tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34549796375642172102024-03-20T02:10:10.796-07:00Amy's Recovery BlogAmy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.comBlogger61125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-27322310001169035572014-01-28T19:18:00.001-08:002014-01-28T19:26:00.722-08:00Not a Farewell MessageAmy Bradwell died on January 12, 2014. She died at home, in her sleep. I do not think she was in any pain. True to her word, she never posted a farewell message on this blog. I thought I should let the readers of the blog know that she had passed. I also wanted to say a few words about Amy. If you have been reading this blog, you probably already have some idea what kind of person she was, but there are a few things I thought readers might like to hear from me, her husband.<br />
<br />
My dad once said of Amy that she was "the nicest person you could ever meet." That's true, but it doesn't tell you much. Lots of people are "nice." What made Amy special? One time, when we were talking about the Old Testament, I said something about what a great job the stories in Genesis, like Cain and Abel, do in analyzing the human failing of resentment. By resentment, I mean the thing that makes us feel a little unhappy when good things happen to other people (even our friends or family) but not to us. Amy at first said she never felt that way. I kept pestering her, though, and she finally confessed to a couple of incidents that happened years ago, when she was in school. They were so trivial that I almost laughed. I thought she was kidding me. Over the years, however, I have realized that she was telling the truth. She was more free from resentment than anyone I ever met. She was genuinely happy when good things happened to people she knew and was always satisfied with what God had given her. The amazing thing is that this was so even after she became ill.<br />
<br />
She was always finding little, unexpected ways of showing she cared about you. During the last couple of months, when she was uncomfortable in bed, I would ask her how I could help her, and she would always say, "RAISE me up," in a funny, sing-song way. Then I would lift her and help her prop herself up on the pillows. I never thought much about it until her funeral service, when the music director sang "You Raise Me Up." This was never, as far as I know, one of Amy's favorite songs, and I don't remember hearing it before at our church. Whenever a contestant on American Idol performed the song, Amy would say that it was a bad choice because the song was done too much. In the last few weeks before she died, however, she told her mother (but not me) that she wanted this song sung at her service. I think she may have intended it as an Easter egg hidden for me to find. But the truth is that I was only lifting her, while she was raising me up.<br />
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Not long after we were married, we were at a party where a lady that I barely knew and who had just met Amy, came up to me and said, "You know, you're the luckiest man in this room." I'm sure I rolled my eyes at the exaggeration. But I was a lucky man, and I was still a lucky man even after Amy was diagnosed. The last four years of her life were, in some ways, the best years of mine. I found that when I was with her and doing what I was supposed to be doing as her husband, I wasn't scared, or depressed, or lonely, or even unhappy. I don't know that I've ever been much happier. I'm sure I've never been a better person.<br />
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Amy did not want her funeral service to be a sad affair; in a statement she wrote to be read during the service, she said that she wanted us to remember the laughter and fun. So I'm going to close with a couple of funny things that Amy probably wouldn't mind me letting you know: She couldn't dance a lick, but she could tell you the make and model of every car on the road. She was very tender-hearted about animals and donated regularly to several animal-related charities. However, she always threw out the literature they sent her requesting donations. It contained sad stories about animals that had been mistreated, and she just refused to read it. She had a nightly ritual where she had to watch something like two hours of Friends before she went to bed. Though she had seen every episode hundreds of times, she was still fit to be tied if even one of the four half-hour episodes was pre-empted. Whenever I told her I loved her, she would say, "How much?" "A lot" was usually not a good answer. What she wanted to hear was "So much!", which is what she always said to me.<br />
<br />
When she got bad news about cancer or was just pissed off about something (but never about somebody), she would send you a text message saying, "Motherf***er!" When someone else was upset, she would always say, "It will be ALL right," in her sing-song way, and it never failed to make you feel as if things really would be all right.<br />
<br />
I find myself using both of those expressions a lot lately. I miss her. So much.<br />
<br />
John Bradwell<br />
Amy's husbandAmy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-18952515737724266872013-11-02T15:13:00.000-07:002013-11-02T15:13:30.833-07:00More Trouble But a Good Learning Experience
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For the past few weeks, I’ve been battling what I thought was
a minor chest cold. I had no fever, no weakness, or any other drama. So I let
my onco know about it and self-medicated. As time went by, I lost my voice,
couldn’t walk anywhere without getting winded, and struggled to keep an
appetite and drink plenty of water. During the last two weeks of October, I was
calling my doc to get some prescription meds – cough syrup with codeine,
antibiotics, and a rescue inhaler. He gave me the drugs, but also ordered a
chest x-ray. The x-ray showed some congestion and fluid, but nothing alarming.
He also delayed my chemo since I was feeling weak. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">By Wednesday 10/30, I could barely get my breath. My onco
was filling in at another onco office, so the nurse practitioner ordered
another chest x-ray. This showed a significant amount of fluid on my chest. In
addition to that, since I was struggling with my appetite and wasn’t eating
much, my hemoglobin had fallen to 6.5. The NP scheduled a procedure in
radiology which the docs would find the most dense source of fluid in my chest
by using an ultrasound on my back. Then they would insert a straw-like tool and
withdraw the fluid. In the meantime I went to the cancer center to get two
units of blood. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have to say that this was the scariest day of my life,
even more scary than when I found out I had cancer, and it had spread. I’ve
never had breathing issues before. I’ve had about 5 chest colds in my life,
usually cured by over the counter meds. This is the first time in my life that
I was struggling, literally fighting to get a breath of air. The fluid
withdrawing procedure could not be done until Thursday the 31<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">st</span></sup> because
the radiology team was so backed up doing the same procedure for so many other
people. To make me more comfortable, the nurse practitioner set me up with a
local medical supplier so I could have oxygen at home. As I sat at home,
watching the supplier bring in tanks, tubing, and a big central unit for our
living room, I got tears in my eyes. I was afraid to cry because I just didn’t
have the wind for a good cry. I looked up at John and said, “Well this is it…I’ve
seen it a hundred times, home health comes in to deliver supplies, the patient
goes on oxygen, gets weaker and weaker and just dies. I’m going to die this
time…” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>John held my hand and told me to try
to hang on. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next day, my sister Cat came over to help me get ready
and take me to my procedure. I was so scared because what if it
hurt, or what if it didn’t work? What if there was some other freaky
complication? Thankfully, the procedure went perfectly. It wasn’t painful, just
a little uncomfortable. It only took about a half hour. They removed 1.5 liters
of fluid from my chest. It was in between my chest wall and right lung,
completely compressing the lung. I coughed as the lung re-inflated itself, but
thank God there were no tears or other damage. My relief was so immediate that
I didn’t need my oxygen as we left the hospital. I was in my wheelchair, but it
was nice to breathe on my own. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is another interesting chapter in my battle. I had just
told someone at work a few months ago that even though I had some spots on my
lungs, at least I wasn’t having trouble breathing. Well, now I know how it
feels, and what to expect if I need to have fluid removed again. Plus, it adds
to my testimony even more. Knowing exactly how it feels to struggle for air
will help me support other people that struggle. Cancer, chemo, and other
treatment isn’t supposed to be easy, and I went a long time without experiencing
much pain (other than my leg) and side effects. Having these other
complications makes me feel even more thankful to be here. One day at a time,
sometimes one hour at a time is the only way to live.</span></div>
Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-47277724186913351982013-10-09T17:21:00.000-07:002013-10-09T17:21:12.999-07:00Super Duper Extra Bad News<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm not sure how many times I can title these blog entries "Bad News" "More Bad News" and so on. So, since I'm worse than ever before, I'm titling this one appropriately. Last Thursday, my onco went over my scan results with me, and once again, the disease is spreading. My liver and lungs are worse, I have some lymph nodes involved in my abdominal area, I have a little fluid around my heart, and my liver is slightly enlarged. Oh, and my hemoglobin fell to 7.5. So right after our appointment, I went to the cancer center for two units of blood, and to start a new chemo drug (Halaven). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yes, I'm definitely upset and scared. But it's kinda weird because I've felt pretty calm this week, overall. I'm in some pain, but not as much as I thought I would be, considering how much disease I have in my body. I had an explosive cry Thursday when I got home safely and had the house to myself. I took Friday off from work because I just wasn't ready to face anyone or talk about it yet. The chemo made me feel nauseated the day after treatment, but by the weekend, I was craving good food again. The two pints of blood also put some pep in my step. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So here's how it's going to go. I had one treatment last week, I get one tomorrow, and I will have next week off, then start all over. I still do not plan on giving up, period. God is in control and His plan and timing are perfect. His plan may be to bring me home to be with Him and my loved ones may never understand why. Then again, he may take me all the way to edge, and then pull me back. I'm going to keep praying for peace, comfort, and miracles. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To anyone who is reading, this is extremely important. You will never see a "farewell" message from me on the blog. I will fight until I take my last breath. If I die, don't ever say that I "lost" my battle with breast cancer, and don't let anyone else say it. I win, no matter what. If I live, I get to see my niece and nephew grow up and I'll do whatever God wants me to do, wherever He wants me to do it. If I die, I will be in my Heavenly home, at peace with no pain and no cane! Just keep on praying. </span>Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-6065443201395473682013-09-05T18:39:00.001-07:002013-09-05T18:39:36.043-07:00Hair!!
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My husband is enjoying the iPod Touch I got him for his
birthday several months ago, and I can always tell when he’s downloading music.
It’s usually pretty loud in the office bedroom, and I always get cracked up
listening to him sing along to all of the music. A few weeks ago, he was
downloading stuff from the Hair soundtrack and it made me think of hair in
general. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My hair hasn’t been longer than a few inches in almost four
years. Overall, I really don’t mind, because I can wash my wig at night, then
put it on in the morning, run a comb through it, and be good to go in about a
minute or less. My current wig has gotten a lot of compliments and I appreciate
that. It makes me feel good to look somewhat normal, despite everything that’s
going on. I still have hang-ups about it though. Last year, they took new photo
ID pictures at work and I wouldn’t let them take my picture. The picture on my
ID is pre-sick Amy, and I had a fresh from the hairdresser style. I hate having
my picture made anyway, so I don’t really have a lot of pictures of me with
that style and color. So when I miss the old me, I look at that photo ID for a
few seconds and try to remember what it was like to be healthy. I won’t even
change my driver’s license picture. I just renew my license online and keep the
old picture from 2005. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Vanity always finds ways to creep in and make me feel bad
about myself. I’ve never been beautiful, but before I got sick when I put some
effort into it, I could look nice. Now, I have to put a LOT of effort into it,
and I still hobble around like a 95 year old woman. Now the statement I’m
getting ready to write may make people mad, but I don’t mean it in an ugly way.
I don’t ever wish for anyone to be sick or to suffer. But I do believe that
every woman should experience losing her hair at least once. Losing my hair
really changed me. I used to be so obsessed with my cut and color, and I went
every six weeks, no matter what. I spent over a hundred dollars on a CHI flat
iron and special flat iron hairspray so I could spend a half hour every morning
straightening my supposed “frizzy” hair. I bought special shampoos and styling
gels/sprays and kept styling products in my car, desk, and purse, just in case I
needed a touch up. But you know what? With all of that grooming, I rarely got
compliments on my hair. My wig has gotten many more compliments over the past year
than my real hair received during a lifetime.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Please take my word for it. It’s just hair. It will grow
back, no matter what you do to it. Cut it off, shave it off, dye it blue, who
cares? In the grand scheme of things, who gives a shit, right? I'm willing to bet money that some people might not even notice LOL. </span></div>
Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-91780249708929202592013-08-09T17:47:00.003-07:002013-08-09T17:47:54.134-07:00More Bad News
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve been trying to find the right words for this post for a
week, but they aren’t coming to me. So I’m just going to write. Last Thursday
(8/1) I got results from my 7/29 scan. Again, the news is bad. My liver is
worse and now I have a spot on my lung. I knew the news would be bad because I
was supposed to have chemo on Tuesday 7/30 but they called me and told me not
to come. They told me that my onco wanted to talk to me and then I could just
have chemo after that. Well, I’ve gotten phone calls like that before. Once, it
was good news and I got a 3 month chemo break. But the other times, it’s been bad,
“unfortunately…” types of appointments. In addition to that, my blood counts
have suffered over the past few months, particularly my hemoglobin. It got so low
a few weeks ago that I needed two units of blood. My onco mentioned that if my
counts continue to suffer, I may need a bone marrow biopsy. Having so many
chemo drugs for so long could have caused me to develop a type of blood cancer.
</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m not going to sugar coat this. I’m upset and I’m worried.
One good thing is that my doctor is optimistic as always. He even made me laugh
after we discussed the scan results. So while the news was terrible, I left the
office with a smile and ready to start my new chemo drugs (Taxotere and
Carboplatin). My doctor and the nurses at the cancer center say that these two
drugs together really pack a punch, so hopefully, this combo will be the
one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This treatment will be given every
three weeks instead of weekly, so that makes me happy. I’ve only had one
treatment, but so far so good. My main complaint is gas and indigestion, but I
can take over the counter Digel and Zantac, and so far it’s helping. Two days
after treatment, me and John drove up to Blacksburg for my dog’s physical
therapy and I did fine. That’s another thing – our beloved shih tzu Peyton had
a herniated disk and woke up one morning with all four limbs paralyzed, so he
had surgery at Va Tech in Blacksburg, about 100 miles from here. So yes, it’s
been a stressful, scary, awful month not just for my health, but I’ve worried
about my pup too. Peyton is my little shadow so it’s been weird not having him
follow me around. He’s making progress every day though, so I’m hoping he will
be back to his old self soon.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I haven’t had an explosive cry yet. I had a mini cry in the
shower the night that I got the news, but no big blow up yet. Usually the first
thing I do when I get home after terrible news is play Led Zeppelin’s “Whole
Lotta Love” as loud as I can stand it and cry really hard for about a half
hour. I have no idea why I picked “Whole Lotta Love” it just happened once, and
then it became a tradition. I’m sure my neighbors really hate it too because my
closest neighbors are elderly, and I’m willing to bet they don’t like Led Zeppelin.
</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here is a bright spot for this post. The first thing I
thought when I left the onco office Thursday was “hmm, now my chemo will be on
Thursday so I’ll meet all new people and I bet there is a huge blessing coming
my way…” I didn’t think I would experience a blessing on my very first day but I
did! The nurse assigned to me said that the lady in the cube next to me was not
sick, but with a sick friend getting chemo. However, the healthy lady had stage
iv ovarian cancer six years earlier and had been on the same kind of drugs that
I was getting ready to start. Today she is clean! That is pretty amazing,
considering that stage iv ovarian cancer is so mean. Well, the lady came over
and talked to me about it and it was wonderful to hear her prospective and
positive story. In addition to her ovarian cancer struggle, she had a story
about either a relative or close friend (I was high on benedryl so I can’t remember)
that had stage iv breast cancer in her bones, liver, and brain. She is also
clean now. I was blown away that on my very first day of new treatment on a new
day, I met this amazing woman with such uplifting stories. Maybe that’s why I haven’t
had an explosive cry yet. I just can’t feel sorry for myself after receiving a
huge blessing on such a rough day.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m thankful that I’m still able to work and feel pretty
decent. I’m never giving up. I asked my onco if he would ever give up on me and
he promised he wouldn’t. So I pray every day, sometimes many times a day that
God bless my body and bless my doctor. I also ask that God bless the meds as
they go into my body because without God’s blessing, the meds are worthless. I
hope that my next treatment experience is just as good as the first one. I know
God’s plan is perfect and I ask Him every day to lead me in the right
direction. I want to be a better Christian and do God’s work, sick or well.
Maybe right now, I can do better work for Him as a sick person. Maybe there are
still people out there that I’m meant to meet, and the only way to cross paths
with them is being sick. I still pray for total healing though. I still dream
of going to nursing school so I can give back to everyone that has helped me,
but frankly, I believe I need to be healthy for that. Juggling a full time job
and a busy personal life is demanding enough. I don’t think I need to add
school to it until I’m strong again. I believe that I will be strong and
healthy again someday. Only God can heal me, and God is stronger than cancer,
and smarter than science. </span></div>
Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-50927083011394892332013-07-24T18:24:00.000-07:002013-07-24T18:24:33.416-07:00It's Only Breast Cancer
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This post may get a little rough so you have been warned. I
get tired of people assuming that just because breast cancer is common and gets
tons of attention, research and funding, that everything will be okay.
Recently, I’ve even seen posts in social media that focus on more rare cancers,
and some of them have taken jabs at pink or pink ribbons. I can only speak for
myself on this, but after almost 4 years of battling this evil disease, I can
say without a doubt that there is nothing easy about this experience. I could easily
bullet point everything that I’ve been through but it would take up a lot of
space, so I’ll spare the readers. But just because BC has tons of treatment
options (and I’m thankful for that) it doesn’t mean that the options are easy,
or that they will even work. I put on a strong face because frankly, it makes
me feel better to try to be as normal as possible. But under the wig, makeup
and stuffed bras, I’m disabled, not too attractive, and in pain. The barbaric
mastectomy doesn’t end breast cancer when the disease is already metastatic. I
have the disease in my liver and bones and I feel some pain somewhere on my
body (sometimes in several areas) every single day. If science has its way, I will
die. Generally, people with metastatic BC live between 2-3 years, so the fact
that I’m still here is a miracle that I praise God for every day, sometimes
many times a day.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ll be honest. When I was first diagnosed, I
thought that it would be easy. Lots of celebs have had it and did fine. I
figured I would have the mastectomy, get a little chemo, wear a pink baseball
hat for a few months while I got my hair back, and then get on with my life. I
never imagined that I would be sitting here writing this, almost 200 chemo
treatments later, with hair that hasn’t been more than an inch long in three
and a half years, walking with a cane after two hip surgeries… but I said I wasn’t
going to bullet point my woes, so I’ll stop. My previous blog entries have
detailed my challenges so people that are reading know what’s going on. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think that whether you have breast cancer or cancer of the
pinky toe, it’s important to remember that cancer is cancer. It’s all bad and
scary, stage 0 to stage 4. There is really no need to blast one cancer to boost
your spirits about your own battle. We all need to pray that God bless the
doctors and scientists looking for new treatments and a cure. Without God
carrying me through this, I would either be dead or want to be dead. I can’t
survive a single second without Him. I have a lot of weak moments and even
jealous moments, particularly when I see people with horrible attitudes get
completely better while I’m still struggling to keep my head above water. But I
just keep praying, and I will pray about this, so I can let go of the anger,
and replace it with positivity.</span></div>
Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-20443229360603087312013-06-21T06:19:00.000-07:002013-06-28T17:04:23.675-07:00High Anxiety<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I used to make fun of anxiety issues. I’ve always been an
anxious person, even when I was a little kid, but I learned early how to hide
it away and act like stuff didn’t bother me. I always took pride in giving off
the appearance that things roll off my back. But the truth is, not much of
anything rolls off my back. I let stuff bother me and I rarely forget things
that have been said and done, past and present. It’s not that I hold grudges.
It’s more like me beating myself up, wondering, “what could I have done to make
that situation better so it would have worked out differently?” or “what did I
do wrong here?” </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I can’t help but think that a lot of internalizing and
worrying contributed to my illness. After all, “they” say that stress is a huge
contributor to any illness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was
diagnosed, I couldn’t help but wonder what I had done wrong to get this
disease, and why didn’t I find the lump sooner? My general doctor pretty much
said it was dumb luck, and my onco says that I got it because I got it. It’s
just one of those things. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On May 7 I found out that the disease is the worst it’s ever
been, with a lime-sized tumor on my liver, and new bone mets in my spine and
lumbar. My tumor marker soared to 1075. My onco started me on a new drug the
same day (Navelbine) but I still have to wait and see if it’s going to help me.
I get the treatment every week for 3 weeks, then I get a week off. I just
completed my second cycle of it Tuesday (6 treatments total so far). They
checked my tumor marker and I found out Tuesday 6/18 that it’s down to 1027 – the
count was taken from my blood work done right before my 5<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>
treatment on Tuesday 6/11. That’s not much of a decrease, BUT it’s a decrease
and that gives me hope that I’m going in the right direction. Honestly after
only 4 treatments, to see an almost 50 point drop makes me feel pretty good. I
won’t get scanned again until the end of July (I get a CAT scan of the chest,
abdomen and pelvis every three months). My doctor was worried that the small
drop would make me more anxious, but I told him that I would take any piece of
encouragement I could get, not matter how small.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The time between May 7 and now has been tough regarding
anxiety. I’ve prayed a lot for peace, and God has blessed me with comfort and
hope during this time. However, panicky moments creep in. When I think about
the size of the tumor on my liver, it scares me to death. I keep waiting for
the other shoe to drop – am I going to start hurting? Surely a tumor that size
would cause some kind of discomfort. Am I going to wake up one morning and have
yellow skin and nails because my liver is failing? What’s going to happen??
Then there is bone pain to contend with. For a few days, my other leg started
hurting, and all I could think about was the hell I went through with my left
leg, and I wondered if I would have to do it all over again with my right leg
too. It must have been weather related or a just a fluke, because praise God,
it’s not hurting anymore. Sometimes I have a sense that something is “there” on
my right side, where my liver is. It’s not pain, just an awareness that
something is there. But when I press my side, I can’t feel anything. No pain,
no lumps, no bloating, so I can’t help but wonder if that’s my anxiety making
me feel a presence there. I pray every day (sometimes many times a day) that
God protect me from abdominal/side pain and that I can still eat good. I love
to eat, but there are times when my anxiety gets bad, and my mouth and throat dry
up like a desert, making it hard to eat and swallow. There have been days over
the past month when I’ve had to force myself to eat, gagging after every bite,
not because I’m in pain or nauseated, but I’m too anxious to sit still and eat.
I’ve prayed for a growling stomach and some peace so I can eat, and sure
enough, within the hour, my stomach will growl and I’m able to eat a decent
meal. God is always here, carrying me through it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m still determined to beat this if it’s God’s will. I pray
for strength, comfort, and healing every day, many times a day. I don’t want to
be another statistic. So many stage iv metastatic cancer fighters do well for
awhile, and then they get bad again, then worse, and then they die. I lost a
friend a few months ago to this horrible disease and she was only 48. I want
God to lead me wherever he wants me to go, whenever he wants me to go, sick or
well, so I can help other people through this. The one thing I needed so badly
when I was first diagnosed was other stage iv metastatic cancer fighters around
to say, “I’m making it through this and you can too, with God’s help.” I know
one other fighter who has BC with similar metastases, and she’s struggling
pretty badly right now. She’s getting ready to go through some risky treatment,
dangerous enough to require an overnight hospital stay after each chemo. I’m
praying for her every day, sometimes 2-3 times a day. I’m sure she’s really
worried and scared.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My dream is to be healed so I can go to nursing school. I
want to become an RN, specializing in oncology so I can hold the hands of the
sick, and hopefully give them some comfort and hope. I pray that God lead me in
the right direction so I can give back to all of nurses that have helped me. My
doctors have been awesome, but it’s the nurses that do a lot of the “dirty
work” and comforting. Every nurse I’ve had interactions with since I’ve been
sick has been gentle, positive, and kind. That means a lot when you feel scared
and lost. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t laugh off anxiety anymore. It’s real and it’s scary.
I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m afraid and that I worry about stuff, and I am
not an actor anymore. When I’m tired, I’m tired. When I’m scared, I’m scared. I
need my energy to fight disease, not to act like everything is okay all the
time. This disease has brought me to my knees – figuratively. I can't
physically get on my knees right now haha. I’ve never been so scared in my
life. If you have a loved one fighting anxiety for whatever reason, please be
patient with them, and pray for them. </span></div>
Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-40133453552625514442013-05-21T17:11:00.001-07:002013-05-21T17:11:37.890-07:00You Look Great!
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve read articles about what NOT to say to cancer patients.
Each article I’ve read always has this phrase in the “what NOT to say” column: “You
don’t even look sick, you look great!” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe there is something about the tone. Maybe
if someone says it in a negative or hateful way, then that would definitely be
inappropriate. But I’m just going to be totally honest here. I LOVE hearing it
when someone tells me I look great or that I look healthy. If that’s how you
really feel when you see me, I want to hear it and you can tell me a hundred
times LOL. I promise will love it just as much after the hundredth time as I
did the first time you said it. :o) </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Speaking of what NOT to say, here is my list of phrases:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">-You look pale<br />
-You look too thin<br />
-Chemo is as bad as the cancer<br />
-I drank a special tea and now I’m cancer free<br />
-Cancer is a money maker and “they” are hiding the cure from us!<br />
-Why are you still using a cane?<br />
-You have the best kind of cancer<br />
-At least you don’t have [insert any other kind of disease or ailment here]<br />
-You’re doing better than I am!<br />
-I’ve had the same kind of chemo you’re taking and it didn’t work<br />
-Did the doctor say how long you had to live?<br />
-I hate [insert doctor’s name, hospital name here]; they let my [insert speaker’s
family member/friend name here] die</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I guess it just depends on the person and the kind of
personality they have. Some people don’t want to hear any of it, and others
need a lot of encouragement. What helps me the most is when people tell me they
are praying for me. And again, I like looking good LOL. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of the people I’m in treatment with look really
pitiful. I’m not saying I look like a model for good health, but at least I’m
up and moving around, with some energy. I’m very thankful for that. </span></div>
Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-49214127879671519042013-05-15T18:01:00.000-07:002013-05-15T18:03:34.300-07:00Quitters Never Win and Winners Never Quit<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I was a kid, I had a pretty short attention span. I had
plenty of interests but when the work got too tough, I would quit and move on
to the next interest. In 2<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">nd</span></sup> grade, I joined the Brownies because my
sister was a Girl Scout and I loved her troop leader. My troop leader wasn’t as
nice as Cat’s so I quit. In 5<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> grade, I joined a little league
baseball team. The first time I got hit with a ball, I quit. In 6<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>
grade, I joined the band and played the flute. I loved it and was pretty good
at it, but the following year, we started marching, and I stunk. That was the
end of the band. In the 7<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> grade, I was placed in an advanced math
class, but by 8<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> grade, I was afraid it would be too hard, so I
went back to the regular math classes. In 9<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> grade, I ran track
because I was dying to have a letterman’s jacket. As soon as I earned the
jacket, I quit the team. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">By the time I graduated high school, I didn’t really know
what I wanted to do. I wanted to be an actress, but deep down, I knew that was
just a silly fantasy that would never pan out. Shortly after graduation, I met
my first boyfriend. He was attending the local college, so I decided to give it
a try too. I’m no genius, and never claimed to be one. I hadn’t even taken my
SATs, so I had to hurry up and take them in November so I could start college
the following January. When I started going to college, I fell in love with the
structure and routine. It was like someone had flipped a switch inside of me,
and I vowed right then and there that no matter how tough things got, I would
stick with it and finish. I didn’t want to add college to my quit list. Thankfully,
I did stick with it. I added a busy class-packed minor to my course load late
in my college career, so I took 5 years to finish, but I had a blast. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I couldn’t find a job in my field, so I started working at
OfficeMax about 5 months after finishing school. I started in customer service
and over the years, worked my way up through the ranks. In 2003, my dream
position became available so I applied and I got it. I’ve been in the same
position ever since. I won’t lie – in the 16 years I’ve been with the company,
I’ve had a lot of ups and downs and believe me, I’ve been tempted to quit a few
times. I actually did quit for 2 weeks in 1999 to work in an “elite private
school” that turned out to be a glorified daycare center, so I quickly got my
old job with OfficeMax back LOL. Other than that, I’ve stuck with it through
the highs and lows.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Three and a half years ago, if anyone had told me that I
would be facing a life-threatening illness, I wouldn’t have believed it or
thought that I would be able to handle it. When I started getting one bad
medical report after another, I was scared and overwhelmed. I wanted to cover
my ears and just run away, but I knew I couldn’t do that. I had two choices:
stand up and fight against it, or quit and die. So I chose to fight. Last week in chemo, I sat next to a patient that could barely move because she
was in so much pain. But she uttered these words as she struggled to get up to
go to the bathroom: “Quitters never win and winners never quit…” I had just
gotten some really crappy news and was already fighting back tears, but to hear
this very sickly woman say these words made my heart swell up and feel so encouraged. She’s right. You have to keep on pushing,
even if it’s just to get up to go pee! </span></div>
Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-47919074333569802962013-05-09T18:04:00.000-07:002013-05-09T18:04:09.857-07:00Bad News
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well it’s my birthday and I made it to 40, whoo hoo! I don’t
mind getting older. In fact, I’m super thankful to be here. On Tuesday 5/7, my
oncologist gave me an unwanted birthday present. The disease is worse than
ever. Not only are the mets in my back worse, I have new ones in my back
(spine, lumbar, sacrum) and I have tumors in my liver again! Dang. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s pretty scary to have so much new growth while I’m in
weekly treatment. I always felt so safe while I was in weekly treatment. But
every single patient is unique and everyone reacts to the various drugs
differently. Some of them work beautifully. Apparently, other drugs have about
as much effectiveness as running saline through your veins LOL. So my doc
started me on a different drug right away. He gave me great comfort by telling
me that while he knew the results days before I came in on Tuesday, it provided
him with time to research what drug he wanted to use, and to get the pre-authorization
from my insurance. That way, he could give me the news and then say, “…But I
have another drug that we are going to start TODAY…” No waiting for them to
think about it or get pre-authorization from Blue Cross. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m not going to lie or pretend that everything is fabulous.
I am scared shitless. I have three pretty good sized tumors on my liver, the
biggest one being 7cm. Having tumors up and down my spine also scares the crap
out of me because I’m trying to get mobile, and I’m scared I’m going to break
something or hurt myself some other way. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I get too scared, I try to remember that God’s plan and
timing are perfect, no matter what. God’s perfect plan may be to bring me home
to be with Him. Then again, this all may be happening to make my testimony
stronger. Last Sunday, my pastor preached about always being prepared to talk
about why your faith in God is strong, and to be ready to give your testimony
(1 Peter 3:15). The miracles that I’ve experienced during my cancer battle have
been wonderful and I’ve just been in awe of what God has done for me. I don’t
mean to sound dramatic, but I shouldn’t be here. As bad as the disease was 3
years ago, I didn’t think I would make it a year, much less make it to 40! Science
was not, and is still not on my side, but God is in control. If it’s part of His
perfect will that I make it through this battle, He can heal me with the touch
of His fingertip. For the most part, I feel at peace. I’m still not going to
stop fighting, ever! But when I get scared, I try to remember one of my
favorite scriptures: Philippians 4:6 – Don’t worry about anything; instead,
pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank Him for all He has
done.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For those of you that are still reading, just keep on
praying! </span></div>
Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-46313466160163400832013-04-19T17:53:00.000-07:002013-04-19T17:53:09.918-07:00I Haven’t Got Time for the Pain
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My leg doesn’t hurt anymore, but I do suffer from back pain
– sometimes it’s the cancer, sometimes it’s side effects from my meds. Pain
really annoys me for two reasons. One reason is obvious – it hurts. The other
reason is I don’t have time to stop and hurt. Life is good and I have stuff to
do. I hate times when I’m in pain because it reminds me that I’m sick and
sometimes I’m literally curled up, groaning to myself like a cancer patient. I
hate that crap. Last Thursday, I was really feeling the effects from my chemo. The
bones in my back ached and throbbed like I had the flu. It wasn’t typical hammer
and chisel cancer pain, just a general achiness that wouldn’t let up. I was
also running a low grade fever, which oddly, is another side effect of the
chemo drug I’m on now. I started getting really scared because me and John had
a long weekend planned in Gatlinburg to celebrate our six-year anniversary, and
we were leaving the next day. What if I was still in pain or running an even
higher fever when I woke up Friday morning? </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thursday night was definitely one of the worst nights I’ve had
since I was first diagnosed. I tossed and turned all night, had nightmares, and
woke up several times soaked in sweat, panicking. I had also taken some extra
drugs, so I was high and out of it, which made me feel trapped in my body. My
mind could not process exactly how I felt and I could barely utter a coherent prayer.
So I asked God to get me through it and to bless my body. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Friday morning when I woke up, I was hung over from the
drugs and still had a panicky scared feeling all over. BUT I wasn’t in pain. So
I did what I do best - I made a nice strong pot of coffee. I calmly told John
good morning and acted like I was okay. I did not want to scare him, although I
did tell him that I had horrible nightmares all night. I sat on the couch and
had two big mugs of coffee and gradually, I started feeling better. I prayed as
I sipped the coffee and flipped channels. I settled on the original 1980
version of the movie Friday the 13<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>, and it was fun to just sit and
watch something stupid for awhile. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After the coffee kicked in, I packed my stuff for the
weekend and put on some makeup. John also started getting ready. We got the
automatic feeder/waterer for the cat, and packed up the dog’s stuff so we could
take him to my parent’s house. Once we were on the road, away from hectic pet
readying and on our way to our romantic getaway, a peace washed over me. I
prayed as I drove that God would get us to our hotel safely and to please keep
the pain away so both me and John could really enjoy our weekend.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is no exaggeration – our weekend was perfect. The hotel
was great, all of the restaurants we ate at were wonderful, and I walked
everywhere with ZERO pain. Of course, I needed my cane because I walk like a
penguin without it, but I had no back pain at all. For the whole weekend, it
was like I didn’t even have cancer. Everything was perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I truly believe that God hears and answers
all prayers. Sometimes He says no, but even when He says no, I try to remember
that His timing and plan are perfect. I’m very happy and thankful that He said
yes to my prayers for the weekend. Me and John desperately needed a getaway and
we both had a great time.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our long weekend made me realize that I’m capable of more
than I thought. So beginning Monday night (4/15), we walked around our block,
and plan to do it every night. So far, we are just going around once – I think
it’s about 1/3 of a mile. But we are gradually going to go longer and longer. I’m
still doing my elliptical every morning to get the blood flowing, and to wake
me up. The ortho surgeon told me back in October that my prosthesis is the most
complicated one he does, and muscles don’t like to grow around it. Unfortunately
the cancer did so much damage, I could not have the basic hip prosthesis. That,
coupled with being in weekly chemo makes muscle building difficult, so I have
to keep pushing myself. I’m not ever giving up and I will be able to walk
without assistance someday. The surgeon must have picked up on some spunk or spirit
in me, or whatever you want to call it, because he said that if anyone could do
it, I could do it. After all, I walked around with a dislocated fragment of a
hip with metal hardware poking through it for many months. I’m determined and
persistent to the point of being annoying. I’ve warned all of my docs about
this so they can schedule themselves a cocktail hour after seeing me LOL. I’m
praying all the time that God wrap His arms around me and protect me as I try
to get stronger and build some endurance. Having more mobility and a little
independence back would really help increase my life quality. </span></div>
Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-41697788359241558862013-03-19T19:18:00.000-07:002013-04-08T16:49:20.874-07:00Denial Ain't Just a River In...Where?<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve said to several people that in order to deal with this
disease, you have to believe, almost to the point of delusion, that you WILL
get better. Science is not on my side, but God is in control, not science. I
pray every day for God to work His perfect will in my life. Then I pray for
miracles. I would love to make it through this. It would make quite a story to
tell when I’m 80. I can picture it now. Young people will see me coming and
say, “…oh no, here comes old Mrs. Bradwell talking about how she almost died in
her 30s…do you even think it’s true??” LOL.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Denial is a word I’m very familiar with. I’m guilty of it
sometimes, and I witness it almost on a daily basis. In December around the
holidays, I was in the office alone, and I had to call one of our IT contacts
in headquarters. We hadn’t talked live since I came back from medical leave so
he asked how I was doing with treatment, my hip, etc. Before I could even help
myself, I told him I was feeling good (which was true), and that I was in “maintenance
treatment.” What the hell?? Chemotherapy isn’t maintenance treatment. Me taking
a daily pill and monthly shot for six months before I had to go BACK to chemo
was maintenance treatment. But it just came out, and I knew it was because I was
still reeling from disappointment and sadness over having to go back to chemo
after getting 6 months off. Also, I really like my contact in HQ, but how much
did he really want/need to know? I don’t think anyone really wants to hear, “well,
I feel like shit and my head could be used as a mirror because it’s so freaking
bald, and I sure do wish I had my 22 year old butt back instead of carrying
around a science project looking waffle ass…” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So generally, I tell most people, particularly
at work, that I’m cool and feel fine. I do feel fine, considering what’s going
on. So I just try to joke around with myself about the rest, think of something
that makes me laugh, and go on.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My parents are struggling too. They are always good to me
and I believe they would do anything for me. For example, my mom makes the best
chicken and dumplings I’ve ever tasted. She never enjoyed cooking much, but
there are a handful of dishes that she totally excels at, and chicken and
dumplings is her masterpiece. All I have to do is ask, and she and dad will
come over and make them after church on Sunday. They are a hit with the whole
family, so everyone comes over and we make it a big family event. It’s awesome.
But when it comes to me being sick, they are really struggling. My mom was very
pretty when she was younger and she is still attractive for her age. She puts a
lot of emphasis on physical beauty, and most of the time, she sees me when I’m
at my physical best. I won’t leave the house without my wig or makeup – that’s
part my vanity that I get from her LOL. So when I come to church, I’m loaded up
with BB cream on my face, topped off with Bare Minerals and Colorstay gray eyeliner
to compensate for not having eyelashes. I’m certainly not beautiful, but when I
try really hard, I can pull off “reasonably healthy” when I wear enough makeup
and put my hair on. My mom equates looking good with good health. She just can’t
believe that I could possibly be so sick while looking and feeling so good. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One day when mom hugged me she commented that she was so
thankful for her totally healthy daughter. She’s also told me that she never
really thought I would die. I want her to think positively and it makes me
happy that she’s not all doom and gloom. However, with this disease, you have
to be realistic. I don’t want her or dad to be shocked if I die. I think that
would make the grief process even harder. My dad won’t even talk about it. The conversation shifts from topic to topic, until we are on
something else. I try really hard to be patient and I never say anything to
either of them. I just smile and tell them I’m trying my best, then I say a
prayer for them. Being the younger child, I’m sure they still see me as a kid
sometimes. Maybe that’s the only way they can cope with all of this. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sometimes, even John seems to be in denial. We don’t really
talk about cancer much. Frankly, I don’t want to talk about cancer all the
time. That’s one reason why I keep this blog, so I can write it all down, and
then think about something else. John listens when I tell him what’s going on –
he rarely gets to go to the doc with me because he’s in court all the time. I don’t
want him missing work because if I ever do get to the point to where I can’t
work, I need him to be safe in his job. But he never ever talks about how
he feels. Is that denial? Or is he just protecting me from how scared he is? I’ve
seen him cry a handful of times, but it’s very quiet. He takes his glasses off
and wipes his face with his hands, very quietly. He’s not a dramatic ugly cryer
like me. When I cry, it’s hard with deep gasps for breath, and the red
splotches stay on my face for at least 2 hours. But John is pretty much the
same all the time, even when he’s stressed or mad, he doesn’t really wig out
much. For the most part, I like this because I can be pretty high-strung, so he
keeps me calm and cool. But it worries me too. Does he need to talk to someone?
He didn’t even tell one of his dearest friends about our situation until I had
been sick for a few months, and I still don’t know how much John told him. He
didn’t tell his dad and brother until about two weeks before we visited them in
Albany – that was almost a year after my diagnosis, and his dad and brother
still don’t know it’s breast cancer. John’s mom died of breast cancer, so he
worries that his family will be negative about it, or try to compare it to his
mom’s battle. I’ve left the decision all up to John on what he wants to tell
them. In addition to that, his dad is 12 hours away and in his 80’s. He seems
to like me, so why make him worry when there isn’t much he can do,
right? </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One person that I can always talk to no matter how I feel,
even when I feel really scared or super shitty, is my sister. I tell Cat
everything and she always listens AND she talks too. She even tells me when she
is scared about what might happen to me. I’m so thankful that we can have that
kind of honesty with each other, and that I can cry my eyes out, or even joke
around about what might happen. She never judges and always makes me feel
better. I found out the disease was in my bones around Thanksgiving 2009. Me
and Cat always do Black Friday shopping and I felt soooo bad that day. My leg
was getting worse and I knew it. I was so scared and I limped all over the
mall, praying for it to get better. When I drove her home, we sat in my car
with the car running, probably for an hour while I cried about being so scared
to die, and that I wasn’t ready to go and I had so much I wanted to do. It must
have been heartbreaking for her to witness my meltdown. I know that if the
tables were turned, I would be worried to death all the time. But she listened
and comforted me. I don’t know how Cat deals with it. I pray for her at night
because having her in my life is so important and I know she must be so tired. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So that’s the denial stuff. I’m guilty of it, my family is
guilty of it, and John is guilty of it. What can you do? We are human and have
to cope. Sometimes I I’m totally accepting and realize that I will probably not
live to be old. Other times, I’m convinced that I WILL get better. I pray for
my family every night though. It’s easy for people to feel bad for me because I’m
the sick one. But my family, John and Cat in particular, carry this stuff
around with them every day. To anyone that reads my blog and prays for me,
please remember my family and husband in your prayers too. They are great to
me, but I’m sure it’s a tough life sometimes.</span></div>
Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-9972101012489984542013-03-13T18:01:00.000-07:002013-03-13T18:01:01.735-07:00More Treatment<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Effective yesterday, I'm
back in weekly treatment. I don't get scanned again until April, but my tumor
marker just keeps climbing. Right now, it's in the high 600's. Kinda scary. So
the doc changed my chemo drug to Gemzar, and I'll be getting it every week for
3 weeks, and then have one week off. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">So far, I feel pretty good.
Honestly, I do better with weekly treatment in every way. In January 2010 when
I started weekly treatment because I had disease in my liver, within a month
and half of starting the treatment, my tumors shrank and my tumor markers fell.
Then again about a year and a half ago, when I started back on weekly treatment
after a short break, my tumor markers fell drastically again. I also physically
feel better on weekly treatment. Both times I've been on the "every three
week" regimen, I felt like I was blasted and felt like crap for 2-3 days.
On the weekly treatments, I feel a little weird the day after, but I'm still functional. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I also told the doc about
exercising and trying to strengthen my leg and the rest of my body. I need to
continue doing it, but the chemo does slow down muscle growth. So I'm just
going to have to keep pushing and be even more patient. I feel much better when
I exercise, so that's a plus. At least I don't have to make myself do it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Although I'm disappointed
that my TM doesn't want to come down and my bones don’t want to get better, I
am not going to let this get me down. According to the doc and nurse
practitioner I saw yesterday, Gemzar is powerful and the drug of choice for
pancreatic cancer treatment. If it can shrink tumors associated with pancreatic
cancer, then I have a good feeling that it will work for my cancer too. I’m
also no longer doing the Neulasta. The bone pain was just too much. I promised
the doc that I would take super good care of myself so he stopped it, thank goodness!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I pray for God's perfect
will to be done in my life, but I also pray for total healing and miracles. I ask God
to use me to do His work and to lead me in the right direction. It may be a
contradiction to say "please work your perfect will in my life..."
and then ask for total healing, but I'm human. I think that as human beings, we all
want to hold on to and fight for our earthly lives. I want to see my niece and
nephew grow up. I want to outlive my parents so they don't have to face the
pain of losing a child. I want to sit on the porch in my rocking chair next to my
sister when we are in our 80's and gossip about people we know. I want to hold
John's hand when it's his turn to be sick. I have a lot to live for, and I'm
never giving up. I'll fight until I take my last breath. I've even joked with
the doc that my last words will probably be, "...but I feel fine..."
LOL. </span><br />
Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-62156676456808721492013-02-05T18:45:00.000-08:002013-02-05T18:45:04.600-08:00Neulasta<div _yuid="yui_3_1_1_2_136011857423864" class="yiv648729133MsoNormal">
This time
around in chemo, my oncologist prescribed Neulasta, which is a shot that is
given within 24 hours of treatment. It helps build your white blood count so you
can fight potential infections. I never had this before, even when I was at my
very worst, but I trust that my doctor knows what he’s doing. He’s told me
several times that in many cases, it’s not the cancer that kills the patient,
it’s secondary stuff like infections. So I try to be very careful and take care
of myself. If this shot gives me a boost, great! However, there is something
about this shot that I want to post so any BC fighters out there who are also on
Neulasta can have some comfort. Several days after the shot, my bones feel
weird, almost electric. It’s hard to describe, but the bones in my upper and
lower back, and sometimes my shoulders feel like they have a strong pulse. Just
little things like going pee and pushing a little while you pee – something we
all do, makes them pulse even more. It’s the weirdest feeling ever, definitely
not cancer pain or typical muscle pain. It’s just different. I work in the
office as much as I can because the routine really helps my sanity. On chemo
days or the day after treatment, sometimes I’ll work from home when I’m feeling
really tired. But this “electric bones” feeling sometimes lasts for several days
and it’s frustrating because I have a hard time sitting still and focusing on my
work. </div>
<div _yuid="yui_3_1_1_2_136011857423864" class="yiv648729133MsoNormal">
</div>
<div _yuid="yui_3_1_1_2_136011857423864" class="yiv648729133MsoNormal">
Yesterday, I was in a lot of pain and trying to resist taking an opiate
because I don’t want to take them and then drive. My husband works in the
commonwealth attorney’s office, so getting a DUI for being high would probably
embarrass John a little bit, LOL. A Tylenol or Advil takes the edge off, but I
Googled it yesterday because I was just about to go nuts from the pain. I came
across a BC blog where several women posted that they also had terrible bone
pain after the shot, and that Claritin really helped. Apparently, something in
the Neulasta has the same kind of effect as a histamine, so taking an
antihistamine can counter the effects of pain. I always have Wal-Mart brand
Claritin on hand, and sure enough a few hours after taking one, I started to
feel better. I wanted to post this here because I don’t know who reads my blog,
or how often. The blog gets a lot of hits, most of them probably accidental. But
if I can help at least one other BC fighter/survivor, it’s totally worth putting
all of my thoughts out here. If anyone is suffering from bone pain due to these
shots, give Claritin a try. Since Claritin is a 24 hour pill, it takes a few
hours to kick in, but knowing that relief is on the way is comforting. :o) Now
keep in mind that I’m no doctor. I have an average intelligence and IQ, so
everything I post out here is purely from my experiences with BC, treatment,
etc. I’m sure a doctor, nurse, or pharmacist can tell you much more about the
benefits and/or risks. I just think that when there is pain, you will try about
anything to feel better. I know I would! </div>
Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-26357372522102397442013-01-25T17:48:00.000-08:002013-01-25T17:48:56.867-08:00Living with Cancer or Dying of Cancer?
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Before I was diagnosed, I assumed that any cancer diagnosis
was a death sentence, even when the cancer was caught early. I was convinced
that no matter what, it would eventually rage out of control and kill the
person that had it. If I got money for every time I heard one of my
grandparents say, “So and so is dying of cancer…” I would be rich enough to
retire. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I always hated hearing stories
like that, and worded in that way.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After I was
diagnosed, it took several months to adjust to all of the change. I remember
the day I was told that I hadn’t caught the cancer in time, I was devastated.
In fact, I think the first words out of my mouth were “oh shit I’m going to die…” At
the checkout desk, I was waiting for the receptionist to make an appointment
for an MRI scan on my head. One of the bone tumors was on my skull, so they had
to make sure I didn’t have disease in my brain. I saw a magazine titled,
“Living with Cancer” and all I could think was, “I don’t <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">want</b> to live with cancer!” I just wanted to run away. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today, I still have moments when I just want to pull the
covers over my head, take a Xanax and forget my troubles for awhile. But most
of the time, I would definitely say that I’m living with cancer. I've felt like I was dying a few times, but I never said it out loud. I guess I was too scared to even think it, much less say it or write it down. Sometimes I fantasize
that the doctor will come in to the exam room one day with a baffled look on
his face and say, “I just don’t get it, but there is no evidence of metastatic
disease…” I believe this can and will happen if it’s part of God’s perfect
plan. Only He can give me total healing, but that may not be part of His
perfect plan. I just have to keep praying, and never give up. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I got my scan results on Wednesday (1/23). The news wasn’t
great, but it wasn’t terrible either. Good news first: organs are still clear
and healthy. Not so great news: my bone mets are the same and I have a teeny
tiny new met in my lumbar spine. The doc thinks that it has probably been there
all along, but maybe the scan didn’t see it last time. I don’t have any new
pain, which is great. Since the new met is so tiny, the doc is going to keep me
on the same chemo for now. So no break yet. The scan also showed bone loss in
my right hip! So I have to be careful because I’m at a higher risk for
fractures. I sure don’t want to break my right hip after everything my left hip
has been through. To add icing to the cake, when I got to the chemo room, I
found out the blood work showed that my platelets were too low to have chemo. I’ve never had to skip a treatment so it was scary to hear that after all
this time. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">While I am thankful that once again, my organs are healthy, I
am pretty disappointed and scared that my bones just don’t want to get better. All
of the mets are in my spine/lumbar area, so what if I’m walking along and my
back breaks or I end up paralyzed?? It also scares me that I’m still struggling
to get my left leg in shape while the possibility of my right hip breaking looms
over my head. So I just have to take things one day at a time, sometimes one
hour at a time. I’m going to keep exercising, but not too hard. I’m going to
keep eating healthy and drinking lots, so my body can stay strong. Nobody seems
to know what I can do to bring my platelets up on my own. I asked two nurses
and there really isn’t any dietary thing I can do, although my husband took me
out for a big steak Wednesday night to “build my blood.” I Googled it, thinking
that the internet would have an answer for me. The only answer I found was “don’t
do anything to make yourself bleed…” Really? That should be common sense LOL. I
have no plans to go play in broken glass or use my husband’s table saw haha. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I go back on Tuesday 1/29 for more blood work. If it’s
all good, then I can have my treatment. I still feel very blessed and lucky to
be here and I’m glad that I have a common cancer with a lot of treatment
options. Some cancer patients only have one or two treatment options. Once
those are used up, if the tumors don’t shrink, there isn’t much the docs can
do. Every time I see my doctor, he emphasizes that I have lots of options. It
always gives me comfort. I’ve joked with him several times that I would jump in
a microwave if he thought it would shrink my tumors LOL. </span></div>
Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-50487729685856760172013-01-18T16:44:00.000-08:002013-01-18T16:44:19.764-08:00My Cane - Friend and Foe
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I
got scanned on the 10<sup>th</sup> and get results on the 23<sup>rd</sup>.
Hopefully, I’ll be posting a good update on that day. I’m more emotional at
scan time and tend to be a little more defensive. It’s kinda like having PMS
haha. My cane is a particularly sore spot for me. I’ve needed assistance
walking for over three years now, and I’m used to being on a cane – probably a
little too comfortable. I’m terrified of falling or straining my back by
penguin walking. So as I build new muscles, I practice walking without my cane
for short periods of time, and only around the house. It’s been a long
difficult process and I’m working hard, but as the surgeon told me back in
October, it’s going to take a long time for muscle to grow around the
prosthesis. I’ve been asked questions about it, and I don’t mind talking about
it. Generally, most people ask about my cane out of concern, and I appreciate
that. I have a few versions of the story – they are all true, but I pick the
version that’s most appropriate for the situation/person asking about it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="yiv957506834msonormal" style="margin: 1em 0in 1em 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Story
1: The easiest version - I broke my hip and had hip replacement surgery. </span></div>
<div class="yiv957506834msonormal" style="margin: 1em 0in 1em 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Story
2: The medium sized more detailed version that works when story 1 generates
questions - I have breast cancer and it spread to my bones and broke my hip, so
I had hip replacement surgery. </span></div>
<div class="yiv957506834msonormal" style="margin: 1em 0in 1em 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Story
3: Full blown blog style version with all the gory details for the people that
really really want to know everything. </span></div>
<div class="yiv957506834msonormal" style="margin: 1em 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I’ve
had a few experiences that have made me uncomfortable, such as people I don’t even
know asking why I’m on the cane, and then they say stuff like, “Well you should
be better by now! It’s been several months…” It’s very tempting to be rude and
just say “Hey jerky, cancer ate part of my leg…” but I try to let it roll off
my back and move on. The last time I was at the oncologist’s office, an older
man sat down next to me and asked what the deal was. So I gave him story number
2. He proceeded to count the time on his fingers and said, “well you should be
off that thing by now…” I didn’t know what to say, so I started looking at
Facebook on my phone, hopefully giving off the vibe that I was done talking. I
just wasn’t in the mood to explain or feel guilty because I’m still gimping around.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I
used to put my foot in my mouth all the time. When I was working my way through
college waiting tables, I waited on a lady about every other week and she had a
cast on her leg from hip to toe. She acted very uncomfortable and needed help
getting around. She was pretty young too. So one day, she came in without the
cast. I rushed over to her and gushed about how happy I was for her that she
finally got rid of that darn cast and commented that she must have had one heck
of a fracture. She replied with “I didn’t break my leg, I had to have it
amputated…” I was so embarrassed. That experience put the brakes on my big fat
mouth for awhile. But what has really cured me of the foot in mouth disease is
number one, spending over three years in management at a big company (that’s
what I did before I moved to web design), and number two, having cancer. I
really watch what I say to people now because you never know what a person is
going through, and you have no idea how it feels until you are faced with it. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I
do my exercises every morning and every night, seven days a week. It’s hard to
be patient, especially when I hear stories about people much older than me
having traditional hip replacements, and they are up moving around without
assistance within a few months. I’m not minimizing their experience. I think
any joint replacement surgery, whether it’s the result of disease or injury,
stinks. I don’t wish it on anyone. I admit though, that I have moments of frustration.
There are mornings when I wake up and don’t want to do my exercises, wondering
what the point is. I make myself do it anyway though. Even though it’s taking a
long time to build muscles in my hip, I guess the exercise is helping me in
other ways too. Everything I’ve read about cancer and chemo recommends
exercise. </span><br />
<div class="yiv957506834msonormal" style="margin: 1em 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I
really do believe I’ll be able to walk without assistance someday soon. Me and
John are going to Gatlinburg in April, so I’m really hoping I’ll be in good
shape by then. I just have to keep pushing and keep praying. </span></div>
Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-34558877387736814342012-12-31T16:37:00.000-08:002013-01-02T16:34:49.815-08:00Happy to be Alive!<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Three years ago today, I received the scariest and most
devastating news that I’ve ever heard. My oncologist called me with results
regarding a CAT scan I’d had a few weeks earlier. I was in a wheelchair because
of all the pain in my leg. It was cold and rainy that afternoon, and I remember
it so well because we were having a new front door installed (we had to get it
done before the end of ’09 so we would qualify for a special home improvement
tax break lol). Anyway, my oncologist’s nurse called me around 12:30 that
afternoon and said they wanted to talk to me in person. I told her that we
would try our best, but we were having a new door put in and it might take
awhile. So she made the appointment for 3:30 and the Champion guys were done by
around 2. I knew the news was bad. I started crying and praying as soon as I
hung up the phone, begging God to give me strength to handle whatever the doc
had to say. I was in so much pain that I couldn’t take the two steps down into
our garage to get in the car, so I scooted down the steps on my butt. John
wheeled me in my chair for the rest of it. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When we got to the doctor’s office, they took us back almost
immediately, and my doctor came in to the exam room to deliver the news. He
started with “unfortunately…” and put his hand on my shoulder. I just took a
deep breath and listened as he told me and John about how the chemo wasn’t
working and the CAT scan had detected several lesions on my liver. Me and John
just looked at each other, stunned. I was too scared and too surprised to cry.
I was just so sure that the chemo was working. My doctor ordered an x-ray on my
leg to see if the radiation had helped at all, and to ensure I didn’t have a
fracture, so I could start physical therapy. Over in the Radiology department at
the hospital, it was dead. After all, it was 4:00 PM on New Year’s Eve. While
everyone was off making big party plans, me and John sat alone in the waiting
area, quietly wiping tears, trying to hold it together. The x-ray technician
had to lift me out of my wheelchair and hold me on the table because I
literally could not move my lower body. He told me to hang in there and as long
as I didn’t have disease in my liver, I would be fine. “You will do great as
long as it’s not in your liver; anywhere but your liver…” he said. Then I told
him that I had found out an hour earlier that it was in my liver. He said, “Oh,
well you will still be fine, I just know it.” He was embarrassed for putting
his foot in his mouth, and I was kind to him. He didn’t mean it badly. In
addition to that, he had been carrying my 150 pound ass all over the exam room,
so I had to cut him a little slack. On the way home, I said something like, “well
this is it, this is how I’m going to die…” but John never accepted that. He
just told me I was going to make it. I think he said it 2-3 times during the
ride home. Maybe he was trying to convince himself.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When we got home, all I wanted was to watch something
mindless and funny on television, and have a double cheeseburger from Burger
King. I was afraid to eat onion rings because they always give me indigestion,
and I knew that my mind would trick me into thinking those tumors on my liver were
the cause. After we ate, I had to call my sister because I knew she would be
wondering what was going on. She had been at work all day and I was off (I was
working from home, but had vacation time that day). John went into the office bedroom
because he couldn’t stand to hear the conversation between me and Cat. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As soon as I heard her voice I started crying
really hard and she knew. We cried together and she agreed to break the news to
our parents. I just couldn’t do it. I wasn’t even sure how I would be able to
look at my parents without crying, much less be able to tell them the awful
news. After me and Cat got off the phone, I cried really hard for about a half
hour, then I called for John to come back into the living room so we could
watch something funny. We flipped channels and found “Paul Blart - Mall Cop” on
one of the movie channels. Normally, movies like that don’t do much for me, but
it was just what both of us needed. We laughed throughout the whole movie. I
was still scared and worried, but for an hour and a half, it was nice to laugh
and think about something else.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today, three years later, my life is so different. I’ve had
lots of ups and downs since then. But today, I’m up walking around – no scooting
down steps on my butt LOL. I’m working in the office instead of at home,
propped up in bed. As of October 24, my liver is still clear of tumors (next
scan is at the end of January). I spent this afternoon cuddling on the couch
with my pup, helping John install a window sill in one on our bathrooms, and
eating a great homemade Indian meal that John made after he finished the window
work. Now we are watching the Twilight Zone marathon on the Sci Fi channel and
my mind is much more at ease. I still get really scared, but three years ago, I
didn’t think I would live to see another New Years Eve, much less three more
New Year’s Eves!! To be honest, this post is hard to write, because thinking
about how things were three years ago still scares me to death. Sometimes it’s
hard to believe it even happened. It’s like something you read in a book or see
in a movie. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I need to think of how awful
things were, so when I have a self pity moment, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll remember <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>how great my life really is now. </span></div>
Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-6399637097858956542012-12-27T16:35:00.001-08:002012-12-27T16:35:53.502-08:00Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">My last entry was angry and
full of self pity. In moments of weakness, it's easy to forget how blessed I really am. I experienced some really nice blessings during the
holiday weekend. My Christmas with John and my family was wonderful. I'm
thrilled that I'm here to celebrate another holiday and that my body feels
strong enough to enjoy two of my favorite things: shopping and baking! We also
went to the Christmas Eve candlelight service at church and it was so nice. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I went back to work yesterday
after having a few days off. I learned that one of my contacts at our headquarters
office died suddenly over the weekend. I never got to meet her face to face,
but we spoke on the phone and emailed frequently regarding work projects. In fact, I just talked to her last week. I knew that she had been
sick and recently had surgery, although she was back to work and recovering.
Hearing this news made me very sad, and her family is in my prayers. But it
also reminded me that none of us is guaranteed tomorrow. Three years ago, I
could barely celebrate Christmas because I was in so much pain. It was all I
could do to put on my wig and makeup and pretend to feel good so I wouldn't
disappoint or scare my niece and nephew. Now, I'm working in the office every day, going
to church, shopping, cooking/baking, and hosting my family at my house for the
holidays. I'm so thankful for all of these things. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">One of my Facebook friends
posted something really cool and I’m going to do it in 2013. On January 1, you
take an empty jar or container, and put in little notes about good things that
happen throughout the year. Then on New Year’s Eve, you empty it and read all
the little notes. I think that sounds really awesome. I’m going to make sure to
date each note that I write too. What a wonderful way to truly count your
blessings!</span><br />
Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-62206402335685368562012-12-09T14:18:00.000-08:002012-12-09T14:18:03.108-08:00Another Weak Moment...
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Day in and day out, I try to maintain a positive attitude.
Every day is a gift and I’m thankful to be alive. People ask me how I am and I
always say that I’m good and can’t complain. But right now at this very moment,
I’m pissed off. I don’t really know what brought it on. I’ve had a great day
today. I woke up with minimal pain. Me and my husband went to church and heard
beautiful music and a great sermon. We enjoyed a tasty Japanese lunch with my parents. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I guess I just started thinking about things in my life and
how some people complain about stupid stuff and I just get tired of it. I hate
that I’ve been bald for 3 years. I hate that I have pain every day. I hate that
I dated so many stupid people before finally meeting the true love of my life,
and now I’m going to die and leave him here alone. I hate being on a cane
because no matter how much makeup I wear and how much money I’ve spent on a
quality wig, I still look like a sick person. I hate that my toenails never
grow and what I do have are so damaged by the chemo that I’m too ashamed to let
John see them. I hate that I have two pink lines across my chest instead of two
breasts, which by the way, were really pretty at one time. I hate that I have
to go to the doctor every few weeks and worry every time about what he’s going
to say. I’m so tired of hearing “this is good news but…” or “unfortunately…” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hate that I have hot flashes that make my
face blazing red all the time. I hate that I’m so self conscious that I push my
friends away and avoid most social situations. I hate reading articles about
celebrities or pseudo celebrities like those stupid housewives of whatever city
talk about a “very scary” breast surgery for a BENIGN tumor. Really? You are
scared because you “almost” had breast cancer? Give me a break. I would give my
right arm to have had an “almost breast cancer” scare. I hate it when people
talk about how tired they are of being sick, when they’ve been sick for a week
with a cold. I hate that I can’t help my husband with housework or go grocery
shopping by myself. I hate seeing disabled people that don’t work and I’m
working full time. I hate the show Bridezillas, but I hate even more that I’ve
been sitting here for two hours watching it! </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, now that I have all of that out of my system, I feel
better. I think it’s normal and human to have pity parties and get mad
sometimes. I’m thankful that it doesn’t happen often and usually happens in
private. John is painting one of our bathrooms so he doesn’t even know that I
had a “moment.” I like to cry in private because I’m the world’s ugliest cryer
lol. I love my life and I want to live to be 80, but
I have moments of fear, anger, frustration, sadness, and pain. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It just gets to me and I have to release it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay, I’m done. Uplifting and happier blog
entries are coming soon. :o) </span></div>
Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-37302226712830979512012-11-15T06:27:00.001-08:002012-11-15T06:27:48.346-08:00It's Time to Shave, Yes It's Time to Shave!I'm in a wild mood this morning, haha. I'm thinking of the stupid Brady Bunch kids singing the "Time to Change" song - you know the episode where Peter's voice changes right before a big talent show. So I'm singing to myself about it being time to shave my head. Right on schedule, a few weeks after my first chemo, my head hair is coming out in huge chunks. I bought a new wig last weekend, so I'm ready for the hair loss! I don't really mind looking freakish as my hair falls out, but what is most annoying is the trail of hair that I leave all over the house. That's why it's important to just shave your head when you start losing hair. Little things like towel drying your hair after a shower or turning over in bed in the middle of the night pull out bunches of hair. We will have to wash sheets, blankets, and towels this weekend haha! Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-35759693128223907012012-10-31T07:08:00.002-07:002012-10-31T07:08:58.536-07:00Scan Update
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, as of yesterday, I’m back in chemo. I got scanned on
10/24 and got results yesterday. My organs are great, which is a huge relief.
However, some of the spots in my lumbar/sacrum area have grown a little. So my
oncologist wants to be aggressive so the spots don’t grow more or spread to any
of my organs. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yesterday, I started on
Abraxane, which is in the Taxol family (the chemo that I was on forever and
ever LOL) and Xgeva to strengthen my bones. The Abraxane is a thirty
minute intravenous treatment that goes in through my port every three weeks.
The Xgeva will be given through a shot in my arm once a month. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The doctor has also ordered a Neulasta shot
once a month to keep my white blood cell count up. I’ve never had bad counts,
but he doesn’t want me to start having them now. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">To be totally honest, I’m disappointed. I’m so thankful for
healthy organs and the news could have been so much worse. But I’m just now at
the point to where I’m comfortable without my wig and my eyelashes have been
coming in so nicely. The nurses in the infusion room told me that my hair may
just thin a little bit, but I’m not getting my hopes up about that. I lost my hair
with the first round of chemo drugs, and stayed hairless during the Taxol
treatments. So I wouldn’t be surprised if I lost it all again. There are
benefits to losing my hair though: no shaving under my arms, no shaving my
legs, and no Nairing my face – yes you get lots of facial hair when you go
through menopause haha! I’d rather be bald and have my tumors shrinking than to
be full of cancer with long beautiful hair. There is more to life than a head
full of hair and long lashes. :o) </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I’m going to keep working, keep exercising, and keep
pushing. That has worked for me for the past three years, so I’m not stopping
now! My medical leave for the hip replacement ends tomorrow so the routine at
my job will be great therapy. I have a lot to be thankful for at my job. The
benefits have paid for all of these crazy chemo drugs and I make good money. If
I didn’t have a job with great benefits, I would really struggle paying for my
treatment. The last thing I want is to be a financial burden to my husband. I
know he would be glad to help me but holding on to a little of my independence
is important. I also work on a great team with a fabulous boss. My co-workers
are also my friends and they have been so understanding about me working from home on chemo days. My boss is super flexible
and kind about my appointments and work load. A lot of people can’t say that. I
remember sitting in treatment one day last year, and a patient was on her cell
phone fighting with her insurance company about coverage. I’m so blessed!</span></div>
Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-64132186592265784432012-10-11T18:05:00.002-07:002012-10-11T18:05:56.375-07:00Hip Update
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I had a
follow-up appointment with the surgeon today, and I got a great report! In
fact, he released me. I don’t have to go back until next August. I’ll be on a
cane for awhile since I’m building all new muscles. I’m going to do something I
rarely do on Facebook or in the blog: post a picture! I thought it was really cool
to see the “before” and “after” versions of my hip. The image on the left is
the new hip. The image on the right shows the old rod and the screw that moved
through my weak hip ball. I'm really not sure how long I walked around with the old hardware out of place, but it was very uncomfortable. I'm so thankful for modern medicine and miracle surgeries! I feel sooo much better now! Although I already wrote this in another post, I have to write it again - the bone fragments removed during surgery had NO cancer. It's a miracle! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><br />
<br />
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Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-74162974547516167402012-10-02T11:35:00.001-07:002012-10-02T11:35:32.948-07:00Breast Cancer Awareness Month
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m a little embarrassed to write this, but I promised
myself I would always be honest in my blogs, even when it makes me look bad. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Before I was diagnosed with BC, I used to roll my eyes a
little when it came to breast cancer awareness, particularly breast cancer
awareness month. It just seemed to me like most of the advocates were the ones
that had teeny tiny tumors and they caught it so early that they didn’t even
need chemo. So why were they being so damn dramatic about it and acting like
they knew everything about cancer? Well, now I get it. Finding BC early is so
important. If I had been more aware of my body and been doing self exams, maybe
I would have caught mine before the tumor grew to six centimeters. And while
I’m being honest, I knew that I should have been doing self exams. My OB/GYN
preached self exams from my very first visit to him in my mid-twenties. I just
laughed it off. I also donated to BC charities and read literature about BC. So
I knew that anyone could get it and age didn’t matter. Somehow though, I still
felt immune. I went through a short hypochondriac phase in my early twenties
because I had a thyroid cancer scare. I have underactive thyroid disease and it
turns out that I had some lumps on my thyroid gland. The doc increased my
synthroid dose and the lumps shrank. A needle biopsy also proved that they were
benign. However, after that scare, for about two years, I got every ache and
pain checked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even went through a period
when I thought I had lupus. Then one day, a specialist laughed at me and I was
mortified. I promised myself that I would never be a crazy hypochondriac again.
I still went for my yearly checkups so I could get synthroid refills and saw my
OB/GYN once a year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took pride in
never complaining about health stuff, and bragged about being healthy. I was
determined not to revert back to being a crazy hypochondriac. Unfortunately,
that was my downfall when it came to finding my breast lump. I only waited a
few weeks, but as aggressive as my tumor turned out to be, I should have run to
my doctor – literally. Hindsight is 20/20 I suppose. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Since it’s October, everyone will see billboards,
commercials, internet articles, Facebook posts, etc regarding breast cancer
awareness. I’m sure many people will think, “damn, enough already!” But please
take my word for it – be aware of your body. Don’t be afraid or ashamed to look
at yourself in the mirror and examine yourself. I used to say, “well I’ll start
doing that when I’m 40…” But breast cancer does not discriminate. It can strike
anyone, any age, men and women. I have no family history of breast cancer and I
was never sick a day in my life (unless you count chicken pox and the
occasional cold/flu). I didn’t meet any of the criteria or “warning signs.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you find a lump, RUN to your doctor. I don’t
want anyone to go through what I’ve been through over the past three years. </span></div>
Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-70481384382633653792012-09-20T10:26:00.000-07:002012-09-20T10:26:44.717-07:00My Wonderful Pets
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve always been an animal lover. When I was a kid, my
parents had to watch me very closely because I would run up to any animal with
open arms. When I was four, I approached a huge dog with a bad temper and got a
nasty bite on my forehead. The scar still glows pink whenever I cry or
over-exert myself. Even a bad experience didn’t stop me from loving animals, especially
dogs. </span><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In October 2002, I got Peyton, my Shih Tzu dog. He has been
absolutely precious from day one. He’s very cute, cuddly, and extremely tolerant.
Whenever I am sitting or laying down, he’s right beside of me, as close to me
as he can get. When I get up to walk around, he’s right behind me. If I don’t
hear the “tap tap tap” of those little nails on the wood floor, I get worried
and wonder where he is. </span><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the Fall of 2003 (I can’t remember the exact month/day),
I got Shelly my cat. My former manager gave her to me because Shelly was not
meshing with the other cat in my manager’s house. I remember bringing her home
in her carrier and sitting her on the bed. I just opened the door and let her
come out on her own. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As soon as she came
out of the carrier, we bonded and we’ve been big buddies ever since. </span><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My pets have been very entertaining and comforting for me
over the years. They’ve been with me through divorce, moving, re-marriage, and
sickness. When me and John went on our first official date, he met my pets and
I told him point blank “love me, love my pets…” He was raised around dogs, so
he bonded with both animals, Shelly first. Peyton was a little more protective
and guarded regarding me, but after a day or two, he warmed up to John and
learned to trust him.</span><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Peyton just turned 10 and Shelly turned 9 in June. I know
that technically, they are both considered “seniors.” It scares me to think
about that because they are with me all the time, so I know I’ll be lost for
awhile when their time comes. </span><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tuesday night while I was at my breast cancer support group
meeting, Shelly got very sick. John called me in a panic and said that every
breath was difficult and she was making weird hiccup noises. Well, Shelly is
very hairy and sheds a LOT, so at first I just brushed it off as a hair ball.
However, when I got home and saw her, I knew right away it was no hair ball.
She could barely walk and she was so weak. She never lets us carry her for
longer than 30 seconds, yet she let John carry her and hold her. We decided to
take her to the vet. We called ahead so they would be expecting us. They met us
at the door and took her back immediately. They said that she was in severe
respiratory distress and that cats do not handle breathing trouble very well.
They said she might not even make it through the night. They took chest x-rays
which revealed several lesions on Shelly’s lungs. My heart sank. All the stupid
cancer crap that’s been going on with me hasn’t been enough?? Now my poor
helpless cat has it too?? We were devastated. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yesterday morning, we brought her from the emergency vet to
our regular vet, who consulted a veterinary oncologist at UT in Knoxville. My
vet kept her all day yesterday and medicated/observed her. The vet onco at UT
read her x-rays and told my vet that he was very confident it was NOT cancer.
In fact, they really are not sure what those spots are. They are mineralized,
almost like bone and could be scar tissue. The vet said there was a very remote
possibility that Shelly had bone cancer and that it had metastasized to her
lungs, but the x-rays showing her bones don’t support that theory. So he
diagnosed her with asthma and said that Tuesday night’s episode was a severe
asthma attack. If we hadn’t gotten her to the emergency vet when we did, she
would have died. So now, she’s on steroids and antibiotics. She’s feeling much
better. </span><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was fully expecting not to bring Shelly home from the vet
yesterday. I thought for sure that the onco vet would come back with a cancer
diagnosis. I had already made up my mind that I would not put her through any
harsh treatment. She was suffering so badly Tuesday night that we almost
authorized the emergency vet to put her to sleep. However, I wanted our regular
vet to see her and give his opinion. I’m so relieved that she does not have
cancer and as long as she lets me give her the meds, she can survive a long
time with asthma. </span><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">People that don’t have pets probably won’t understand this
post and may even roll their eyes. That’s okay. I know that animals are not
humans and losing a pet is certainly not the same as losing a human family
member. But pets are loyal companions that love their owners unconditionally.
My pets have been so therapeutic for me, especially since I’ve been sick. I
know that someday it will be their time to pass on. But for now, I’m enjoying
every minute I have with them. </span></div>
Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454979637564217210.post-75149642167209685642012-09-20T08:40:00.001-07:002012-09-20T08:40:48.065-07:00Weak Moments and Time to ThinkI'm on medical leave from work to recover from the hip surgery, so I've had lots of time on my hands. While that can be a good thing (time to watch favorite shows and movies, pay bills, hold my dog, etc), it can also be a bad thing. I think about everything that can go wrong. What if I get blood clots in my leg because I'm sitting more? What if my length difference comes back for some weird reason? What will I do if the PT doesn't work and I never walk correctly again? What if next month's scan shows new tumors and I have to go back to chemo after almost 6 months of freedom? If I do have to go back to chemo, what if it doesn't work and I die this time? Then I just have to calm down and remember that God is in control. Nobody is guaranteed the next minute, no matter how healthy they are. We have to live for now and appreciate every bit of time we are given. <br />
<br />
About three and a half years ago, I was really burnt out at work. I was almost at the point of applying for jobs in totally different fields with other companies, just to get out and have some change. I prayed and asked God, "What is my purpose in life??" It seemed that all I ever did was work, eat, and sleep. All I did during that time was complain about how stressed I was. My family relied on me a lot as well, so one night, in a moment of anger and frustration, I vented to my husband. I said that I would be screwed if I got sick, because I took care of everyone, and nobody would ever step up to help me, and they never helped me anyway. This rant was untrue, but in fits of anger, we often say things that are mean and false. I also joked with a co-worker that a medical leave might be fun if we could choose an easy illness like a broken leg - yes, I actually joked that being on medical leave for a broken leg would be fun. Scary isn't it?<br />
<br />
Not long after my angry tirades and multiple jokes about going on medical leave for an "easy" broken leg, I got my breast cancer diagnosis. I never imagined that breast cancer would break my leg and cause 3 years of drama. Things went from bad to worse to horrible in a matter of weeks. By Christmas 2009, I was bedridden and in constant pain. Suddenly, a little work stress or helping a family member didn't seem so bad. All of my independence was gone and I had to rely on someone else for everything, even getting a glass of water. I went from being almost completely independent and in control to being helpless and terrified. <br />
<br />
Over the past 3 years, I've learned to focus on the good stuff. If I have a stressful situation in my life or at work, I say a prayer and just do my best. It's so much easier to hand things over to God, rather than stewing over situations that can't be helped. I hate cancer and wish I would have never gotten sick. However, it's been such an eye-opener for me. I feel closer to God now than ever before, and my personal and professional relationships are much more positive. I've also learned to appreciate every little thing, like being able to take a shower without help, and walking to the kitchen to get my own drinks! Trusting in God always pays off. My glass is not half full. It's running over!Amy Bradwellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18216116815583009131noreply@blogger.com1