On the bike

For as long as I can remember I have loved riding my bike. I can still recall in vivid detail the moment that my training wheels came off for the first time in the nice flat driveway of my gradparent's house. My bike meant fun, transportation, and freedom.
It got serious about age 13 when I started doing long distance rides with the local American Youth Hostels group (now Columbus Outdoor Pursuits). I would pore over Ohio county maps, looking for what might be interesting routes.

In short, since that time, getting out into the countryside on my bike has always been important to me not only physically, but emotionally, spiritually and psychologically as well. Any of you who knew the situation with me and my ex-husband know that I would never have survived the years 1998-2004 were it not for my bicycle...taking me to the roads that called to me to ponder, think and pray.

More recently, my husband took up cycling the year before we got married (2006). He has become a firm addict/afficionado. We love watching bike racing on TV, especially the Tour de France.In early 2008 we bought a Burley Rumba tandem. The way riding a randem is an analogy for marriage is a topic for another piece. Suffice it to say for now, we LOVE riding the tandem.

We can actually hear one another better on the tandem than when we are riding our single bikes side by side. Maybe he likes it because he can request a back-scratch any time he feels like it. Best of all, we can share the beauty of the countryside together: the gold to brown change of the soybeans as they approach harvest, the corn tassles, the freshly turned fields, an amazing variety of cloud formations and sunsets. We also have a game called "Roadkill Identification", but I'll omit those details here.

After thinking "Am I going to die soon?", "Will I ever be able to ride (a bicycle) again?" was my second concern after the doctors told me my left lung needed to be removed. There I was, the healthiest person they had ever seen with lung cancer. A non-smoker, no health issues other than some pretty impressive allergies....

For weeks after surgery the pain was considerable. Now, 12 weeks out, breathing is still an issue-- as is yawning and sighing....those things are not satisfying with only one lung. I'm feeling somewhat stronger and not quite as depressed by the limitations imposed by my physical changes.

I have prayed and prayed about riding again. A week or so ago, David and I went out on the tandem for a 3 mile ride. I was encouraged. Tonight, I prayed. The weather was a cool upper 60s, a light wind from the SW. I got my bright red Cannondale R600
down from where it hung from the garage ceiling. I felt excitement and dismay at the same time. Could I ride? Could I be satisfied with going 7 mph if need be, just to keep going?

Pre-ride checks done. Helmet, gloves, sunglasses on. Trip meter zeroed out. Water bottle iced and full. Inhaler and cell phone in back pocket. Driver's license and keys in handlebar bag. I walked the bike to the end of our gravel driveway and set her gently on the street.

Right leg over, clipped in. Deep breath...push off and up the street I went. Find the right gear. Easy spin up the long gentle incline that is Walnut Street. Not feeling any more winded than usual...so far so good.

As I went farther toward the edge of town, I could feel the breathing become much harder. The cough that has hounded me for months joined the party. I coughed and coughed the entire ride, inhaler not withstanding. When it would be bad, I'd slow down to barely more than a crawl, practically doing a track stand.

I constantly evaluated my breathing and exertion, bearing the cough in mind...and shifted gears accordingly. Once out of town, I was ecstatic that I had made the effort. Early fall in our part of central Ohio is lovely. Two minutes away from the house, I was in farmland. Most of the soybeans were a warm gold color...the last days before they go to brown. I visited with a group of 4 or 5 German Shorthaired Pointers (like our Duke) who live along the route. Repeatedly, I would slow down to a crawl to catch my breath....so I could go on...and go on I did. I stopped when traffic dictated, but otherwise really kept moving, albeit at a snail's pace.

This was not a ride about speed. It was a ride about "Can I even do this?". Yes, I can. I will not be able to ride like I did before, but so what? I can imagine other riders thinking, "What's up with that gal who's all decked out for riding, with the hot bike who's such a slow poke? Dag!" I don't care..yes I do. The prideful part of me wants to have a jersey that says on the back: "I only have one lung--but I'm riding!"

I don't know what the CT scheduled for September 20 will show. If the Tarceva isn't working and I have to go on an aggressive chemo cocktail, that will tear me back down again. If it's working, then I continue the path I'm on and continue to pursue the bike. My cough is a bit worse today...I challenged my respiratory system.

I was out there. I did it. I can do it again and each time will get better.

Tarceva journey begins...

This post may be disturbing--just a warning up front. Tonight, I start taking Tarceva, the tyrosine-kinase inhibitor that we hope will get my metastatic lung cancer into remission. I'm praying that 1.)I can tolerate the side effects, 2.) it works, and 3.) they see a result soon....so the surgeon can go after my breast cancer.

I've given a lot of thought to my faith, my life and living and dying over the last few weeks. I've done a lot of soul searching in terms facing death within the next year --five years, maybe longer if I'm VERY lucky.

One guarantee that we all have in life is that we will one day die a physical death. How, when...not for us to know or decide. One "fear" I've always had was becoming old, infirm and having to go in a nursing home. Dementia. Alzheimers. This fear flies in the face of Scripture---where it states "Fear not", "Do not be afraid"....dozens of times in several different wordings.

So...the bottom line is again, trusting the Lord to meet my needs, and to give me experiences that will make me more into the person He wants me to be. Cancer is part of that plan. It's an in-my-face call to evaluate my life.

I am blessed to have so many wonderful people pulling for me and praying for me....dozens of them I have never met face to face. Some of them are in the midst of their own personal crisis---health or otherwise---but they still have reached out to me to offer words of love and encouragement. I've gotten Facebook posts of fellow Schipperke lovers that moved me to tears. The love of the Lord coming through His people...

Getting metastatic lung cancer and breast cancer at the same time is not what I had in mind for this time in my life. I had actually planned on returning to school for my doctorate. Frankly, pursuing a doctorate at this age would be narcissistic over-indulgence. Did I take my body for granted? I've always been active and healthy --- and now my physical abilities are greatly changed, reduced. It is with a new paradigm of my physical self that I approach this medical regimen.

I'm excited to attack this chapter of life. Yes--many things have changed and will continue to do so. Having cancer doesn't mean that I am going to die tomorrow. I have cancer...but I am NOT cancer. I live with cancer, but it isn't going to define who I am. The cancer cells hanging out in my body are no more ME than the cellulite on my legs.

I have been blessed with a wonderful husband and new life after years in a miserable, loveless marriage. In David I found someone who really understands what makes me tick, someone I love to do things with, go places with, talk with, pray with; I have a new family. I have been blessed with more in the last 3 years than I could ever have hoped for.

This is not just my journey, but also David's. He his a man of incredible strength and faith. He believes that the Lord is using this to do many things in our lives and in the lives of others. He believes he is the one meant to go through this with me. (Thank you Lord!) I asked the doctor if she thought I'd have a year left to live. I did NOT ask "How long have I got?". She's hopeful that I will be one of the people who go into remission. The breast cancer is a wild card. David and I have things to do!

I am left with the choice of how I will live day to day from here on out. I must look for joy and happiness every day. I must choose to be happy in spite of the changes. If I only have 13 or 60 months left to live, do I want to spend them depressed and miserable? Heck no!

I know that I will have boo-hoo moments, and depending on the side effects, may struggle. My life will never be what it was before. Period. The challenge is to find a new "normal" and live within that. I pray all the time that I get the lesson/message that the Lord wants me to. How can I / we use this for Him?

It's almost time to take the pill. "One hour before or two hours after eating." I join the ranks of several fellow Stage IV NSCLC patients taking Tarceva who I have "met" on the Inspire website support group. There are so many people there who generously share their experiences and encouragment with others who seek insight, reassurance and hope. I thank them.

Lord-- I would really rather not have to go through this --- but not my will, but Your will be done!

My meltdown: what Jack, Duke and David did

I had a meltdown yesterday (Sunday July 4th), that lasted almost the whole day. I'm not proud of it; most of the time I've been fine since this whole thing with the cancer started. Yesterday was a shining example of a 51 year-old woman transformed into a cranky 3 year-old having a temper tantrum. Stamp the foot..."I don't want to be sick!!!!My whole life is xxxxed up!I don't want to be sick!!!" ....and so on.

Mixture of fatigue, not feeling well, menopause with a little depression thrown in? I make no excuses. It is somewhat shameful considering my great faith and the great support I've received from every corner of my life.

Anyone who has lived intimately with dogs understands the special relationship and unique communication that occurs between human and canine. What Jack and Duke did yesterday was extraordinary...and in 43 years of living with dogs, was something I had never experienced.

I was upset, in the shower crying. Got out, sat on the stool at the vanity. Sobbing with one lung is different than sobbing with two lungs. Sounds odd, but you'll have to take my word for it. Breathing effectively with one lung while sobbing is impossible.

The sounds I was making as I tried to get a breath were...disturbing, even to me, the sobber...a gasping, honking sort of sound. I was afraid I would pass out. I felt Duke's cold nose nudge my right arm and hip. Jack, standing beside him, barked sharply at me, once, twice, three times. He jumped and nipped firmly at my right arm, then barked again. Duke kept his head on my right thigh.

My utter astonishment at the dog's actions short circuited my sobbing jag. I was able to catch my breath and slow it down. As my breathing changed, Jack sat down, ears up, watching me intently, expectantly. "I'm OK boys, Mommy's OK. It's OK." The ears went back, and he jumped up to place his front feet on my right leg, rear end wagging. Duke lifted his head and gave me a sloppy, wet Pointer kiss.

Once I was "fine", their whole demeanor changed from one of concern and worry back to "happy as usual" morning ritual mode. This is not a dramatic case of saving someone's life, but Jack and Duke knew things weren't right with me, and they intervened. Wow.

My blessed husband had the most incredible insight later that afternoon. He realized that I had "stuff" that had to come out, and that I needed someone to push against to facilitate getting the job done. He sensed my anger. He knew that he was the one, the only one with the knowledge of me and my situation who had the authority and position to do it.

Anger is never pretty. It's all about not getting what we want, getting our way. I DO believe that the Lord is in charge, and that he has and will always work all things together for my good. But it's not about me getting my way...it's about His will for my life and dying to self. But as Christ prayed in the Garden of Gethsemene on the night he was betrayed, he said " My Father, if it is possible, take this cup from me....but not my will, but Yours be done." I am not angry with God, if that makes any sense.

I'm ashamed of my meltdown. I could not steer it. So I can only apologize to David, and vow to learn from it. We are emotional creatures, and emotion and intellect will get out of balance. I'm grieving, period. My prayer is that as I continue to grieve and come to terms with the physical changes associated with my illness, that I will do so graciously.

A courageous friend helps me

My best friend has MS. She was diagnosed in 1999 when her hands stopped working properly. This diagnosis presented problems, because she was a hairdresser: had her own chic salon, was an educator for several product lines, all around tops in her field. Long story short: she had to close her salon, move in with her sister and try to create a new life.

That was a very difficult time for her, and the subsequent years were
(are) very challenging. Loss of function, loss of endurance, loss of mobility, loss of dexterity, waves of severe fatigue...the symptom list is endless and ever changing. MS is a moving target... it changes its attack over time. Can you imagine the depression of coping with all those changes? She struggled, but never, ever lost her sense of humor.

As her friend, I did what I could. We eventually referred to her disabled parking permit as the "princess parking permit": we could park closer to the stores. Her wheelchair provided myriad opportunities to hang shopping bags when the shopping trips got serious. She went back for vocational training and started her own travel agency specializing in travel for clients with mobility issues. She is an expert on those motorized carts in the grocery stores, and navigates crowded stores with confidence. Her struggle and resilience were amazing and humbling to see.

Fast forward 11 years. Tables turn. I am the one who's struggling now. She's the one who understands what it means to have your life turn on a dime and change into something that you don't recognize. She knows what is means to be strong, healthy and active -- only to have that disappear.

Kristi is teaching me that it's OK to be sick, that it's OK that I'm not the strong one now. She understands what it's like to drive a scooter in the store -- as a relatively young person who normally wouldn't need one--- and have people look at you with pity. To feel you're pathetic in the eyes of the world. She understands what it's like to appear healthy and normal, but be so desperately fatigued, you don't know if you can go on one more minute...

Energy conservation. This is something that I have spoken about in generalities with my own patients for years. Now it is the reality for me. Kristi has become an expert in task analysis for this purpose. Living it changes everything.

What a gift that I have this wonderful friend in my life -- who I've known for 30 years -- who is willing walk through this with me, drawing on her own experiences to offer hope and encouragement to me!

I've only been down for about a month. I've lost a lung, and still have chemo ahead of me... then I have a breast surgery and chemo coming. Who knows what I'll have left after all this in terms of functionality? My body does not define who I am. Losing a lung hasn't changed who I am or what I believe in. If losing a breast is going to save my life, so be it. I am not my breasts.

The Lord has a purpose and a lesson in all this for me... I must keep my head and heart open for it.

Schipperke Jack comes home: companion for this journey

This is the first in what is likely to be a large group of musings about a subject very dear to my heart: dogs...in particular Schipperkes. I've had at least one of these wonderful dogs in my life since June 1984. The posts will not be in any chronological order... but I'll share things as they come to mind.

Jack is our current Schipperke. We adopted him from Ohio Schipperke Rescue on November 21, 2008. That adoption almost didn't take place.

Our last Schipperke female, Israel, had to be put to sleep on September 26, 2008 at the age of 12. I was devastated. She was the last in a long line of Schipperkes from the Kingfisher line that I'd had since 1996. I love Duke, our German Shorthaired Pointer, but I am a Schipperke lover to the core. There's just not another breed of dog that speaks to my spirit and heart like a Schip.

I had been watching the adoption websites for some time. I had wanted to get another Schip before Israel became ill. Our Ohio Schip rescue was empty at the time. I kept searching and found a wonderful rescue organization in Iowa called "Fluffy Butts Rescue Resort". FB had a Schipperke male named "Edgar". His photo just broke my heart. Long story short, 2 weeks after Israel died, we drove to Iowa to adopt Edgar.

Edgar was a beautiful boy, very shy, almost feral in behavior. We had him three weeks when he ran out the door on Beggars Night---never to be seen again. He was microchipped, had on ID -- everything-- but in spite of every effort to locate him, he has never been found.

I was again devastated. I felt sad and guilty about Edgar, and was again without that special Schipperke "something" in my life. The head of Ohio Schipperke Rescue (OSR) had been helping with the search for Edgar, so knew our situation. She asked if we'd be willing to provide a foster home for a 2 year old Schip male named "Jack". We drove to Ashville Nov 21 to meet Jack.

After 2 seconds with Jack, I was in love with him. My husband David could see that this wasn't going to be a foster situation, we simply adopted Jack that day.

Dr Q. of OSR said that Jack and a female schip had been left, tied up outside a no-kill shelter. She had received a phone call from a man a few weeks before that who said that he had 2 Schipperkes he was having to give up.

The female had already been adopted. Even then, my heart just ached for the people who had to give these dogs up. From the very start, Jack was a very loving little dog. A little shy, a little fearful, but with a beautiful heart and spirit.

Duke and Jack hit it off beautifully. Unlike Israel and Obi who were quite elderly when Duke got to know them, Jack is a young dog, full of energy and playfulness. Jack has really brought out the puppy in Duke -- who isn't young himself---he's almost 10. The two of them are a riot to watch, especially when 70-pound Duke imitates the play bow/ behavior of 16 pound Jack.

Schipperkes do a funny thing a Facebook friend of mine calls the "rippy romps". They like to run, jump, spin around, tear around at top speed from one end of the house to the other. Jack has taught Duke the rippy romps, an it's hysterical. They are best of friends. Having Jack as a companion has been wonderful for Duke.

As Schipperkes go, Jack is very typical of the breed. Curious, active, always looking for something to do, and very playful. He's very, very smart. He can be stubborn and willful, but is always so cute when being that way. His confirmation is good, but whoever docked his tail did it incorrectly. It's too long, and there's one area of about 10 hairs that are longer than the rest. It gives his rear an odd appearance, but a distinctive one. The tail says that he was not bred by a true Schip lover /breeder---who would have seen to it that the docking was done correctly. He's probably a puppy mill dog who was purchased at a pet store...but he is a Schipperke, through and through. I love him dearly.

In all the toughest times of my life, I've had the Lord and at least one fine dog to walk with me. I've never had any serious health issues until this year, 2010. Being diagnosed with both lung and breast cancer was something that totally surprised David and me, and set our world spinning. Jack and Duke are the dogs for this journey. The provide us both with unconditional love --- and exellent antics and entertainment to lift our spirits.

Since coming home from the hospital, Jack has been my shadow. When I'm on the recliner, he'll come up for some cuddle and a nap, or cuddle and then go off to chew a toy. If he's not with me on the chair, when he hears me put the footrest down to get up, he's at my side in a flash. He will then stay with me while I walk to the kitchen or the bathroom... right with me until I'm back in the chair. At night, he sleeps in his own bed next to Duke. If I get up in the night, he gets up with me, follows me, and only goes back to his bed once I am back in mine.

He seems to know that I am not feeling well, and that his presence gives me comfort. He just sits with me and waits. He doesn't push for petting or attention (as he might at other times). He's still and patient as he watches me. He watches and waits. When I'm settled in again, breathing quietly, he'll go off to play or nap...always listening for the sound of me moving, his cue to return.

What a wonderful little fella. He's brought a special happy, loving energy to our home. He's brought joy and playfulness to an older dog who was an "only" dog for years. When I think of the people who had to give him up, I just pray that they know that he is in a home with people who love him and cherish him. Bless them for taking him to a no-kill shelter. I pray that someday their circumstances will allow them the joy of having a dog like Jack again.

First full day home after surgery (or thank God for pain meds)

Sunday June 13, 2010. Started out OK. I had more sleep on our old Value-City 1996 era recliner than I did in the hospital. Sleeping on any form of plastic, with just a thin sheet between your skin and the plastic, has NEVER been a good combination for nocturnal comfort. The mattress AND the pillows. All plastic. Enough to make Nanuk of the North sweat in his sleep. So, imnagine further with me now: a typically too-warm hospital room, outfitted thusly, bring in a very perimenopausal 51 year old female...amd you have all the ingredients present for quite a spectactular meltdown, if not all-out spontaneous combustion.

So-- at least here at home, lots of cotton, a fan, airconditioning and the opportunity to remove clothing as needed without worrying about hourly or bi-hourly visits from myriad staff members checking vitals. Here at home I can stand up and walk to the bathroon without most of the bedding stuck to my behind, trailing like the finest wedding couture. Oh, my.

The pain meds are something else. Oh, I suppose they work well enough...but I don't understand that there are people who take this stuff for "fun"! It makes me very sleepy and slightley incoherent. I'm nodding off now. So much for being bored and wanting to read. I'm not able to stay alert enough to read for very long.

I still have episodes of excruciating pain in spite of all the pain meds. Gives me a whole new perspective on the patient with legitimate pain issues.....and also on those who are just trying to get these drugs for "fun". Head nodding. Will continue soon.

No problems, only new adventures...

May 2010 just wasn't a great month for me. I went from being a happy, healthy (albeit a bit overweight), active 51 year old woman to being a cancer patient. And not just one, but two different cancers...in different places....but at the same time. Lung cancer, left lung. Workup for lung surgery showed breast cancer --also left side.

Not all my blog posts will be this serious. I've got some fun and some serious stories I'd like to share. These next few weeks I will finally have time to write them down.

The morning of Friday April 30, the day of the chest x-ray that started all this, I behaved badly. Hubby David has so much more vacation time stored up than I do...I was feeling jealous. I was feeling overwhelmed at work. My right arm had been hurting for months David was getting in all this time on the bike, and I wasn't. He'd had some really good rides, some real distances and was rightfully proud of it and excited about riding. I said some not-so-nice things to him that morning.

Did the chest x-ray after getting to work, then saw my patients. Later that afternoon, I read the x-ray report: a 3.5cm mass in the left lung. Suddenly, my pettiness of that morning seemed pathetically out of place.

May was a whirlwind of tests, imaging, biopsies, bronchoscopies and doctor appointments. Tomorrow, I go in for surgery to remove part of, if not all of my left lung. Kinda makes missing a few bike rides seem like nothing to worry about.

I've been griping and moaning for months about not having any time to really read a book...or write anything. I read 2 pages at night and I'm asleep. After this surgery, I have to be off work for 4 to 6 weeks. I'm going to have scads of time to read, right, sleep, talk on the phone, FB, blog....whatever.

I've never had a major surgery. In 2005, my deviated septum was fixed -- outpatient surgery. The NEXT DAY I was out riding my bicycle and did 30 miles. If I'm going to feel miserable, better on the bike that sitting around home.

Don't that will be the case this time. The old bod's going to have to adjust to less lung, less oxygenation...they say that over time the body adapts. I know about liver disease...lungs are not my thing. I am very uncertain what to expect. My heart and breathing tests came out better than expected for a woman my age. Hopefully, I'll adapt quickly.

What if this cancer diagnosis is actually a GIFT? The Lord is already working on me and in the lives of those around me. How is He going to use this experience to shape me, to change me...so that I can serve Him better? I've seen Him use really ugly circumstances for my good--- He got me through, and led me to use those experiences for growth and good. Why should this be any different?

I must follow my own advice to my patients: no, you will never be the same, your health will never be what is was 20 years ago. Your life will change. It will be different, but it can still be good. Finding a new "normal" can be difficult.

I pray that I have the grace to find and accept my new normal, and the strength and grace to make it as good as it can possibly be...to joyfully serve the Lord with my husband for the time we are given.