There is always, always
something to be thankful for—my cover picture on Facebook
As some of you know—and for those who
are not Facebook junkies—for the past 2 years—this being the 3rd
year—each day during the month of November, I have posted something I was
thankful for. Some days were easier than
others (today I am thankful for my job).
Some days were serious (today I am thankful for my family) and some were
rather silly (today I am thankful for whoever invented the gas light). As
November approached this year, I figured I would continue since this has
obviously been one of those years to be giving extra thanks.
What
I did not expect, was the range of emotions I experienced while deciding what I
was thankful for on a certain day. I
cried when I was thankful for Heather and Lori; I laughed when I was thankful
for the makers of nausea, morphine and oxycodone; I was humbled when I was
thankful for Betsy and I felt guilty when I was thankful for Gaye, Lisa and
Brandy for all they had to do. I felt pride when I was thankful for my
Sunday School class and I got a warm and fuzzy feeling on those days in which I
was thankful for all the nurses, PA’s, support staff as well as Dr Lynn and Dr
K (they had different days—could not just lump them all together!). I admit to being overwhelmed most days when I
thought back to January and everything since then.
I
am still not done—almost there—again I might add—but not quite. PIA is still PIA and I am still packing. However, instead of the 1 inch tape, I am now
down to the ¼ inch so the end is in sight.
Since apparently I am not the only one with memory issues—I will address
chemo brain in a moment-- back in October I was gloating about winning a battle
with Dr Lynn about her “reopening” PIA (she didn’t), but knowing that come November
27 she would win that battle. I won again!
(Well, not really). PIA is healing very nicely and she is going
to use me as an experiment (lovely). I
am to pack until I can no longer pack at which time I will use a bandage to
keep germs out of what will then be—according to her—a pinhole. IF for some reason PIA decides to hold true
to her name and become infected again, she (Dr Lynn, not PIA) will go back and revisit
the situation and if she does, it will not be like last time when I ended up in
surgery and on the 2nd floor for 3 nights. Speaking of, and keeping with the ignorance
is bliss mindset, it seems Dr Lynn and especially Billy, had been extremely worried
about the staph infection back when I had to have PIA drained. Dr Lynn kind of mentioned it this week and
later that same night Mom told me Billy had been really worried too—which explains
why Billy spent his weekend off in the hospital with me. And to think I thought he was just bored and
had nothing better to do.
In
addition to Dr Lynn, I had an appointment right before her with my radiologist,
Dr N. When I went to sign in, Peter, one
of my techs, walked by—heard me talking to the receptionist and did a double
take—and started laughing at my curls. Then
the nurse came to get me and did the same thing—as she was making me get on
that damn scale. Not funny. Dr N then comes in and he starts laughing at
my curls. What could I do aside from
just shake my head? (Apparently my curls
are a source of amusement for many people—but I especially like the people who
come in and say “I like your haircut and I had no clue your hair was so curly.”
Well, neither did I. I have not voiced
it – yet). Anyway, he cleared me and I
do not have to go back for 4 months.
Nice!
Okay—time
to address the chemo brain. Earlier
this week, NBC Nightly News had a segment on it how it does exist. I was watching with Mom when the woman they
interviewed (an author) talked about when she was going through chemo her
thoughts were foggy and how she searched for words and still continues to do
so. Mom looked at me and asked if that
is how I felt. And yes, it is. The fog has lifted on a lot of things, and
while the memory is getting a bit better, it is nowhere near where it had
been. For example, we had a bunch of
people join the church while I went through chemo. I met them all and most of them, I cannot
tell you their names or could I pick some of them out of a crowd—so not
me. I find that if I don’t make a list, I will not
remember (of course I lose the lists which then creates another problem). And words escape me now—especially when in a
conversation. And comprehending things—nope—not
happening for the most part. Baby steps
I keep telling myself. Frustrating—you bet—but
it is what it is. It could be worse.
I
ended my Facebook thankfuls this morning this way: As strange as this sounds, I am thankful for
this year. The blessings have far
outnumbered what I went through. I am so
grateful and so very, very blessed.
And
I am lucky, so very lucky, to have so many awesome people in my life—near, far,
in person and in the computer—there really are no words.
