Decisions and Disappointment

No pun intended, but if you're an Indianapolis Colts fan, you've probably been feeling blue for the past two days. Or, if you're like me, you've been cursing a blue streak every time you think about the Colts management pulling the starters in the third quarter and cheating the players and fans of becoming a part of football history. I've watched this group of guys tough it out and win games this season based on sheer will; watched them play through injury and adversity to somehow win every game, and honestly I've found them inspirational. As far as I could tell, they were on course to replace the '72 Dolphins in football mythology - to become kings among kings. And then... their bosses quit on them. You could see it on the faces of Reggie Wayne, Dallas Clark, and certainly Mr. Manning as they watched a team of untested back-ups fail to hold a five point lead and allow their undefeated season to slip away. I've read all the justifications - resting the starters for the play-offs, that undefeated was never the goal, that this team's main obligation to their fans is to bring them a championship, blah, blah, blah. I don't like it, I don't agree with it, I don't understand it.

But Coach Jim Caldwell made a statement yesterday that almost made me empathize with him (almost being the operative word there). He said, "Once you make a decision, you have to live with it." Right now, I'm waiting on the results of a test that will give more information about my cancer and the likelihood that I will experience a recurrence of the cancer. This is supposed to help us make a more informed decision about whether or not to do chemotherapy, and the results may come back providing definitive evidence one way or the other, but more than likely not, and I will have the make the decision myself. I've done lots of reading trying to educate myself as best as I can. I've made a list of pros and cons. I've tried to approach it from every angle to try and ensure that I have completely thought everything through. Ultimately though, it may come to this: I will make a decision, and I will live with it. The people who know and love me will have to accept my decision, and they too will have to live with it. I know there is a significant difference between a football game and cancer, but I can't help but draw a comparison.

So I'm inclined to cut the men upstairs a little slack (little being the operative word there). Maybe they know something we don't (maybe they know alot of somethings we don't). Maybe they approached it from every angle to try and ensure they thought it completely through. Maybe they even had a list of pros and cons. And having watched these Colts grit it out and win some heart attack close games, I feel pretty confident that they have the mental fortitude to get past this disapointment and get on with winning. As a fan, I don't have to agree with Sunday's decision or like it, but ultimately I do understand that sometimes in life, you make a decision, and you live with it.

We Wish You...

... the joy of being surrounded by loved ones
... the blessings of health and good fortune
... a very Happy 2010
... and a Merry Christmas!

Thank you to everyone who has prayed for our family this year, we hold you all dear in our hearts! We hope your Christmas Day is as wonderful as ours has been!

Perhaps it is all the medical talk going on around here, but the book above is the one Casey chose last week during his weekly trip to the school library. I can't come up with any other feasible reason why a 5 yr-old boy would check out a book on the brain and nervous system when there were so many other choices - books on Star Wars, bugs, and endless other titles more appropriate for him. When we sat down yesterday to read the book, it definitely didn't read like the typical book for a kindergartner, and I have to admit I got lost a bit in the neurons and synapses and cells (it's been a loooooonnngg time since that human anatomy class!). But Casey listened intently and asked good questions. He has asked me numerous times, "Mommy, how did you get cancer?", and so I'm wondering if this book isn't an attempt on his part to find an answer, since honestly I don't have one. Anyway, I'm all brushed up now on the three sections of the brain, so that's good, and it gives me a little giggle every time I look at it to think of Casey picking that book out of all the others in the library. He might think he's going to be a rock & roller when he grows up, but I'm thinking it's more likely we have a future doctor on our hands.

The Angel Tree

Last night we received the official pathology results from my surgery, and it was everything we hoped. Only 1 of the 32 lymph nodes removed contained cancer, and all the cancer removed from my breast had excellent margins. What this means is that as I sit here typing this post, I am doing it cancer-free. I will know more next week what implications these results have on any systemic treatments I receive, but I have to believe that treatment to keep cancer from returning has to be easier than treatment to kill existing cancer (although maybe I'm just naive and hopeful!). Regardless, I am delighted and relieved to receive these results. All those prayers seem to have worked!!

How am I feeling? Tuesday morning I felt like someone had ripped my arms off, beat me in the chest with them, and then stapled them back on my body. Since I have been home I have moments of feeling almost normal, and some moments of feeling really lousy. It is definitely not the lateral recovery that I expected - to feel bad, then little by little better and better until I felt like myself again. This experience is more like a roller coaster, one minute way up and the next way down, a few loopdy-loops thrown in for fun, and then back to the start again. Luckily, I have found that I share something in common with Barack Obama, which is that we both have personal physicians who attend to us 24 hours a day. Rob has been amazing in his care for me - I know that I could not have done this without him, and that my recovery will probably be faster as a result of his care. I think it has been an unusual experience for him, to be on both sides of care at the same time as both a doctor and the husband of a patient, and I know it has been hard. Like I said on Father's Day, they say good men are hard to find, but I was lucky to find mine when I did and smart enough not to let go.

So many people have sent ornaments to me, even people I only know as acquaintances, and I have been dumbfounded by the show of love and support. The photo above is of my little angel tree. I put it up in my room and Rob has been plugging it in for me while I'm in there resting, and it makes me smile. The other really encouraging thing about this photo is that I took it this morning, MYSELF. Which means I can hold my camera! I am restricted to my small lens, and I can't exactly chase a toddler around the park for a photo session right now and it's not the best shot I've ever taken, but I can document this experience in the best way I know how, and just knowing that makes me feel better.

Again, to everyone reading this who has prayed for my family, who has sent ornaments and cards and emails, who have blessed me with your positive thoughts - THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU. I don't believe I'll ever be able to fully convey what is has meant to me, but please know how much it is all appreciated. Please imagine me giving you all a big hug, albeit a very light hug as my arms still mainly feel like they are being held on with staples!

Vegan Cookies

I needed a good laugh, and this recent skit from SNL does the trick. Dave Matthews as Ozzy = brilliant, "I'm taking it easy, snacking on kettle corn!". Plus, I told Rob the way I'm shuffling around right now is very reminiscent of Ozzy, and Dave captures it perfectly.

Learning to Let Go

When I was a little girl, one of our neighbors watched me while my parents worked, and I loved being at their house. They became like surrogate grandparents to me, and one of my favorite photos from our wedding is the one the photographer snapped of me with them. I remember one time, and I have no idea how old I was, one of my parents came to pick me up at the end of the day, and for some reason I didn't want to leave. I don't know why I acted like that, but I remember gripping the door to our car as either my mom or dad tried to put me in, and screaming and refusing to go. I was thinking about that event today, and thinking that the reason that I have such a clear and distinct memory of that time is that I have always harbored embarrassment for behaving so badly. I know now, as a mother myself, that sometimes kids just act out for no good reason, without understanding how their actions could be interpreted, and that rationally there is no reason to still feel badly for that one little moment in my childhood (Lord knows I did far worse things that I don't even feel the slightest tinge of guilt about!). But thinking about it today, I realized that is how I've felt for the majority of the past month. I have been going through the motions of daily life, trying to keep up with everything I have going on, and all the time in the back of my mind I have been screaming, "I don't want to go!".

But I have to go. I don't have a choice. I want to live, and so I have to go on Monday morning bright and early and allow the doctors to operate on me, to remove the cancer from my body. And I decided today that I can continue to feel like a cat refusing to go to the vet, with all four limbs braced against the door jam in refusal and risk the potential of looking back on this time with the same feeling of shame I regard that little moment from my childhood, or I can go willingly. I can accept that the only thing about this whole damn situation that I have any control over is how I handle it, and walk into the hospital in complete possession of my sense of self.

The t-shirts in the photo above were a request from Casey. When I went into the hospital to have Riley, I made them these shirts, and so when we sat down and talked to Casey about my cancer, his one question was if they could have shirts again like the last time I went to the hospital. So I thought "Why not?", and I made these for them. It makes me smile to think of the three of them wearing them on Monday, rooting me on in their own little way. My kids are my heroes. They are my inspiration. Casey was born 6 weeks early and was so tiny, and the morning after he was born the pediatrician came to examine him. He stuck his head in my hospital room and boomed, "Mrs. Alderman, that boy is tough as nails. He's going to be just fine." At less than a day old and less than 4 pounds, he was already giving the nurses in the NICU hell by pulling out his tubes and being generally stubborn. My other two babies entered this world just as obstinately, and all three have proven to have strong personalities. I figure if I can create such willful beings, then I must have that same strength and will inside me. I know I share the responsibility of their DNA with Rob, but looking at them, at their determination, I know that some of that came from me, and it is something we share. And so when I feel small and weak, I think of my little babies, and I feel strong. They are my heroes.

I re-read Lance Armstrong's book this week, and he talks in it about how those of us with cancer, how we are the lucky ones. I don't know that I fully understand that yet, but I think a sense of it has been revealed to me in the last month. An entire community of angels comprised of my family, friends, and acquaintances has surrounded me and showered me with love. I have received so many calls, cards, emails, and gifts that I am almost embarrassed by the attention. I carry all of the cards around with me in a folder so that I have a piece all of my angels with me all the time. And I think I have already been able to give something back - I have heard from so many people that as a result of my diagnosis they made doctor appointments and vows to take better care of themselves. I have to believe there is a reason for all that is happening to me, and little by little it is being revealed to me. I went to YouTube and pulled out this old Nike commercial, and it gives me so much hope. Just one year after his diagnosis he was back on the bike, winning races.



So Monday morning, bright and early, I will walk into Indiana University hospital (the same hospital where Lance was treated!) and I will kick some cancer ass. I will not be chanting "I don't want to go!". I will be thinking of all of my angels and I will put myself in God's hands, and in the hands of highly gifted doctors, and I will beat this thing. That same little girl who gripped the door of the car so tight and refused to leave still lives in me, and I will take her determination and add it to all the love I have gathered, and I will go. And then I'll keep going. After all, I have three heroes to raise.