A BUTTERFLY'S LESSON
One day, a small opening appeared in a cocoon; a man sat and watched for the butterfly for several hours as it struggled to force its body through that little hole.
Then, it seems to stop making any progress.
It appeared as if it had gotten as far as it could and it could not go any further.
So the man decided to help the butterfly: he took a pair of scissors and opened the cocoon. The butterfly then emerged easily. But it had a withered body, it was tiny and shriveled wings.
The man continued to watch because he expected that, at any moment, the wings would open, enlarge and expand, to be able to support the butterfly's body, and become firm.
Neither happened!
In fact, the butterfly spent the rest of its life crawling around with a withered body and shriveled wings. It never was able to fly.
What the man, in his kindness and his goodwill did not understand was that the restricting cocoon and the struggle required for the butterfly to get through the tiny opening, were nature's way of forcing fluid from the body of the butterfly into its wings, so that it would be ready for flight once it achieved its freedom from the cocoon.
Sometimes, struggles are exactly what we need in our life.
If we were allowed to go through our life without any obstacles, it would cripple us. We would not be as strong as we could have been. Never been able to fly.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Sunday, September 04, 2011
Birthday greetings
This was my morning greeting from Paige.
Once a year we celebrate
the fact that you were able to make
another trip around the sun....
Happy Birthday....Mater
Your work here isn't done
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!!! :d Most funny birthday song ever! :D By The Arrogant Worms!
www.youtube.com
Once a year we celebrate
the fact that you were able to make
another trip around the sun....
Happy Birthday....Mater
Your work here isn't done
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!!! :d Most funny birthday song ever! :D By The Arrogant Worms!
www.youtube.com
Friday, August 19, 2011
Days of Cinnamon and Ginger
Days of Cinnamon and Ginger
Kendall has left for Arkansas where her friend is throwing herself a birthday party. Paige will be in early tomorrow. I’ve made the trip out to the CCI to have my “sunburned” (radiation burned) back salved and bandaged. I caught a chemo nurse once and a nurse at radiation once. Tomorrow is Saturday so, if Paige doesn’t show up early, I’ll be visiting the vet’s office. The reception crew has volunteered for back duty -- “Anytime after 7:30,” they said. Isn’t this fun!
Actually, this is much more fun than the past 3 weeks have been. For three weeks, I’ve fought nausea. Everyone, cheerfully and enthusiastically, offered advice. This would have been helpful (I hope) if this episode had been a usual side effect. It wasn’t.
I was not lying around, or walking around, feeling nauseous and did not need the compazine to settle my stomach. My problem had more to do with swallowing but it was not the swallowing problem the community was ready to treat. Everyone wanted to break out that expensive bottle of medicine the doctor had prescribed. Yes, the “sunburned” esophagus was a problem but only because it made swallowing past the bubble much more painful. Ever try to swallow past a bubble? That’s how I felt during most of the past 3 weeks. Ugh!
Everyone was afraid I’d get dehydrated and, because I wasn’t eating properly, would lose weight. Because I have a really bad gag response (to which my dentist will attest), I was having problems with everything. I tried the thoroughly chilled Ensure and the ersatz Ensure but that tasted awful and, if I could swallow it, would not stay down. Vanilla milkshakes were soothing and really cool and could be sipped through a straw for an hour or so. Chicken soup seemed to be the best substitute for food. I call it a substitute because I was spooning up oriental noodles in chicken broth, not the sort of soup I’d have usually called chicken soup.
Hard cinnamon candies and ginger chews helped get me through the first 10 days. As directed, I took compazine before I went for radiation and then popped a ginger chew to suck on to keep my stomach in some state of equilibrium. Fortunately, I had only 4 days of radiation during this time. Finally, I had to have something that my system identified as food. Chicken doesn’t do it for me so Kendall and I bought cube steaks which she smothered in a ginger broth. Ah, ginger broth. Wonderful stuff. As I began to gain some strength, my brain began to work again and I realized that the pressure I was feeling, the pressure which was contributing to the stomach and esophagus problems, was my own fault. During those days of diagnosis, I was told I had diverticulitis. Somehow, during the weeks of treatment, I’d forgotten to baby my condition. Now, I can’t say whether I had a side effect of treatment or of non-treatment. I do know I feel better and am eating. And, do I have plans for this weekend!
Kendall has left for Arkansas where her friend is throwing herself a birthday party. Paige will be in early tomorrow. I’ve made the trip out to the CCI to have my “sunburned” (radiation burned) back salved and bandaged. I caught a chemo nurse once and a nurse at radiation once. Tomorrow is Saturday so, if Paige doesn’t show up early, I’ll be visiting the vet’s office. The reception crew has volunteered for back duty -- “Anytime after 7:30,” they said. Isn’t this fun!
Actually, this is much more fun than the past 3 weeks have been. For three weeks, I’ve fought nausea. Everyone, cheerfully and enthusiastically, offered advice. This would have been helpful (I hope) if this episode had been a usual side effect. It wasn’t.
I was not lying around, or walking around, feeling nauseous and did not need the compazine to settle my stomach. My problem had more to do with swallowing but it was not the swallowing problem the community was ready to treat. Everyone wanted to break out that expensive bottle of medicine the doctor had prescribed. Yes, the “sunburned” esophagus was a problem but only because it made swallowing past the bubble much more painful. Ever try to swallow past a bubble? That’s how I felt during most of the past 3 weeks. Ugh!
Everyone was afraid I’d get dehydrated and, because I wasn’t eating properly, would lose weight. Because I have a really bad gag response (to which my dentist will attest), I was having problems with everything. I tried the thoroughly chilled Ensure and the ersatz Ensure but that tasted awful and, if I could swallow it, would not stay down. Vanilla milkshakes were soothing and really cool and could be sipped through a straw for an hour or so. Chicken soup seemed to be the best substitute for food. I call it a substitute because I was spooning up oriental noodles in chicken broth, not the sort of soup I’d have usually called chicken soup.
Hard cinnamon candies and ginger chews helped get me through the first 10 days. As directed, I took compazine before I went for radiation and then popped a ginger chew to suck on to keep my stomach in some state of equilibrium. Fortunately, I had only 4 days of radiation during this time. Finally, I had to have something that my system identified as food. Chicken doesn’t do it for me so Kendall and I bought cube steaks which she smothered in a ginger broth. Ah, ginger broth. Wonderful stuff. As I began to gain some strength, my brain began to work again and I realized that the pressure I was feeling, the pressure which was contributing to the stomach and esophagus problems, was my own fault. During those days of diagnosis, I was told I had diverticulitis. Somehow, during the weeks of treatment, I’d forgotten to baby my condition. Now, I can’t say whether I had a side effect of treatment or of non-treatment. I do know I feel better and am eating. And, do I have plans for this weekend!
Friday, August 12, 2011
A word from Honey Badger –
A word from Honey Badger –
12 August
Another big day with that weekly round of radiation AND chemo. Nurses, suddenly, more forthcoming with information. Learned, today, that the doctors will make the final call on the efficacy of treatment 6 to 8 weeks after last treatment. Last treatment scheduled for the 18th. More loopy-evoking behavior ahead when we begin new diagnostic tests. Whee!
Yesterday, talked to nurses, then doctor about undissolved stitches at port site because of the pus I found under one of them. Oncology nurse made hospital appointment for me today so we trooped over to the hospital to see the doctor. If we'd been at home or in our childhood frame of mind, the doctor and I would have whipped out the tweezers and the Watkins salve but the doctor, wearing his scrubs and standing in the midst of a hospital, weakened. We'll go the “professional” route tomorrow to have at the stitches.
Tired. Heading for a second nap. Honey Badger don't care.
Kendall may be catching up on her sleep. She goes to bed much earlier and, yesterday, she slept on loungers in the chemo room. She was sound asleep next to me when I headed over for radiation and, when I notified the nurses that I was back, they said I’d lost my chair. “Someone is sleeping in your chair,” the Snow White look-alike told me in her very best Three Bears voice. I looked. It was Kendall. While I was gone, she had wakened and decided to warm up my chair. Good call. That room is so cold. And, yesterday, Honey Badger cared.
12 August
Another big day with that weekly round of radiation AND chemo. Nurses, suddenly, more forthcoming with information. Learned, today, that the doctors will make the final call on the efficacy of treatment 6 to 8 weeks after last treatment. Last treatment scheduled for the 18th. More loopy-evoking behavior ahead when we begin new diagnostic tests. Whee!
Yesterday, talked to nurses, then doctor about undissolved stitches at port site because of the pus I found under one of them. Oncology nurse made hospital appointment for me today so we trooped over to the hospital to see the doctor. If we'd been at home or in our childhood frame of mind, the doctor and I would have whipped out the tweezers and the Watkins salve but the doctor, wearing his scrubs and standing in the midst of a hospital, weakened. We'll go the “professional” route tomorrow to have at the stitches.
Tired. Heading for a second nap. Honey Badger don't care.
Kendall may be catching up on her sleep. She goes to bed much earlier and, yesterday, she slept on loungers in the chemo room. She was sound asleep next to me when I headed over for radiation and, when I notified the nurses that I was back, they said I’d lost my chair. “Someone is sleeping in your chair,” the Snow White look-alike told me in her very best Three Bears voice. I looked. It was Kendall. While I was gone, she had wakened and decided to warm up my chair. Good call. That room is so cold. And, yesterday, Honey Badger cared.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Paige names mater Honey Badger
Paige has decided her mother is a Honey Badger.
Honey Badger The Most BAD ASS Animal on the planet!!!! Give it the thumbs up!!!!!
www.youtube.com
Honey Badger glides through his habitat jauntily, jerkily, a display of the broad shoulders and loose skin, ignoring all but his focus on food. A snake that crosses his path is a grand snack. Birds and jackals stand by for leftovers and sweep in to recover any tasty morsels. Honey Badger don’t care. He’s off to another course. That larva in the “bee house” is a delicacy so, with his long claws, he digs out the “bee house,” ignoring the thousand stings. Encountering a King Cobra, a good fighter, Honey Badger wins out only after being bitten many times. Venom seeping through his body, Honey Badger collapses, rolls onto his back and takes a nap. When he awakens, he returns to his meal. Honey Badger don’t care. He just don’t care.
When Paige read about the Honey Badger, she connected the story to all those bags, large and small, she’d seen when she and Sue came for my chemo treatment. “Toxic,” they’re labeled but the Mater Honey Badger just takes long naps to sleep it off. The mater has been very fortunate to have been a Honey Badger this season. Very fortunate.
Up from my long nap, I'm feeling quite good and have no problems other than the radiation rash on my back. This, I can't reach to treat. Mater Honey Badger needs her Kendall.
Friday, August 05, 2011
Rising Effervescence
I learned something eye opening today. Yesterday was doctor day.
Dr. Guaglianone was pleased to announce that all the scores on my blood test were good and that, when he listened to my chest, my lungs were clear.
Dr. Yoon said much the same thing he has said, week after week, but it was somehow different yesterday. The young, serious Dr. Yoon’s attitude has been rather upbeat since my third treatment. Yesterday, he seemed to bubble – not the big, floating bubbles but the sort that form and then rise on the side of the glass of carbonated drinks.
Kendall and I may not have responded to his report in the way he wanted because, twice, he said, “You don’t know. You just don’t know.” Of course, he’s right. We haven’t the information and experience he has. Still, what that meant, we didn’t know.
Today, I mentioned to nurse Janet that Dr. Yoon had seemed very upbeat yesterday and that I had, since, wondered if he’s like that with everyone. I’d listened to him speak to patients while I was waiting for the second blood pressure reading and had decided that he seems to maintain the very serious manner he’d had on our first meeting. Janet told me that he was, surely, that excited and went on to explain that, as I was on the most aggressive program of chemotherapy and radiation and had no problems, I was just doing that well.
I didn’t know (Kendall didn’t either) that I was on their most aggressive track. What we knew was that Dr. had reported improvement immediately after my third radiation treatment.
Now that I think about it, I should have had a better clue. When the case management nurse from my insurance company talked about following my case and making sure the doctors knew which drugs and treatments were on or off the company’s list, she mentioned hospitalization and home helpers. As I was in the midst of stressful diagnostic testing, I hadn’t paid enough attention. I just wanted to get off the phone and take a nap. I’d worry about the rest when forced to the point. Meanwhile, I just wanted to survive the day so I could return to testing the next day.
It’s clear to me that I did things in the order needed. First, prayer requests and, then, everything else – explanations, for instance.
I think Dr. Yoon was pleased to check my back and find the rash he’s been predicting from the first. I rewarded with a handful of creams to use and with a nice coupon. I think he feels better when he can show his care mode. I’ve needed little of such but we do know that he is trying hard to keep abreast of everything.
Dr. Guaglianone was pleased to announce that all the scores on my blood test were good and that, when he listened to my chest, my lungs were clear.
Dr. Yoon said much the same thing he has said, week after week, but it was somehow different yesterday. The young, serious Dr. Yoon’s attitude has been rather upbeat since my third treatment. Yesterday, he seemed to bubble – not the big, floating bubbles but the sort that form and then rise on the side of the glass of carbonated drinks.
Kendall and I may not have responded to his report in the way he wanted because, twice, he said, “You don’t know. You just don’t know.” Of course, he’s right. We haven’t the information and experience he has. Still, what that meant, we didn’t know.
Today, I mentioned to nurse Janet that Dr. Yoon had seemed very upbeat yesterday and that I had, since, wondered if he’s like that with everyone. I’d listened to him speak to patients while I was waiting for the second blood pressure reading and had decided that he seems to maintain the very serious manner he’d had on our first meeting. Janet told me that he was, surely, that excited and went on to explain that, as I was on the most aggressive program of chemotherapy and radiation and had no problems, I was just doing that well.
I didn’t know (Kendall didn’t either) that I was on their most aggressive track. What we knew was that Dr. had reported improvement immediately after my third radiation treatment.
Now that I think about it, I should have had a better clue. When the case management nurse from my insurance company talked about following my case and making sure the doctors knew which drugs and treatments were on or off the company’s list, she mentioned hospitalization and home helpers. As I was in the midst of stressful diagnostic testing, I hadn’t paid enough attention. I just wanted to get off the phone and take a nap. I’d worry about the rest when forced to the point. Meanwhile, I just wanted to survive the day so I could return to testing the next day.
It’s clear to me that I did things in the order needed. First, prayer requests and, then, everything else – explanations, for instance.
I think Dr. Yoon was pleased to check my back and find the rash he’s been predicting from the first. I rewarded with a handful of creams to use and with a nice coupon. I think he feels better when he can show his care mode. I’ve needed little of such but we do know that he is trying hard to keep abreast of everything.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Nuclear/Chemical War -- Loop restart
Nuclear/Chemical War -- Loop restart
I'm so sorry. I guess I forgot to keep a lot of people in the loop. I’ve heard this from 3 already. The first message was more an alert to key people and a request for prayer than an attempt to inform. “A large group of medical professionals has declared nuclear and chemical warfare against a terrorist invasion of my body. Please add this team, the girls and me to your prayer lists.”
Part of my excuse is that, during all those days and weeks of diagnostic testing, I was mostly loopy. Chemicals! Sometimes, it was the “dyes” but those “relaxers” stayed in my system for days, too. It seemed that, as I had nearly recovered from the loopiness of the most recent procedure, I was headed for another test. For weeks, I was dependent on Kendall, whom I called “my brain,” to keep track of everything the doctors, nurses and techs thought they were telling me.
The tests were very thorough. Diverticulitis diagnosed twice. On the second needle biopsy, they found that tumor they were convinced was lurking. The first biopsy had produced only dead cells. The PET scan was interesting only in that no one found anything -- not so with the brain scan. Of course, Kendall and I had told them we did not want to hear a “Nothing there” report about my brain. The bone scan looked good, the breathing test was a breeze. Being a Platt, I should have asked for a hearing test.
Now that I’ve gotten past the testing stage and can understand most of what I’m told and don’t need a wheelchair on exit, people expect me to know more and tell more. The problem for me is that I feel as if the reports I’m getting are mid-race reports and all I can say is, “The doctor is very encouraging about the pace of the race.”
The tumor is in the left lung and I'm getting nothing but glowing reports from the Radiologist. I asked him why, and on what he based, all this glow. One thing he said made sense. "People like to have the encouragement," he told me. The other thing he said that I understood was that he reads the daily x-rays. Everyone is a little puzzled that I'm not following the regular road. No side effects. I'll bet they're glad to see my hair go and know I'm not completely ignoring their list of side effects. I have tried to post a sign up sheet for side effects but I’m thought to be silly. I know not why so many feel that way. I remember having side effects for a friend some years ago.
Treatment has, now, fallen into a pattern, I can say I get radiation 5 days a week and chemotherapy one day a week. The first time I saw the oncologist, he set me up for a multiple dose of chemo and tried to warn me of side effects. Hair loss is the only symptom we’ve seen. My visit with the radiologist scheduled “markups” – the application of “permanent” Mr. Sharpy guidance marks, which, in turn, apply themselves to any clothing worn next to the skin. I spent a pile on shirts at the Salvation Army. Dark shirts don’t show the ink stains.
As to the pattern - - - Monday through Friday, I go to radiation therapy at 10 A.M. Since the 4th day, I’ve been reporting early for a pre-treatment shot, which is supposed to help with a predicted swallowing problem. This shot has alleviated a problem I’d been having the first 3 days but mine is a side effect the radiologists seem never to have encountered. Oh, well. This is not new to me. I took thyroid supplements for years because it controlled other problems.
I spend Thursday at the Cancer Care Center, treading the boards. I begin the day with a blood test which, because I've had a Port installed, I get in the chemo treatment room. Then, I get hooked up to chemo. When I'm in process, the chemo chicks call the nuclear crew who comes for me and rolls me over to radiation. After the Thursday radiation treatment, I see Dr. Yoon (Radiologist) and got back to chemo room to wait for the oncologist's crew to come and get me for my visit with him. All in all, this will save me lots of time because I can be in process rather than in waiting.
These days, I get more naps. Mondays are notoriously lazy days. I’m not sure why that’s true. The rest of life is quite normal. Expectations have not changed. People call to request that I “befriend” needy people without regard to my health problems and time constraints. Of course, I continue to critique the world as encountered and, last week, reported a phlebotomist who behaves as a mechanic. Even mechanics pay more attention and have more comments for the task before them. I suggested that she should be restrained or retrained. As we waited for the oncologist in the exam room, a woman appeared to ask about my complaint and went, immediately, to track and replace her staff member. Sullen staff are not allowed in the Cancer Care Center. And, isn’t that nice!
This Thursday was lots of fun. Paige came to town to oversee (or acquaint herself with) my routine. At the same time, her best friend was in from New York for the family 5-K birthday run with Dad. My new rule is “Never leave for an all-day hospital visit without planning a party.” Sherpas, Kendall and Paige, brought games and kept me on the trail. At the appropriate time, Sue brought lunch – a real spread. After lunch, I had a relaxing hand massage (Paige) and a manicure, courtesy of Sue. All this is much more fun than the knitting I drag with me. Lord Bless the girls.
I guess next week has possibilities, too. A woman we all met has planned to "save seats" so that we can chat -- and we ARE chatty. This could be a great thing. Finally, someone with whom I can stand as an equal. No counseling expected or needed.
I'm so sorry. I guess I forgot to keep a lot of people in the loop. I’ve heard this from 3 already. The first message was more an alert to key people and a request for prayer than an attempt to inform. “A large group of medical professionals has declared nuclear and chemical warfare against a terrorist invasion of my body. Please add this team, the girls and me to your prayer lists.”
Part of my excuse is that, during all those days and weeks of diagnostic testing, I was mostly loopy. Chemicals! Sometimes, it was the “dyes” but those “relaxers” stayed in my system for days, too. It seemed that, as I had nearly recovered from the loopiness of the most recent procedure, I was headed for another test. For weeks, I was dependent on Kendall, whom I called “my brain,” to keep track of everything the doctors, nurses and techs thought they were telling me.
The tests were very thorough. Diverticulitis diagnosed twice. On the second needle biopsy, they found that tumor they were convinced was lurking. The first biopsy had produced only dead cells. The PET scan was interesting only in that no one found anything -- not so with the brain scan. Of course, Kendall and I had told them we did not want to hear a “Nothing there” report about my brain. The bone scan looked good, the breathing test was a breeze. Being a Platt, I should have asked for a hearing test.
Now that I’ve gotten past the testing stage and can understand most of what I’m told and don’t need a wheelchair on exit, people expect me to know more and tell more. The problem for me is that I feel as if the reports I’m getting are mid-race reports and all I can say is, “The doctor is very encouraging about the pace of the race.”
The tumor is in the left lung and I'm getting nothing but glowing reports from the Radiologist. I asked him why, and on what he based, all this glow. One thing he said made sense. "People like to have the encouragement," he told me. The other thing he said that I understood was that he reads the daily x-rays. Everyone is a little puzzled that I'm not following the regular road. No side effects. I'll bet they're glad to see my hair go and know I'm not completely ignoring their list of side effects. I have tried to post a sign up sheet for side effects but I’m thought to be silly. I know not why so many feel that way. I remember having side effects for a friend some years ago.
Treatment has, now, fallen into a pattern, I can say I get radiation 5 days a week and chemotherapy one day a week. The first time I saw the oncologist, he set me up for a multiple dose of chemo and tried to warn me of side effects. Hair loss is the only symptom we’ve seen. My visit with the radiologist scheduled “markups” – the application of “permanent” Mr. Sharpy guidance marks, which, in turn, apply themselves to any clothing worn next to the skin. I spent a pile on shirts at the Salvation Army. Dark shirts don’t show the ink stains.
As to the pattern - - - Monday through Friday, I go to radiation therapy at 10 A.M. Since the 4th day, I’ve been reporting early for a pre-treatment shot, which is supposed to help with a predicted swallowing problem. This shot has alleviated a problem I’d been having the first 3 days but mine is a side effect the radiologists seem never to have encountered. Oh, well. This is not new to me. I took thyroid supplements for years because it controlled other problems.
I spend Thursday at the Cancer Care Center, treading the boards. I begin the day with a blood test which, because I've had a Port installed, I get in the chemo treatment room. Then, I get hooked up to chemo. When I'm in process, the chemo chicks call the nuclear crew who comes for me and rolls me over to radiation. After the Thursday radiation treatment, I see Dr. Yoon (Radiologist) and got back to chemo room to wait for the oncologist's crew to come and get me for my visit with him. All in all, this will save me lots of time because I can be in process rather than in waiting.
These days, I get more naps. Mondays are notoriously lazy days. I’m not sure why that’s true. The rest of life is quite normal. Expectations have not changed. People call to request that I “befriend” needy people without regard to my health problems and time constraints. Of course, I continue to critique the world as encountered and, last week, reported a phlebotomist who behaves as a mechanic. Even mechanics pay more attention and have more comments for the task before them. I suggested that she should be restrained or retrained. As we waited for the oncologist in the exam room, a woman appeared to ask about my complaint and went, immediately, to track and replace her staff member. Sullen staff are not allowed in the Cancer Care Center. And, isn’t that nice!
This Thursday was lots of fun. Paige came to town to oversee (or acquaint herself with) my routine. At the same time, her best friend was in from New York for the family 5-K birthday run with Dad. My new rule is “Never leave for an all-day hospital visit without planning a party.” Sherpas, Kendall and Paige, brought games and kept me on the trail. At the appropriate time, Sue brought lunch – a real spread. After lunch, I had a relaxing hand massage (Paige) and a manicure, courtesy of Sue. All this is much more fun than the knitting I drag with me. Lord Bless the girls.
I guess next week has possibilities, too. A woman we all met has planned to "save seats" so that we can chat -- and we ARE chatty. This could be a great thing. Finally, someone with whom I can stand as an equal. No counseling expected or needed.
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