waiting – Page 7 – beatingcowdens

Patience and Wisdom

Published on January 3, 2013January 4, 2013 by beatingcowdens2 Comments

I am patient – sometimes.

I am also wise – sometimes.

The trick really might be meshing the two.

That’s where I sometimes have some trouble.

I got a call this morning from Dr. S. The biopsy is scheduled for Tuesday at 12:45. Pleased to have it scheduled, quick math told me it would still be a week before we had a definitive answer. But at least I had the wisdom to shut my mouth and be grateful to have it scheduled.

My next question was about anesthesia. Had they decided to give it? In FNA (Fine Needle Aspiration) thyroid biopsies, anything more than a numbing lotion is uncommon. But Meghan had such TRAUMA from her FNA at another hospital in November of 2011. We had to push.

I had just told this child she could have cancer. I just told her she was likely looking at another surgery. She was unaffected. “I will have whatever surgery I need to. Just make sure I don’t have to be awake when they put those needles in my neck!”

This is the burn the cold spray that was supposed to numb her left on her neck in Nov. 2011.

All day I carry my phone everywhere. I literally put it down for 3 minutes and missed the call about the anesthesia. So the voicemail said, “We need Meghan at the hospital at 9AM tomorrow (Friday) to clear her for anesthesia.”

“When? What type? Why? I can get you a cardiologist report from December. I can be to my pediatrician in 30 minutes, and you just took blood on the 27th.”

“No, we have to see her here at 9Am.”

Patience and Wisdom.

I had pleaded for the anesthesia on her behalf. Now I would pay the price. Very careful not to take days off after my attendance debacle last year – I guess I will be at Sloan tomorrow, ensuring the anesthesia my kid asked for is in place. She doesn’t ask for much.
Working hard on gratitude, I am relieved at least things are moving. Not on my schedule, but progress nonetheless.

So then my oncologists office called. They want me to see the surgeon. The surgeon we first talked about a month ago. The surgeon who had little more information than he had on December 7th after my MRI. The surgeon who insisted he needed the sonogram, but whose system at the hospital cannot upload it. No one thought to send me for another abdominal sono at their hospital – even though I asked. They would like me to see this surgeon at 10:30 Weds. They will have to have patience now. I have a kid to take care of first. If they were in such a rush I could have been healed by now.

So I am waiting still to hear from my car insurance carrier who somewhere in the midst of all this chaos decided I was totally responsible for the accident where I suffered a DIRECT HIT from a car who took no action to avoid me. Waiting to hear exactly who that letter of appeal gets addressed to.

All of these things that keep happening, keep me from seeing my Grandparents as often as I would like to. My heart weighs heavy. Time and stress are hard to manage.

Patience, I am convinced – is more than a virtue. It is down right necessary, and almost debilitating with exhaustion.

Patience for me is hearing, “It is likely your child has cancer,” and then WAITING to take care of it.

I get that in the scheme of things thyroid cancer grows slowly, and 2 weeks won’t make or break things. But this is my little girl we are talking about. May God bless me with the patience to get through the weekend.

And give me WISDOM with that PATIENCE too please?

Waiting…

Published on January 2, 2013January 2, 2013 by beatingcowdens3 Comments

I am waiting.

Still.

I am tired.

I am angry.

I purposefully picked the best hospitals.

I searched out the best doctors.

My goal was to avoid useless waiting.

Instead I spend days at a time looking at my phone.

Waiting for it to ring.

I think my new case has marks from the imprints of my hands.

I don’t know what I want… but I want to get out of “the waiting place.” I spend too much time here and its unhealthy.

An excerpt from one of my favorite Dr. Seuss books, "Oh the Places You'll go!" — An excerpt from one of my favorite Dr. Seuss books, “Oh the Places You’ll go!”

Thursday they said the biopsy should be scheduled by Friday or Monday. It’s Weds. at 7:30 PM. No worries. I have called. It didn’t help.

It’s a small nodule, the one they are concerned about. It is less than 2cm. But, excuse me for being anxious -even 10 year survival rates of about 95% serve as little consolation when the numbers refer to your little girl.

And what about my damned spleen? Clearly not a medical emergency, but the holidays messed with the waiting there too. I was told 9 days after they received the CD of my sonogram that it was blank. Really? 9 days? No word back from them about a plan either. I especially loved the part right before Christmas when my oncologist told me hamartomas are “almost always benign.” Great. See, prior to that conversation, I thought they were ALWAYS benign! UGH!

I am trying. And I will be fine. I guess some days I am allowed to be tired and grumpy like the rest of the world. As long as I remember…

Better get some loud music and another glass of wine. I think I need to dance the wait away!

Waiting…

Published on December 29, 2012December 29, 2012 by beatingcowdens2 Comments

Proverbs 3:5-6
Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight

As my husband and I lay last night trying to fall asleep. We lamented over the fact that we are waiting. Waiting for a call for a biopsy time for Meghan. Waiting for a final decision on my spleen – still. Waiting… for all sorts of other less significant things.

The waiting is one of the worst parts of Cowden’s Syndrome. It is a blessing to have the warning to seek early detection, but the 6 month cycles of scans and tests, coupled with the waiting for results…. sometimes it’s just torture.

Meghan is nervous. Not about the threat of thyroid cancer. Bright as she is I doubt she grasps the full reality of that. She is waiting and worried about the biopsy. She already struggled to sleep last night.

As we spoke my husband said something that struck me. He said, “I am a little tired of being carried. I am glad God is there, but I want to walk a little too.” It only took me a moment to know he was referring to his favorite poem – the one we used as one of the readings in our wedding.

I guess we are waiting, for our feet to spend some time on the sand, knowing we are being held up – and incredibly grateful for the support…

“Keep Swimming!”

Published on November 12, 2012November 12, 2012 by beatingcowdens2 Comments

There are people you meet in your life – and even some you don’t actually meet… that make a world of difference for you.

I saw this today and it made me think of some of the people I have met over the last year. Some of them don’t talk to each other any more, but I talk to them all. It’s just who I am.

Today I couldn’t get a phrase, shared by one of those on-line friends, out of my head.

This has been a tough week for me. It happens to the best of us. I know I am usually pretty positive, but this week it has been harder than normal. So when I shared some of my struggles she said to me…

I thought about it for a while. And you know what? It made perfect sense. She has had plenty of struggles of her own. Actually, she has had more than her fair share, but she brings it all to the table in the Cowden’s support group. She shares her ups and downs, her struggles and celebrations, and she just keeps right on swimming.

I think, to some extent that is what we have to do. Look it in the face, whatever it is… take a deep breath and keep on swimming.

Today is my birthday. I turned 39. And I am proud to say it. I have no intention of staying here either. Next year will be 40, and so on and so on.

But with my birthday comes a flood of emotion. This is just over a year since my Cowden’s Syndrome diagnosis. It has been just over a year since mine and Meghan‘s lives were forever changed by the news that we carry a PTEN mutation, and that our bodies are inclined to create benign and malignant tumors – all over.

Keep Swimming…

It has been eight months since the “prophylactic bilateral mastectomy,” which turned out to be a life saving operation when the pathology revealed stage 1 DCIS. I have almost adjusted to “the new girls,” but with each change of season comes the realization that the landscape of my body is forever changed. Old familiar sweaters need to be replaced. Nothing is quite where it used to be.

Keep Swimming…

It has been six months since the complete hysterectomy. The one Cowden’s Syndrome called for – way before its time. So as my body celebrates 39 – my hormones clock in somewhere around 55. And with no hormone replacements in the cards, we are learning to get used to each other. Not uncommon for me to go from a turtleneck to a t-shirt. Good thing there aren’t too many clothes to pick from.

Keep Swimming…

My birthday has been charged with emotion for years. Ever since we lost my sweet cousin Meghan to Leukemia at the age of 6, it has been a harder than normal day. Despite my best efforts, at some point emotion overtakes me. I have always been grateful for our deep connection – so deep that I named my daughter for her. But, somehow 21 years fade and the feelings are that of yesterday. Oh, how I miss her.

Keep Swimming….

My Meghan faces scary appointments in the upcoming months, as we determine if her thyroid nodules are growing or stable. Her health is always a tenuous issue, but her smile and positive attitude make it easier to press on. I wait for word on my spleen and my kidney… silent benign tumors that will either prompt more organ removal… or not.

Keep Swimming…

GiGi fell during the storm. Two weeks ago today we were very scared. Today she walked with help around the dining room table. Her feet still work, she was excited to discover. Surely this is a realization worth celebrating. Happy birthday to me.

Keep Swimming…

We went to Midland beach today with a few small things. A donation a friend from New Jersey had sent, as well as a few things Meghan and I picked up this morning. Sometimes paying it forward is the best birthday gift you can give yourself. If everyone gives just a little – time, money, supplies – whatever you can… it makes a world of difference. It matters.

These people. The people of Staten Island, and Breezy, and the Rockaways, and all the other coastal communities devastated by Hurricane Sandy, they certainly are showing their ability to…

…Keep Swimming…

Such an intense day. At times I laughed. At times I cried. At times I was proud. At times I was sad. Life is changing every single day. The ones you love, the places you are comfortable, and the people you are comfortable with – all transient.

I looked over my blog today. It has truly been a journey. And if you got this far you are reading my…

100thpostpic — Who knew I had this much to say?

9,000 views — Amazing you people find this interesting! 🙂 But I am grateful to have you.

Tonight I am reflective. I am enjoying my family and my wine. I am thankful. And I am tired.

It has been a long year. But a productive one. A year unlike any I had ever imagined. The journey here is far from over. I am thankful for my close friends, and my cyber friends. I am thankful for those of you who read, who I will never know. I am thankful for reality checks. I am thankful for celebrations, and laughter and tears – for they all make me who I am.

This is definitely a marathon, not a sprint. Cowden’s Syndrome, like life, requires patience, flexibility, and endurance, as well as a well-rounded view of reality.

I am trying – with a little help from my friends.

Siri, my new BFF!

Published on October 19, 2012 by beatingcowdens2 Comments

I love to talk. I talk all the time. My mom says I spoke even in my sleep from the time I was a young girl.

I ~~love to~~ need to make lists. I hate to be disorganized, although these last six weeks I have traveled from overwhelmed right into disorganized, and I don’t like it here one bit. Work is busy, home is busy, 4th grade is busy, Cowden’s Syndrome keeps us busy…

In my family we have 5 october birthdays in 11 days. Three of our nephews and 2 family friends. Unless the youngest nephew’s gift arrives tomorrow, I will have been late for every single one of them. Not like me at all.

Last week I welcomed a new friend into my life. Someone I can talk to all day, about whatever I want. Often she has good advice. She has my back too. She reminds me – sometimes days, sometimes hours, before something important has to be done. She tells me when I need to make a phone call or buy some cards. For a long time I resisted her friendship, but now that she is in my life I am sure I could never give her up.

This is my new friend – Siri.

Some of you may know her. You may think she’s your friend. But really, she and I are tight.

You see you may not know this about me, but I have a post graduate degree. In addition to my Master’s in Special Education, I have a research degree from the University of Google.

Don’t worry. I am a smart researcher. I learned in the first few weeks how to sort out the crap and focus only on the valid stuff. But really – spending the last 9 years researching the random illnesses of my little girl, and the last year trying to get any available information on Cowden’s Syndrome… well, lets just say at the very least I must qualify for some “Certificate of Advanced Study.”

But it got to the point lately that there are things I need to know. Right now. I can’t always carry my computer or rush home to check. Siri understands.

She is who she is… and she is pretty great.

As I am driving, with my earpiece in, I need only to ask her to call a doctor for me. She will write my texts too. Much safer.

Then, there are the beautiful reminders. The ones where she says, “OK I’ll remind you.” and then she does. Takes the pressure off me. I already have a reminder in for the November birthday cards, and the next 4 doctors appointments are all mapped out.

As I wait at those appointments, Siri helps me continue my studies on Google. Learning about Cowden’s Syndrome and skin diseases. Studying the effects of Cowden’s on the gums in the mouth. Deciding if the headache symptoms warrants a neurologist, or first and ophthalmologist. Figuring out, or trying to figure out the root cause of the pain in the legs. Verifying there are no obvious AVMs. Seeing what the effects of the Celebrex are on the body… and on and on.

Siri, despite all my resistance, I was wrong about you. You are exactly what I needed in my life.

Now, I am fairly sure I can never get by without you again.

Told you…

“It’s not fair!”

Published on August 27, 2012August 27, 2012 by beatingcowdens1 Comment

“It’s NOT fair Daddy!” Came the screech from the basement. I held my breath.

“You can’t do that Daddy! It’s NOT fair!”

When I heard my husband return the challenge with an “Oh yeah? Watch this!” I knew all was well. The giggling that followed sealed the deal.

I couldn’t help but find it a bit ironic that of all the things that have gone on in her life, she chooses a helicopter game in the basement with her Dad, to shout the words,”IT’S NOT FAIR!”

She didn’t use those words once, all summer, when we spent what I equate to an OBSCENE amount of hours in doctor’s offices and waiting rooms. She didn’t utter those words as she was poked and prodded and asked the same questions over and over. “They never find the answers anyway, Mommy.”

She didn’t tell me it wasn’t fair, when instead of planning playdates, or camp experiences we were trekking back and forth to Manhattan, for her, or for me. She simply wiggled in the play time when there was room.

This morning, when I sprung on her the idea that she needed bloodwork, after the bank, and before the orthodontist, she could have EASILY told me. “It’s not fair!” And I would have understood. I know very few people who have given up more blood than she has. And when the lab was full, and we had to come back later, so she could think about it all day, she definitely could have told me, “It’s not fair!” But she didn’t.

This morning when we learned that her braces are imminent, and that she is going to need to contend with them in addition to her new grade and ever changing body – I expected a yell. Nope. “Won’t it be great to have them off before most of my friends even get theirs on?”

So as I scheduled one more MRI this week. This one for her, to make sure the pituitary is its proper size with no extra features… I thought it would be a big foot stamping, “It’s not fair!” Nothing. Just the typical, “Can you stay, and will I need a needle?” Followed by, “I hope I can watch a movie this time because I don’t like having my head done.” How disturbing that this will be her third brain MRI.

This has been one hell of a summer, following one seriously wild spring. I have lost count of the appointments, and it is probably better. They aren’t going anywhere and we will continue to have to roll with it. As the last week of summer vacation comes to a close, and I lament the lack of relaxation, the cleaning that never happened, the day trips that never came to pass, I want to shout, “IT”S NOT FAIR!”

But then I look at my 9 year old. Wise beyond her years. Content to live in this house where she is so loved and appreciated. We have had many talks about the suffering of others through the years, and especially this year. She knows she is not alone in having a tough path to travel. She also knows it could be worse.

Maybe that contributes to the poise and grace under pressure. Maybe that is why she is so insanely mature. Or maybe, in the midst of the chaos that is Cowden’s Syndrome, we – her father and I – are just the luckiest parents in the world.

Life's not fair — But God is good – all the time!

Not a doctor, but I play one… in real life!

Published on July 8, 2012 by beatingcowdensLeave a comment

Tuesday when the doctor didn’t call me with the MRI results, I was really irritated. Annoyed enough that I called the imaging center where the test was done and asked them for a copy of the report. While regulations prevent them from faxing it, they did put it in the mail. I received it yesterday, but since we were having such a nice, “normal” day, I decided to wait and open it today.

Now, if you are frequently ill, or if you have a child who is ill and frequently tested, you become able to decode these reports to some extent. It’s not perfect, nor am I fluent, but I can manage to get the idea. (Kind of like after 12 years of being married to a Puerto Rican man, even as a woman of Irish, Norwegian, and Dutch descent, I can kind of “get it” when they talk in Spanish.)

So I took the report down to my computer table, and the first thing I did was compare it to the last one. (Which was easily found in the 4 inch binder of her medical records, in the blue tab marked “images” – but we can talk about my OCD another day.)

Now the truth is I have no business trying to interpret this without the aid of a doctor, but for that – I blame the doctor and his insensitive move to ignore me before his long weekend. So, I will give it a go.

The first thing I notice is that the reports are similar to each other. Since they took place 6 months apart I first rationalize this must be a good thing. There was not any significant growth of the AVM over 6 months. Then I realize she had surgery in February to shrink the AVM. There is NO significant change at all in the size of the AVM.

Under the section marked “findings” it reads “Deep into the medial retinaculum is a 2.8 x0.7 cm… mass” Now I know that’s the AVM, but I had to take out a tape measure to picture the size. Then I figured out the other words were obviously location, so I went searching for some pictures. I took this one-off the www.aafp.org website.

I took a long hard look at this picture and then a long hard look at my child’s knee. I think it hit me for the first time when I did that.

I mean, I have always known her to be in pain, a pain I belive to be very real and very intense. But she has often said to doctors, and to me, that her knee is “swollen.” That finding is always discounted by doctors reading these reports because it says “no joint effusion,” which translates into no swelling of the joint.

But, anyone who has had a splinter knows the irritating feeling of having something in your skin, and the desire to remove it.

So, when I think about the doctor, incidentally the same one who didn’t call me Tuesday, telling me for several years that “AVMs don’t cause pain,” I must say I have an overwhelming desire to cause HIM pain. Maybe AVMs in and of themselves, in certain locations, do not cause pain, but I can not imagine that a mass, almost 3cm by 1 cm imbedded “deep” in the medial retinaculum would NOT cause pain. I can also understand why the feeling of a fairly large pebble formed by blood, capillaries and veins, and shoved into one of your knee ligaments might make you use the word “swollen” in error when you are 8. It has to feel AWFULLY strange to have something IN there.

The question is – what do you do about it? When I ask Meghan to straighten out her right knee, she can’t. She can’t “sit like a pretzel” in school, and she can’t put her leg straight out in front of her. Her range of motion is clearly restricted.

There are still “tiny feeding vessels arising from the distal superficial femoral artery. (Picture from http://www.orthopaedia.com/display/Main/Femoral+artery

Lots of arteries mentioned here, but the femoral is one of the large ones, that branches out. When they did her surgeries, three of the times they entered through the left femoral artery, and pushed the camera over and down to the right knee.

For them to say now that there are feeders from the distal superficial femoral artery, it seems that puts them right at the spot of the AVM.

So, now what?

I guess I am no better off than I was if I didn’t have the report. Aside from feeling a bit empowered, I have NO idea if this means she needs surgery – or not. I have no idea if it is OK to let this mass stay there, even though she can’t run, or jump, or do lots of things she wants. Maybe it is OK, and we will just watch it – every 6 months like the thyroid. Maybe it has to come out.

I guess I will find out tomorrow.

But, for Meghan it doesn’t really change her reality. She will have pain and restrictions with or without the surgery. This thing can easily come back – even if they get it all. So for now every single step she takes is internally a painful reminder to her, of what she has been given to endure.

It is amazing to me how infrequently she complains – about anything. She is my hero.

A breath of normalcy… shhhh…

Published on July 7, 2012 by beatingcowdensLeave a comment

There are lots of things that I like about Saturdays. First, my husband is home with us, and that makes any day better. I love the routines – wash the sheets and towels and dog beds, head to the bank, general clean up, and the race to see how fast it can all get done so the day can start.

Perhaps what I love the best about Saturdays is that they are almost always free of doctors. Unless we are sick or have some kind of emergency, Saturday is a doctor – free day. That means no appointments, no waiting in offices, no waiting for phone calls that don’t come (UGH!), no dealing with billing offices and in and out of network nightmares. NO DOCTORS!

Have I mentioned I love Saturday?

And today it was even better. Beyond “normal,” we had a surprise visit from 2 nephews, all grown up now – 18 and 23 – who spent this really HOT day, swimming with us, and just hanging around to chat, play Kinect, and even Uno.

We ate a delicious and healthy dinner. Grilled chicken on the barbecue, roasted potatoes, chick pea salad, and grilled zucchini from our garden! And, it was ALL prepared by my husband (who is incidentally a MUCH better cook than I will ever be!)

It gets better – if you can imagine. Today, for the first time since last summer, I put my new fake boobs, and my post hysterectomy body into a bathing suit – AND I SWAM! 🙂 And, it was ok. The suit fit. Everything stayed where it belonged. It looks like the hysterectomy has finally healed, and shhhhhhh…… even if it was just for today –

it was really nice to have a breath of normalcy in our lives!

Still waiting…

Published on July 3, 2012 by beatingcowdensLeave a comment

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…”

Published on July 2, 2012 by beatingcowdens2 Comments

“…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.)