The Beginning of the End....

“I am so proud of you—give me a hug.”   It was at that moment I knew the worst was over.  No more chemo, no more visits to the ER and no more stays on the 10^th floor.  He then continued—“I will see you in a few weeks to go over the tamoxifen and then a month after you have been on it.  Then it will be every six months.  And I probably will not recognize you on the first 6 month visit—you’ll have hair.” And with those words, Dr. K released me for the next step: radiation.

 It was really strange walking out of the office as I really had no words (I know, very hard to believe, but I didn’t and while I did say thank you—it did not do my feelings justice.  I mean, what else do you say to a team who was the center of your world for months?   Hope never to see you again just seemed wrong).  On the other hand, as I walked out the door I had this amazing freeing feeling—I was done, FINALLY done with chemo.  Kinda felt surreal.

The past few weeks have been wonderful.  The chemo is leaving the body and I am feeling better and better each day.  I still get very tired, but it’s different. It is not a sick tired.   Of course it probably has to do with pushing myself as that golden normal ring is within reach (probably not a good use of words as I was never able to grab the golden ring on the merry go round—I was too short).  I admit to overdoing it—but it was nice to finally work a few 8 hour days. Not to brag or anything, but this last pay period I worked 36.5 hours the first week and 37 the second and it was heaven-- okay—it just about killed me the first week but I made it through the second week without dying so all is good. (Estell is now shaking her head as she reads this—I expect a phone call will be in my future). 

 My tastes are almost back to normal too and I am torn between it is wonderful and darn, I really need to lose weight.  Then again, I have been loving all the fruits and veggies I had stayed away from.  And strangely enough, my taste for real soda and sweet tea have left me.  Too bad my taste for those Chocolate Peanut Butter Cupcakes remains.  Small steps, small steps…

My beginning of the end starts tomorrow (Monday, June 25).  I have a standing 4:30pm appointment at Coastal Radiation—now forever known as the Glow Place—every weekday until August 10.  In preparation for turning into a glow worm, I am the proud owner of 5 little tattoos—dots.  I will say I was dreading the day I went in to get them (remember I hate needles).  But it was nothing… thank goodness for small favors.  Rumor has it I might get tired from the radiation. Seriously?!  I have spent the last 6 months tired and I doubt it will be like the chemo fatigue.  Now that was bad---nothing like taking a shower and then having to take a nap.  I was thinking those days were behind me.  Many have offered to take me, but I am hoping to do most of it on my own.   Time will tell.  However, Debbie gets to take me for my first zap tomorrow and I figure since she is a nurse, if anything happens, she will be there.  Nothing is supposed to happen, but we are talking me so anything goes at this point.  Just covering all the bases.

Bring on the glow…

About dang time

Freedom:  The condition of being free of restraints--- American Heritage Dictionary

            I know, a little behind with an update, but cut me a break—I have been enjoying watching round 6 in the rearview mirror.  So let’s play catch up, shall we?  Round 6 was Monday, May 21 and the following weekend—my usual let me visit the 10^th floor weekend, was looming.   Oddly enough, the odds were stocked in my favor.  For the first time, Dr K was on call and I just KNEW I was not going to be able to take advantage.  Not to mention Billy was down and he said he would cross to the other side of the ER and take me if needed.  There was a part of me which really wanted to go because of those 2, but then again, the part of me which just totally HATES fluids was praying otherwise.  Starting Sunday afternoon, I became attached to my 3 thermometers ( yes 3—I lost 2, bought one , found one as soon as I opened the new one and 10 minutes later found the last one) but I made it through.  Monday dawned and I admit to taking my temp at least 20 times.   And yes, my temp did made it to the “I have to call” point (by .1), but since Billy was long gone and Mom would be the one driving, I took 2 Advil and went to bed.

      When I woke up on Tuesday, I was ready… I had made it through the tough days and Pedro was coming out—I was sick and tired of him.  Plus he hurt and I was afraid he was infected.  I called Susan and I was on my way.  I was so excited!  I get there and before I see Becca, they take my temp.  Dang thing was 99.2.  However, Becca orders a few things and all I hear is “after all of this, take the pic line out”, Yay!  Then Dr K walked by—I waved and smiled—he smiled, kept walking then did a double take and shook his head.   He turned around and I knew he was about to suck the joy out of me and I was not disappointed.  Becca finds me and the words “he doesn’t want the pic line out just yet” come from her. Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh….figures.  As I am trying to come with grips of the unexpected—something I have become familiar with the past few months--the two of them are poking their heads in the chemo waiting room.  Not my fault the “now what” came out – which of course made the others in the room laughed --they knew…it’s a cancer thing!  After Dr K questions me and yes,  I made sure to point out  this is normally  the day I am sent home from the 10^th floor as my count is back up—something he is well aware of ….he says IF my white blood count is okay—then he will okay Pedro’s release but not before.  What could I do?  I tried to give a really sad look as I headed back to the blood draw room but didn’t work.  At least this time I got to wait near Susan—which worked out great as I knew the Yay the counts are good was meant for me! And we were on our way BACK to the chemo waiting room to GET PEDRO OUT!!!!!!!! 

            Let me tell you about the chemo room.  Obviously everyone is there for the same reason. Different cancers, so many different variations on the chemo, but there is a bond knowing we are all getting filled with the poison that will hopefully kill the cancer and prolong our lives.  The chemo nurses are amazing.  They are kind, caring and keep track of everyone which is not easy as there are so many chairs and usually all are filled.  They have a gift and it shows.   They become part of your life for as long as the chemo continues and from a patient’s point of view, it is so very important to have people who truly care and are gentle to boot.  I was hoping Brittany would be there, as she gave me my first chemo as well as 3 others.  But it was her day off and I got Crystal— my second choice.  She tells me what she will be doing and it will not hurt—but to remember I have to hold my breath and basically push just as she is taking out the last of Pedro.  Very strange… but it is to avoid an air bubble at the end—or so she says.  I still think she did it just to get me. Finally Pedro is out and in the trash.  Crystal looks at me, gives me a hug and says “bring on the radiation!” and shoves me out the door as we both started to tear up.

    I have enjoyed these past few weeks before starting on the radiation.  My arm is again my own, I am able to eat fresh, raw fruits and I just feel better.  Yes, I forgot last week was fatigue week as in my mind I was done with chemo, but I dealt with it.  I am looking forward to settling into my radiation routine and then my new normal—which does include my trusty day planner!

Jeremiah 29:11

           

A lettter to Chemo....

Dear Chemo aka poison shit (I just had to and you all know who is shaking her head and it is not Aunt Sue!),

             On January 30 at 8:45am you came crashing into my life.  That was 130 days or 3120 hours or 187200 minutes and if you really want to get technical; 11232000 seconds ago.  Tomorrow, again at 8:45am, you will begin the 3.5 hours of drip and then finally, you will be done and over with and God willing will never have to be part of my life again. 

            Okay, I know I should be more thankful to you, but I am still stuck on the leg aches and making my desires for donuts disappear.  Yes, I understand you killed the cancer (better have or Dr K is going to be a wee bit ticked off), but you did put a damper on my life for a bit.  And what the heck is up with the fatigue??!! Just when I thought it could not get worse… you kicked me again.  Who knew taking a shower took so much energy a nap would be required to recover.  Speaking of showers, I know you are secretly responsible for Portia jumping ship and I think you did it to just torture me with Pedro the pic line.  He hurts and showers are out of the question as getting all stuck and tangle up in Press and Seal was a mess.  Nothing like having to have your mom cut you out of Press and Seal… talk about humiliating—especially as she was laughing her head off and kept Ann on the phone to listen to it as well.  So I am back to baths—just like a child—with only a piece of Press and Seal to deal with and trying to figure out how to shampoo my head.  And yes, I still have to shampoo the cha cha chia as it keeps it nice and soft and does not dry out the scalp—if you don’t believe me, ask Aunt Sue—she kept petting my head like  it was one of the dogs. 

            And I know you are singlehandedly responsible for the 10^th floor.  Dr K tried to fight you, but he lost and let me tell you, he was not a happy camper the last time.  You stumped him big time—I am impressed.  However, I would like to point out that although the ER trips were not the best, I had the BEST nurses around.  Shawna, my night nurse was just awesome (I had her 3 out of the 4 times).   If, for some reason you decide to crash me again and send me to the ER—have pity on me and make sure I am on her side and also make the ER wait better.  I know we are talking Memorial Day weekend which means I am asking a lot but at least have pity on Mom. .  Forget I asked you—that is a major favor—better ask God for this one.

            Back to Pedro the pic line—who I still blame you for—this flushing stuff is for the birds!  Every day?!  Are you kidding me?  At first I had them put those really long lines so I could flush myself and I while  I did a great job , they were just in the way and I have enough trouble sleeping without worrying about rolling over on them.  I had second thoughts and decided they were such a pain I would let Mom and (Nurse Ladd when Mom was not around) flush them.  Mom is getting the hang of it and I have not screamed since the first time (it really did hurt, but not as much as the scream indicated… I figured after the drain I had her in my pocket!). 

            Speaking of Mom, I do owe you.  I owe her much, much more, but because of you, she became —Mae Ling—my Chinese laundress (and her cancer alter ego --I would like to add she named herself).  She does my laundry and makes sure I have clean sheets.  She is awesome.  I have had to share her with Billy once in a while when he was down, but I  did make it clear she was mine. I will miss her when she retires.   I figure I have her until mid August, and then I will have to consider payment. 

            You have given me a few more things you might not be aware of and I am not talking about all those other nasty side effects I will not talk mention.  First of all, thank you from the bottom of my heart as I have never felt more loved and cared about.  Family is one thing, but friends, patrons, church family and just others surrounding me are completely another.  You might have sent them my way, but God has surely blessed me.   I only hope I can pay it forward the way he wants me to.  You have also shown me I am stronger than I have ever thought I could be.  You were one of my biggest fears and I have mastered you.

            I am still annoyed about the hair, but thank you for letting me keep my eyebrows.  Because I have my eyebrows, I don’t look or feel like a cancer patient when I am sporting Scarlett or Lizzie (although Scarlett is the wig of choice).  I hope it starts to grow back soon as Kim misses her hair and I know you have caused a dent in her profits.  Luckily she loves me and she is already plotting what to do when it comes in.  Yes, I am scared, but after all it is her hair, I just wear it. 

            One more item and I will let you go as I need to get some sleep so I can deal with you in the am--about this whole chemo brain thing.  It is a really great excuse, but rather annoying.  I hope some of it comes back when you end, as not only I like to be able to get the words out that I am trying to say, but I would really like to read a book soon—after all I deal in books and this not reading excuse is not going over well with those who walk in and say “got anything good to read?”  Then again, maybe I should just lift the wig off—bet that would quiet them! 

            Thanks for killing the cancer and not me.

            Love, Liza

Pedro, ER and the end is in sight....

     Hello world!  It’s been a while, hasn’t it?  I would have liked to report all has been well in chemo land, but alas, not so; nothing major, just typical me.  Let me explain…. As you might recall, Portia jumped ship during the ER visit and hospital stay associated with chemo #4.  So in order to make my life easier with needles, Dr K had me get a pic line on April 27—right before chemo #5.   Of course I had no clue what was going in my arm, but the light went on as they had me lay down on a narrow board and then they strapped my left arm in.  It should have been easier and done in the Outpatient Services, but since Portia had not been out long enough, I made the long walk to the Radiology appointment—luckily I was still clueless or I would have made a right towards the Kona Café.   I will say it was not as bad as I feared laying there and within 3 minutes, Pedro the pic line took over for Damn Portia and all was well again.  Well, for a moment anyway.

     Chemo #5 on April 30 went well and the end was in sight.  To try to avoid the 10^th floor, Dr K lowered my chemo dosage by 10%. (Actually ended up 8% as someone gained weight—really??!  I would like to point out no donuts were involved this time).   It was a good try.  However, when I took a nap on Sunday and actually slept, I knew I was in for it.  Took my temp around 530pm (100.3) called the office, talked to the on call doc and told Mom I had won the lottery yet again, we were on our way to the ER by 6pm.   Remember that Super Moon?  It was that weekend.  We got to the ER and signed in by 7pm.  And we waited and we waited and we waited.  With looneys and sick people---sick people who were going to make me sicker mind you.  Finally we got back to a stall around 11:30pm—neither of us very happy.  When we heard the doctor talking in the next stall we realized it was not that bad:

Doc: “You know why you are here, right?”

Lady: “ummm, yes” 

Doc: “you were running around outside with no clothes on.”

Lady: “okay—I want to go home”

Doc: “I am releasing you”
Lady’s fiancé: “she needs socks”
     Of course that was just the beginning; there was the man and his wife arguing over who beat who, the poor crying baby, and later, after Mom made her escape, the police with the gunshot wounds.  As my admitting ER doc said--- just another day in paradise!  Anyway, after my counts were in, the ER doc comes in and he is admitting me no matter what and Mom is thrilled there is a decision (it is now 1230am and she has a long drive home) so she is out the door within seconds—can’t blame her.  It still takes me until 3am to get to the 10^th floor and I get to meet some new nurses! Who knew what I had been missing.  Turns out I was pretty sick and Monday was one of those sleeping days.  Dr K comes in during the afternoon this time and shakes his head and wondering what to do.  I told him the first thing is to stop the fluids.  I promise to drink and drink, so he says okay but he is still wondering out loud if he should give the next chemo.  The thought of not having #6 was thrilling, but I knew he would still give it to me, just as he knew he would still give it to me.  I was released Tuesday and I knew we were a go with #6 as he told the nurse I was keeping all the appointments. 
     Chemo #6 is scheduled for Monday, May 21.  I figure a week of feeling like crap is ahead of me, then I should be back on the 10^th floor by Memorial Day to say goodbye to the staff; Pedro should be gone and I can reclaim by left arm; and should feel good by Thursday, May 31.   And I hopefully (fingers crossed) will never, ever have to endure chemo again.  The downside is I will now have to watch what I eat, but I am ready for raw fruits, veggies and salads again.  As for the chemo brain, there are studies that say it can stay with you for 18 years so I figure I have 5 years to use the excuse.  And best of all, my hair will start to come in. 

Revelation 14:12

Damn Portia

A conversation between Dr Lynn—my surgeon and Dr Kotz—my oncologist—repeated back to me by Dr Lynn as she was removing Portia:

Dr Lynn:  I have NEVER had a port rupture.

Dr Kotz:  Well, I have never had a patient crash like she does and not been able to fix it.

Dr Lynn:  Well, that’s our girl!

            Of course she says this the day after she walks in the hospital room asking me what the hell I did to Portia and that I really was a pain in the ass ( I really do like her).  Let me explain….I had my 4^th chemo on April 9 and as we all know by now, my low white blood count week starts the following Friday.  I faithfully began taking my prescribed antibiotic and my temperature.  (I made a promise to myself that if my temp was 99 or above Sunday morning, I would not go to church; it was 99.6 so I stayed home—and I would like to point out this was the first Sunday I have stayed home—not too bad).  Anyway, I puttered around and went to work around 5 for about 15 minutes as I needed to do the deposit—don’t ask—and within that 15 minutes I knew I was in trouble.  I got home, took the temp and it was 101.  Lovely.  I left a message for the on call doctor and told Mom she probably needed to get ready to go to the ER.  I packed my bag – even remembering my sleep cap—which I never did name while I was waiting to see if I won the trip to the ER.  I did win and we got there around 7pm and luckily did not wait long to get to an exam room.  Good thing as I was sitting next to this guy who smelled like smoke and he was making me sick.  Of course the other option was to move across from him, but that guy either spilled his drink or wet himself and the fact that he did not care at all made me think it was not his drink.  (And not seeing a cup helped with my deduction as well).   I get in there and my nurse—Matt—nice guy—starts to prep Portia for the needle.  And she is stinging. And I am not talking a little sting… I am talking she is stinging… something she has never done.  He then looks and says “I see metal.”   Of course he can see metal. It is me after all and it is Sunday night so why the hell not?!  Damn Portia.   Of course that gets everyone (but me) worried as she is connected to the thing that is IN my heart—I forgot that part.  As we wait to see what is happening, it is getting later and later and Mom is thinking of the drive back home.  Finally, the ER Doc comes in and says I am on my way to the 10^th floor—Mom says good bye and is out the door within seconds—after all she did have an hour drive back.  I would also like to mention at this time she is saying to me “you better not tell people I abandoned you.”  For the record—my mother did not abandon me—but boy she was out of there in record time!  In fact, she was home before I even made it to the 10^th floor. 

            Okay—so I am finally in the room and I actually was able to sleep.  Not too bad.  But, because it was someone other than Dr K, I won the fluid drip.  I hate the fluid drip.  Dr K knows that I hate the fluid drip.  I am hooked up and have to drag that thing around with me.  He comes in and I am so excited to see him I forget to ask him about the drip. (Stupid, stupid, stupid.  So I am stuck with it until he comes by Tuesday am).  Anyway, my counts have started to go up, typical for me, but he tells me the port is coming out and he will think about what we will do.  Damn Portia.  Fast forward to Tuesday am and I am done with the stupid fluids.  I hate smelling like saline and I hate tasting the stuff and it makes everything taste bad.  So when Dr K walks in, I am telling him I didn’t care if I had to stay until Wednesday, but get rid of the fluids.  He kinda laughed and said no problem.  He then looks at my count shakes his head and says “Counts are normal; you can go after the port is removed.” Yay me!!!!!!!   He then informs me I am going to have to get a pic line for the last 2 treatments.  I had no idea what he was talking about, but I have to do what I have to do.  He leaves and Dr Lynn comes in to take out Portia.  I will not lie, she had to numb the area and that needle hurt like hell and she had to stick me a few times before she could take Portia out.  Whew, it was finally done and I could go home—took a while to get released and as Jen was wheeling me out, I said “see you in a few weeks” and she agreed.  For the record, Jen has been one of my nursing assistants all 3 times.   

            I am set to get my pic line on Friday, just in time for my 5^th chemo on Monday.  Hopefully it will not be too bad, but apparently again I will lose my left arm to some sort of contraption. But the end is in sight.  If all goes as planned (hahaha!!) my last chemo will be May 21.   Then the radiation will begin but so will the hair growth and I can’t wait to see what that looks like.  Cha cha chia!

            Oh and in case you were wondering about Portia, I have possession and I am thinking necklace.  

3 months....

It has been exactly 3 months today since Dr Lynn walked into the recovery room and told me the tumor was 2.3 cm and 4 out of 20 lymph nodes had cancer.  Translation: Stage 3 breast cancer.  It has been an interesting ride—mostly ups with a few downs.  I have learned quite a few things—some things I could have gone my entire life not knowing about and some things which I am grateful for learning.

 

Things cancer has taught me:

·         Wigs can be misplaced.

·         Chemo brain does exist.

·         I have a great staff.

·         Always get a port.

·         I need to send more cards to people.

·         My sense of smell has improved.

·         I am loved.

·         I still really hate needles.

·         Mom is an awesome caregiver.

·         I can slow down and not do it all.

·         A sense of humor is worth its weight in gold.

·         Facebook friends can cheer you instantly.

·         Hospitals are not too bad.

·         Nothing better than clean sheets.

·         Spicy foods taste good.

·         Some people gain weight instead of losing it.

·         Side effects are a pain in the ass.

·         Only some side effects can be treated.

·         Sleep is overrated.

·         Soft tissues and soft toilet paper are a must.

·         Kids get it. 

·         It is what it is so deal with it.

·         I am surrounded by loving, thoughtful people.

·         Wildflowers make me smile.

·         Good medical care makes all the difference.

·         I need to reach out to people more.

·         I am stronger than I ever thought possible.

·         Prayer works.

·         My plans are not God’s plans.

·         God is in control.

There are so many quotes, Bible verses which can be used to explain, describe the past 3 months.  I think this one pretty much nails it: 2 Corinthians 5:7 We live by faith, not by sight.

Detours and needles.....

DETOUR: NOUN

1. A roundabout way or course, especially a road used temporarily instead of a main route.

2. A deviation from a direct course of action.

     Again, I just can’t do it the easy way.  Started with the call to Billy last Sunday night—it went like this:  
Me:  Got a 99.9 fever, am not telling Mom.  Took some Advil, so it should take it down—right?
Bill:  It’s not that bad, but take it and see. 
Me:  Remember, if anything happens to me, I did talk to a doctor so it is not my fault.
Bill:  Okay.

            Well, the fever went to 101 and thanks to normal drugs, not the poison I have been experienceing; it was down to 98 which is good (well in my mind anyway).  I continued to take my normal drugs all day and felt great.  I even told Mom I had a fever but all was good.  Famous last words….  I woke up Tuesday with a fever of 100 and a really guilty feeling of I should have called yesterday.  So I called Susan, who agreed I more than likely masked the fever, but she needed to tell Dr K and would call me back.  She called me back and told me to come on down.  I told her I needed a shower… she told me no—he was only there until noon.  I whined and said it’s not like I have to do my hair… she told me to MOVE IT!  (I took the shower).

            Seeing as Mom was already at her own appointment in Wilmington, I drove myself—as I said before, I did not feel bad at all, however, I did have that I am going back to the 10^th floor feeling.   I go in and get the first blood draw—out of the arm.  And then waited for them to draw from Portia.  I felt good when Susan found me before they drew from Portia.  Mom had just called and she said let’s do lunch (I still had that 10^th floor feeling), but I said okay.   Susan puts me in the office and Dr K comes in and just shakes his head.  I knew.  Automatic admittance is when the white blood count is .5 and I was at a .510.  Whew--- there was a sliver of light….which lasted a mere minute.  He just looked at me and I knew.  I told him I was good with it, understood and then I promised if I got a fever again I would call and not wait.  We talked about my next round and he is going to up the antibiotic as I am crashing so low.   Then Dr K said the most important statement he could have ever said.   “We are going for the cure and I am not reducing the strength of the chemo.”    And that is why I am blessed to have him.   So off I went to Susan, who was calling in my reservation for the 10^th floor just as Mom is walking around the corner thinking we were going to lunch—I set her straight with “I’m not going to lunch, I am going to the 10^th floor.” She took it well. And lucky me, there was a room ready for me so no waiting.  It actually took me longer to find a parking space then it did to check in and get upstairs.  (I was really glad I had driven through Bojangles earlier—little did Susan know… a shower, Bojangles and I still got there in decent time!).

            I was hoping to have Leigh again as my day nurse (and trust me, I realized the next day why I really needed her!!) but it was not to be.  My day nurse shall remain nameless as she tortured me while accessing Portia.  Granted, she had no clue, but I am sure she knows now (thanks to my second day nurse Allison and Leigh who stopped by a few times Wednesday).  She was getting ready to put the needle it and I happened to turn around.  That sucker was huge, nothing like I had ever seen before.  The holy shit was out of my mouth before I could control it and louder than I thought.  I happened to look out my door—which was open for some reason and would you believe some guy with a clerical collar is walking by—but at least he smiled at me.  (I am not Catholic, but I sure felt like confessing). Anyway, she continued with the needle and I will say it hurt like hell.  I whimpered, but did not cry and trust me, I wanted to, but I kept thinking I am bigger than the needle. (Yeah—chemo brain kicked in, as I am NOT bigger than any needle).  Said needle stayed in the entire stay and it hurt the entire stay.  Oh well, on the positive side, as there is a positive side to everything, I only got antibiotics and no fluids, so I did not have  to drag a shadow with me this time—nor did I smell like saline, such a delightful smell.  

            I did forget to pack my still to be named night cap, which caused me a few moments of concern.  I was wearing Lizzie and she was creeping up – talk about high hair. Plus she was getting hot.  Donna, the night nursing assistant was awesome—she found a pediatric gown and I was able to use it.  Okay, it looked hilarious, but it worked and I was happy.  She also tracked down a cherry Italian ice so she was my favorite nursing assistant. 

            Back to Allison, Leigh and that damn needle.  My counts were back to normal by the time Dr K came in at 7:30am and he wanted to wait until the end of the day to make a decision.  Turns out he was waiting for 24 hours for some kind of bacteria test to come back.  He surprised me at 430pm and sprung me.  Good thing too as not only was the needle still killing me, but the lady next door must have been trying to cough up a lung and she always wanted her door open and she complained a lot. (Yes, I heard all of this through my closed door—very annoying).  So Allison and Leigh came in to finish the paperwork and to take out that damn needle.  Leigh sees the needle and freaks--- “why in the world is that huge thing in your arm?”  Ummmm, day nurse put it there… at which point she says to Allison “we need to train her… that is the biggest needle I have seen! “  It figures.

            I have been home a few days and feel great.  The worst I felt this week was in the hospital (amusing if you ask me).  I went back to work for a few hours and actually worked a full day (for a Saturday) and it was great.  I still get tired very easily and I know I over do it at times, but I am also very well aware of when it is time to stop.  This is a “good” week and I am going to take advantage of it.   Next week is round 4 and then it will be downhill from there.  The done light is getting brighter and brighter.   Yes, I am sure there will be more detours, but I am getting better at accepting those.  I wonder when all of this is over if I will revert back to hating those detours or actually find a way to accept and embrace them? Time will tell!

Hebrews 4:16