.  I’m trapping it, because once it’s open, it’s forever gone.”  We laughed at his intriguing thought process … and for a moment I felt like that trapped air, desperate to escape the bottle.  I pray soon that I will exhale this incomprehensible “breath” I have been holding.

One day at a time.