Still waiting…

WARNING – This post may be uncharacteristically whiny and cranky.  It is boring, and lacks any pictures or “fun stuff.”  Maybe its the heat.  Maybe its the start of menopause, or maybe, just MAYBE it’s the WAITING!

So, last year when we were first diagnosed with the Cowden’s Syndrome, the geneticist suggested my daughter and I each be followed regularly by an oncologist who would act as a ‘case manager’ of sorts.  Seemed logical.  We got Meghan set up with a doctor in NYC.  She actually has experience treating “patients like us.”  We thought we were golden.  She ordered the initial scans for Meghan (and even for me) of the brain.  She ordered Meghan’s thyroid sonogram, and her biopsy last November. 

Well, that biopsy was a traumatic train wreck to say the least.  To make it worse, when we spoke to the oncologist about it she was defensive of the doctor she had sent us to.  We moved the biopsy slides to another hospital and she was obviously annoyed.  She is still Meghan’s oncologist of record, but we haven’t seen her in months.

I tried an oncologist here at home.  He listened, the first visit, and the second.  On the second visit he suggested I look into having the remainder of my thyroid removed prophylactically.  He gave me the name of a surgeon and told me to go ASAP.  So, when I called to make an appointment with the surgeon and he wouldn’t see me, I called my oncologist back.  He would not get on the phone with me, and would not call the doctor on my behalf.  I was livid, but found myself an endocrine surgeon who (at least for now) advised against removing the rest of my thyroid.

When I called my oncologist back in late January to schedule my breast MRI.  I was told it was too early.  I reminded them that February marked 6 months since my last, and in fact it was right on time.  They refused to authorize the MRI until late March.  Well, we know how that turned out.  When they called me with the authorization number I laughed at the irony of the whole thing, and told them I didn’t need another appointment.

So, there was the mastectomy in March.  Great surgeons, great catch, great job.

There was the hysterectomy in May.  Again, great surgeon.  Job well done.

The surgeon in May recommended an oncologist in her practice for me.  I called to make an appointment.  I was told to fax my paperwork.  I asked if they could just look in my chart.  It is all shared between the doctors.  No, please fax it.  Ok – 39 pages later – and a huge fight with my fax machine… I got it. 

They called today to tell me the oncologist thinks I should see a geneticist instead.  Gee isn’t that ingenious?  That is how I got diagnosed to begin with.   Dope.  They will look into it and call me back.

I am starting to feel like PTEN mutation is some sort of plague.  What is WRONG with these people?

Which brings me back to my girl.  In February the surgeon(who people travel the world to see) for her AVM said that her next surgery would need to be at Boston Children’s Hospital.  They were not sure exactly when, but July was floated as a possibility.  So we went last Thursday, the 28th of June for her MRI.  After a grueling 2 hours, we left with a CD in hand, and the promise that the results would be at the NY surgeon’s office Monday.

I took the copy of the disk I had, put a cover letter on it, and sent it to the Boston surgeon we met in April, promising him a report would soon follow.

Monday I called the NY surgeon for the results.  I was told the disk hadn’t arrived.  They would call me.  I called again this morning.  I reminded the receptionist that I really was anxious about the results.  It’s on his desk she told me.  She also told me he leaves today for vacation till Monday.  I asked her to be sure someone calls me today.  I carried my cell phone ALL day. 

It’s 10:04.  I guess I will be waiting till Monday.  Really?  I know it could be worse.  It could always be worse, but enough with the lack of compassion, the inability, and lack of desire to follow through.  Enough with being scared of treating us because you don’t quite understand what we have.  Enough WAITING!

“The Waiting Place…”

Oh, the Places You'll Go!

 “…You can get so confused
that you’ll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place…

…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting…” –  Dr. Seuss

I ABSOLUTELY DESPISE THE WAITING PLACE!

There is more to the book.  Lots more, but this is the part that keeps running through my mind, right now, at 1 AM, as I sit buried under a pile of papers.  There is some combination of house bills, medical bills, medical errors that need to be corrected, and “this just has to wait because I can’t deal with it right now.”

I successfully organized a lot, and have a bag of shredding to prove it.  This makes me happy.  I like order.  I strive on structure.  I can sometimes be a little difficult to live with because in my house every toy, every item, has a “home.”  Nothing is left laying around.  I will confess to being a bit compulsive.

Why?  People ask all the time.  Why, with all you have been through, why after the breast cancer, the hysterectomy, Meghan’s surgeries, WHY does it matter if your floor is mopped and your counter is clean?  All the time I hear – LET IT GO!

Well, the truth is – I can’t.

I need control.  I need to control what I can control, which these past few months hasn’t been a whole heck of a lot.  So, if having control over my clean floor and my clutter free desk makes me happy, people are going to have to go with that.

I have mentioned several times that my Mom always says, “You plan, God laughs.”  Well we have joked that He has had a few good chuckles this year.  While I feel INCREDIBLY blessed for the countless things that have gone well, sometimes the fact that Cowden’s Syndrome invaded our house and stripped me of the ability to plan, schedule, control, and order just about anything really gets under my skin.

After Meghan’s AVM surgery in February, we were told she was likely to need additional surgery in a few months.  I did not sign her up for camp, WAITING.  We had the MRI last Thursday.  She spent 2 hours in the tube WAITING for them to take 5,000 images.  I will call again tomorrow, but I will likely spend the week WAITING for the report, and the decision as the whether the next surgery is to happen now or later.

I signed her up for dance once a week, and swimming once a week, but we are WAITING on the MRI results to know if she will complete either of those classes.

Then, with the lack of a structured day she spends her time WAITING and hoping someone will come and swim with her. (That is when we are not WAITING at doctor’s appointments!) Her mother is WAITING for the lingering bleeding from the hysterectomy 7 weeks ago to stop before I head back into the pool.

I feel like these last few months have been full of WAITING.  WAITING for surgery, WAITING to go home, WAITING for pathology, WAITING …

I have no control over any of this.  I do believe GOD is in charge, and I am so comforted by that belief.  It is my human frailty that keeps me searching for ownership and control where it is not mine to have.

I will WAIT.  And I will do it as patiently as I can.  Cowden’s Syndrome will be full of WAITING – forever it seems.

But, I will wait with a clean, organized house.  I can not control this PTEN mutation, or the Cowden’s Syndrome that resulted, but I CAN certainly control the clean counters, and the dog fur… well, most of the time!           

Towards the end of his book Dr. Seuss reminds me, and all of us…

“And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)

Signature of Dr. Seuss
Signature of Dr. Seuss (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

KID, YOU’LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!” – Dr. Seuss

Summer vacation begins…eventually!

Our Vegetable Garden

Summer Vacation began today.  Yesterday was the last day of school for Meghan and I until early September.

 I love this time of year, where I always say I get to have one full-time job (stay at home mom) instead of two.  Well, maybe it’s two full-time jobs – medical manager of all things Cowden’s related, AND stay at home mom…  But either way it is a break from the responsibilities of work, with all the benefits of still receiving a paycheck. 

Meghan’s report card was beautiful.  She makes us so proud.  We talked all about the end of third grade and the beginning of fourth.  We ordered a new backpack (Have to order early if you want that special GREEN!) 

Then she asked what we would do today, to start off our first real vacation day. I don’t think she was surprised when I answered with, “A doctor’s appointment and an MRI.” The opening in a GE Signa MRI machine

So this morning I got up at regular time.  I watered the vegetables in our garden which is growing so beautifully this year.  I made sure Meghan was dressed, and the dogs were crated.  And we walked out the door at exactly the same time we caught the school bus every morning for 10 months.

 We made it to NYC in time for my surgical follow-up.  I have officially had all restrictions lifted, although the chronic bleeding continues!  I was told not to worry, and it should be gone in another 4 weeks.  Delightful. 

Then, we walked a few blocks to the knee MRI.  She was in the tube at 10:02, with only 0.25mg of xanax to take the edge off, and lasted in there until 12:05.  unbelievable.  They told me they had 5,000 images.  I left with a CD in hand, and a promise there would be a report by Monday.
We got home in time for a quick lunch.  I managed to get the CD of the MRI, combined with a cover letter, in an envelope to Dr. K, head of orthopedics at Children’s in Boston, and sent it off in the mail.  Some time next week he will call to tell us if the date for surgery will be sooner… or later. 

We made it to a friend’s pool for a few fun hours, to try to salvage the day.  She went to bed exhausted, and soon I will too.  I hope this isn’t an indicator of what summer holds, because I am striving for a serious amount of doctor free days.  More time with the kid, the pool, and the tomato plants. 

Come on summer… be good to us.  We need you!

A story of two Meghans…

 The cutie in this picture is my cousin Meghan.  She was born in 1985 when I was just in the 6th grade.  She was the first child I ever babysat for.  She was my buddy.

 She was diagnosed with Leukemia around her second birthday. 

Remissions and relapses, bone marrow transplants and chemotherapy followed the next 4 years, but a cure was not to be. 

She passed away in 1991 on my 18th birthday. She shaped my life in every way imaginable.  I am a better person because I knew her.  I developed perspective at an early age because I knew the pain of having loved, and lost someone so young.

 She is our guardian angel – ever-present in our lives. 

Disney 2009

My daughter Meghan was born in 2003.  I asked my aunt and uncle for permission to use the name.  They were pleased, but not surprised.  Meghan was a huge part of my life, and I wanted my daughter to know her name was carefully chosen, and she was named for one of the strongest little people I ever knew. 

My daughter  knows all about “Angel Meghan,” and how she watches over us.  She knows all about childhood cancer and its gold ribbons.  She happily worked to raise money for a school project this year, for a “great” cause.  She knows cancer took young Meghan’s life.

Gold ribbon
Gold ribbon (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

She also knows her Mom and her Grandma had cancer, and they are doing just fine.  She knows the battles can be won, but they seem to be all around us.

  What she doesn’t know, is where she fits in.  She lives a life where at a young age, cancer and its risks have become a real part of her life. 

She knows she fights every day, to get through her own life with a rare genetic disorder. 

 What I find interesting is she is seeking a symbol.  She wants something to wear to show the world what she is contending with. She was able to express it to me, and while I was amazed, it made sense.     

English: pink ribbon
English: pink ribbon (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 My husband bought me a Pandora necklace with pink ribbons after the cancer diagnosis.  I have a bracelet I wear.  They give me strength, as silly as it may sound.  A sense of focus.  A reason to stay on top of things.    

She needs something.  And it isn’t easy to find.  It’s not a blue ribbon, but a denim one representing genetic disorders.  I think I will have something made.  Anything to help her find her identity. 

She is special.  She is named for someone special.  She is unique.  She is smart.  She is funny.  She is friendly, and wise.  She is a lot like my cousin who came years before her.  She is tenacious and strong-willed.  She is finding her identity.  She is growing up.  She knows Cowden’s Syndrome will never define her, but she wants to feel empowered.  I can’t  blame her.

 Two special Meghans. 

One shaped my heart as a young girl. 

 The other daily inspires me to be a better human. 

I am truly blessed.

6 Months…

June 18, 2012

As I was receiving the news of my grandfather’s passing, I mean within moments, my cell phone rang.

It was the endocrinologist we had seen the Thursday prior about the thyroid.  It was hard to wrap my head around the conversation at first, but I was struck by the reality that this is it.  This is how life will always be.  Life won’t stop for the doctor’s appointments and test results, and the appointments won’t stop for life.  So somehow, we need to find a way for them to get along, and exist – simultaneously.

The thyroid sonogram had been done on the 14th.  When we left him that day he was comfortable waiting a year for the ultrasound, and just seeing her in 6 months.  He told me he would call me after he compared her November 2011 sonogram CD to the new one.

So I stopped in the hallway at my school.  Tears were still streaming down my face as I composed myself enough to talk to the doctor.

He reviewed the older images and compared them.  There are a lot more nodules, he didn’t even give me a number, and most of them are very small.  However, there is one a bit bigger than all the others.  He would like to keep an eye on that one.

Instead of a sonogram in a year, we got bumped back to 6 months.  Doctors seem to like to treat us, patients with Cowden’s Syndrome, in 6 month increments.  Now if I can just figure out a way to synchronize them so we are not ALWAYS scanning something…

So, the last time we were there they told us to prepare.  She will have thyroid cancer I was told.  Until then, they will just watch.  December 27th it is then.

Even as I continue to wonder if all these thyroid nodules couldn’t be provoking this puberty, setting off a way too early growth cycle, I knew I wasn’t going to get an answer.  At least not today.

So, I closed the phone and dried my eyes.  One day the thyroid will turn, but it’s not today.  Not now.  At least we can have the week to bury Grandpa in peace.

“Sapphire”

Grandpa, …, passed away on Monday, June 18, 2012. . Born in …Grandpa lived in … for many years before moving to …7 years ago. He worked as a lineman and foreman for PSE&G for many years prior to his retirement. He was a proud veteran of the U.S. Army during WWII and the Korean War and lifetime member of the American Legion. Beloved husband of 60 years to Grandma. Devoted father to…and his wife … and … and his wife …. Cherished grandfather to 6 grandchildren and 3 great-grandchildren. He was also survived by many loving nieces,nephews and friends.

***************************************************************************

The above is a snapshot of my Grandfather’s obituary.  I removed the names and locations, because really – they don’t matter.  He was a kind and gentle man, loved by everyone.  Classy, and wise – funny, and easy to talk to.

My daughter proved to me again this week, that although we have Cowden’s Syndrome, it does not have us.  It does not define who we are.

She is 8, turning 9 in a few short months.  This was her first funeral.  She went to the funeral parlor with me, alone.  And then to the funeral with our family.  She acted as one of the honorary pallbearers.  She cried, she smiled, she focused, she hugged all the right people at all the right times.  She got through the service, and hours into lunch before we handed over her Itouch – she never even asked.

My Grandfather called her “Sapphire.”  He knew she was special.  He made sure she had a sapphire necklace.  Her eyes lit up whenever they were together.  He will be sorely missed by all of us.

De :fr:Image:SaphirSynthetique.jpg Categoría:M...
De :fr:Image:SaphirSynthetique.jpg Categoría:Minería (imagen) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Once again – I am reminded of how precious life is.  And once again, I am humbled and proud to be her mother.

 

 

–>

“I know…”

Kids know.  They have instincts adults have lost.  Never underestimate the power of a kid.  (This was written a few weeks ago, and I am just now getting to adding it here.)

I know that my daughter is a smart girl.  I know that she is in so many ways wise beyond her years, but I never cease to be amazed by her instincts, and her ability to read people – especially her family.

She knows that we share a genetic link and that we both have the same – Cowden’s Syndrome.  She knows that we tend to grow things.  She knows about her own AVMs, and that she has some thyroid “bumps” we are watching.

I am guarded but honest when I speak to her.  It is important when you have a child who is sick so often that they trust you.  I learned there is no way to lie to her and keep her trust.  So, I answer the questions she asks, using as few words as possible, and I always stay honest.

That is why I was floored a few nights ago.  She has been having a hard time with her knee again.  In the middle of a not so common, depressive episode she complained for a while about her knee, and the permanence of the pain and swelling.  She was frustrated, and she is allowed – so I held her as she cried.

What floored me was what happened next.  She grabbed onto my shoulders and looked me in the eye.  She said “I know…”  I said, “What do you know?”  She said, “Cowden’s makes it more likely for us to get cancer.  You had cancer once and you were ok.  Are you going to have it again?  Is that why you had your other surgery (the hysterectomy?)”

I swallowed hard, intent to stay focused.  “I don’t know,” I told her.  “I don’t think so.  We just took this stuff out to be safe.”

She looked at me with those tired eyes.  She looked at me for a long time.  She held me tightly and said, “I don’t like leaving you ever – even for school.”

Holding her as tightly as I could, I said, “I know…”

“Every little thing gonna be all right…”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mACqcZZwG0k

Bob Marley – “Three Little Birds

“Don’t worry about a thing,
‘Cause every little thing gonna be all right.
singin’: “Don’t worry about a thing,
‘Cause every little thing gonna be all right!”

Rise up this mornin’,
Smiled with the risin’ sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin’ sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin’, (“This is my message to you-ou-ou:”)

Singin’: “Don’t worry ’bout a thing,
‘Cause every little thing gonna be all right.”
Singin’: “Don’t worry (don’t worry) ’bout a thing,
‘Cause every little thing gonna be all right!”

Rise up this mornin’,
Smiled with the risin’ sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin’ sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin’, “This is my message to you-ou-ou:”

Singin’: “Don’t worry about a thing, worry about a thing, oh!
Every little thing gonna be all right. Don’t worry!”
Singin’: “Don’t worry about a thing” – I won’t worry!
“‘Cause every little thing gonna be all right.”

Singin’: “Don’t worry about a thing,
‘Cause every little thing gonna be all right” – I won’t worry!
Singin’: “Don’t worry about a thing,
‘Cause every little thing gonna be all right.”
Singin’: “Don’t worry about a thing, oh no!
‘Cause every little thing gonna be all right!

Cocktail umbrella top
Cocktail umbrella top (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I can imagine sitting on the deck by the pool.  Oh, wait – the surgeon hasn’t cleared me to swim.  And, I still need a bathing suit.

The cute tankini I bought was vetoed by my husband who thinks it makes my boobs look fake.  LMAO at the irony of that!

Well, at least I can imagine sitting on the deck with a strong cocktail in hand… working to convince myself that every little thing is gonna be all right.

My daughter’s much awaited appointment was today.  The sonogram was at 1, and the doctor at 3:30.

The sonogram was thorough – took almost 45 minutes.  The doctor reviewed the images, but could not give us a clear decision until he uploads the CD  I brought with last September’s sonogram images for comparison.  

For right now he said things looked good.   There are MANY nodules, but most are smaller than one cm.  He is content to keep watching every 6 months if he doesn’t find anything on comparison that warrants a closer look.  Somewhere this has to be good news, although I am always afraid to get too relaxed, so I am waiting for the phone call.

What boggled me was how laid back he was about the puberty.  He told me even though she won’t turn 9 until August and she has been developing a good 6 months, that it is not too early.   He said to leave it alone.  Apparently she and I are the only 2 concerned.  I have been super upbeat about all the changes to her, but I can’t help it.  In my belly it just feels WRONG.

Maybe I am just too used to worrying.  And there are reasons for that.  Its seems to be all we do.  Sometimes good news gets to be harder to process because it comes so rarely.  Sometimes it is almost odd to hear that things are “normal.”

So, we will wait for the phone call to confirm.  Then we will table the thyroid issue till December.

Next up for my girl, MRI/MRA of her knee. June 28th.

For me, well, I need to find a dermatologist, someone to screen my kidneys, someone to follow the tumor on my spleen… oh, and I need a bathing suit.  According to my dear husband, one that doesn’t make my (fake) boobs look fake.

And, a LARGE cocktail with a cute little umbrella, and some Bob Marley in the background…

Every little thing IS gonna be all right!

Ready or not!

Clocks
Clocks (Photo credit: Leo Reynolds)

Time is a strange phenomenon.

It just doesn’t stop.  There are days we would like it to go slower, and days we would like it to go MUCH faster. 

There are days we would like to relive, and those we would gladly forget.   But really, we have no control at all.

60 seconds in a minute 

60 minutes in an hour 

24 hours in a day 

7 days in a week 

52 weeks in a year  

I find there are  occasions when I would like time to hurry up.  When I am waiting for my daughter to get out of surgery is the best example.  Time can’t go fast enough.  When I am waiting on pathology results, for any of us – it always seems like forever.

Hourglass (PSF)
Hourglass (PSF) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

When we were first diagnosed with Cowden’s Syndrome in the fall, the first thing they did was send my daughter for a thyroid sonogram.  Of course it revealed 4 large nodules which we subsequently had biopsied at a hospital no better than a butcher shop. 

As we sought out another opinion, and moved the slides to a much more reputable facility,  an appointment in January found us with a pediatric endocrinologist who actually had some experience with Cowden’s.  He told us he had reviewed the slides and noted precancerous cells.  He essentially told us our daughter would have thyroid cancer at some point, he just could not say when.  So, he told us to return in 6 months, and we would check again. 

I remember at the time thinking 6 months was an eternity.  I wanted it to be faster.  I wanted reassurance that she was well.  He was insistent that 6 months was appropriate. 

So we made the appointment for June 14th. Now June 14th is tomorrow.  And I think I may need a little more time before I am ready. Things have changed.  Now we have an 8 year old with a developing body, and labs that don’t match.  Now the reality that there could be a malignancy on her thyroid, actually helping cause some of these problems is making me want to vomit. 

                                                                                                                                             If we could slow things down… just a little? English: A stopwatch is a hand-held timepiece ...

 15 hours from now we will be sitting for the thyroid sonogram, and 17 hours from now we will be discussing the results with the doctor.

 I am trying to prepare myself for whatever he has to say.  I have to hope for answers, for her sake. 

 Even if they aren’t the ones I want. Too many open questions.  Too much time had passed. 

Ready or not, here we come!

Bathing suits and other insecurities…

Some days I forget.  I really do.  Some days the thought that I had my boobs cut off and replaced with these round silicone implants doesn’t even cross my mind.  Then, there are other days.

This morning I took a shower.  Not a rare occurence, but maybe it was rare that I wasn’t late.  That I had time to really look at things.  So I looked in the mirror.  First, at the small hysterectomy scars that are healing quite nicely.  (While I still have ISSUES with whatever is provoking the NEVER – ENDING bleeding inside, the outside scars look great.)

Then, I looked up.  Staring me right in the face were these perfectly round circles where my boobs used to be. 

Breast implant: saline solution filled breast ...

 There is a scar across each one.  No nipple on ether.  There is also the most bizarre indentation under my arm on both sides.  I looked at it for  a while.  Then I realized it was my ribs.  It just looks weird.  And wrong.  There should be some kind of tissue there hiding my ribs.  I am sure of it.

I took a few deep breaths.  I reminded myself that I would have the luxury of drying my large head of curly hair – because the cancer that was hiding in the left boob was gone.  For good.  No treatments.  No worry.  Just have to get used to the new landscape.

I put on my bra.  One of the new ones with the A cup.  I tightened the straps.  I wiggled this way and that.  Still there were these huge gaps.   Even the bra people don’t figure on what you are supposed to do to cover ribs where they shouldn’t be.

I did manage to get it together, and get out the door to work.  I am sure no one noticed any of my insecurities as I went about my day, but they were there.  Nagging me.

Since I am somewhat of a masochist, I decided today would be the day to try on the bathing suits.  There were 6 in all in my drawer.  Four of them literally fell off of me.  One was full of “extra fabric” as my husband put it, and the other one – well that one wasn’t so bad at all.  A relief I guess that when I get the OK from the hysterectomy surgeon, at least I have a suit to put on.

I went tonight to the mastectomy section of an online retailer to buy myself a real suit.  I was so confused.  Unsure of my own size, and which will cover enough, I settled on a (way too expensive for my taste) tankini.  It should arrive in a few days.  Maybe it will even fit.

Summer is coming, fast and furious.  Whether I like it or not, the new body is making its debut. 

Look out world – with a slightly flatter belly, and some perky new boobs – here comes the new me. 

At least I don’t have to worry about my nipples sticking out at all the wrong times!

I am getting more ready – one day at a time!