"We are all care of one another"

I currently have the attention span of a gnat, so anything requiring sustained focus, like reading, is almost out of the picture. I can manage short bits of light fiction, especially if I've read it before. The title for this post comes from Alexander McCall Smith's Mma Ramotswe, of the No.1 Ladies Detective Agency.

"Mma Ramotwse saw nothing undignified in being in the care of anybody ... Yes, we were all care of one another in the final analysis ... We were all cousins, even if remote ones, of somebody; we were all friends of friends, joined together by bonds that you might never see, but that were there, sometimes every bit as strong as hoops of steel."

We continue to be gifted with tangible evidence of these hoops of steel. Cards, emails, and texts messages of care and support that continue to sustain us; food (fresh, hot, frozen, snuck onto our porch, gift cards) all gratefully and humbly accepted; care packages (including 2 more jars of homemade pear marmalade jam from my dad - one of the few things that goes down in the mornings on toast). All these things are Christ to us; we are so grateful.

It would be hard to describe the emotion on receiving this giant card from dear students and
colleagues:

Apparently the iphone can't deal with black ink on hot pink bristol board, but the message, surrounded by signatures says "We love you Lynn, you are in our thoughts and prayers. We believe in you! Together God and you will conquer this!! With God as our rock, anything is possible, have HOPE and FAITH and he will guide your paths!' This was penned by a lovely and courageous young woman who conquers challenges every single day with a sense of humour and grace that is moving and inspiring. Thank you, thank you.

For the curious:
Many people have asked, so to clarify, the portacath is a brilliant little device that is inserted completely under the skin. It has NO external parts and is accessed similar to a vein, but much simpler and safer for everyone. Once healed, you're clear for most normal activities (turns out rock climbing isn't considered "normal"  - sigh). For the really curious, here's a link to the owner's manual for my actual device (there are several brands available - funny, they didn't let me choose ... yes, mine is purple.)

http://www.bardaccess.com/powerportadvantage/assets/pdfs/0723905_09-225_PowerPort_Patient_Guide_web.pdf














Need to give a shout-out to friend Donna, who helps me haul my lead-laden heiny around the block for exercise, which my oncologist is big on. We needed to take this picture, because come August, we knew we would never believe the world looked like this a few short months ago. Exercise, oxygen, and a few good laughs are potent healers of body and mind.

I was warned at my last oncology appointment that this would be the week I would lose my hair (apparently I get to keep eyebrows and eyelashes until later); that it's dramatic and traumatic and you can't prepare yourself. Not being one to wait around for the inevitable, I shaved it off the next day pre-emptively. Chillier than I anticipated - glad for the head gear!

So, round two is done. Onward, in the care of many.

Card-carrying Portacath Owner

Between here and Port Elgin

Yes - for real. They give you a wallet card AND a key tag. I also have a piece of paper that says the catheter tip is located in the "atrial caval junction." Good to know ... blech.


I didn't really anticipate joking my way through a 20 minute procedure in which they insert what feels like a small suitcase below your collarbone and sew the attached catheter through your jugular, but it turns out they were a funny (and very competent) bunch.

It took about 60 seconds to determine that the surgeon and I grew up in the same hometown, graduating within a year of each other. The conversation then went something like this:

Me: I went to (Highschool A)
Surgeon: Ha - I went to (Highschool B)
Me (in true menno fashion): So, we're kind of like ... enemies
Surgeon (clenched teeth): SCALPEL

I blame the 1 mg Ativan. We discussed but did not solve the problem of teenage children. They were unanimous in their opinion as to what I should do with my Cockburn tickets for the evening: pack some tylenol, and see how long you last. Good advice. I don't remember much, but I'm glad I went.

Everything continues to be manageable (ok, the weepy makes me a bit crazy) and we continue to be grateful. I REALLY appreciate the cards and emails - even if I don't respond to every one. To those of you who have brought food (you know who you are): it is humbling and deeply appreciated. The teenage son with the hollow leg thanks you especially.

My family (sisters, parents) went a bit crazy and ordered EIGHT different funky hats and scarves and then drove up to deliver them; how sweet is that? Almost makes me look forward to losing my hair. My firstborn and I decided to have some fun:

Big thanks, guys

So far, so good

Winter is beautiful - get outside!

Well, 1 chemo down, 7 to go, and so far so good. Today was another busy day with an MRI, and then a visit from a home care nurse for an injection that's supposed to boost my white cell production. Also supposed to make all my joints ache - can't wait.

Also up this week: an abdominal ultrasound (yes, my bellybutton IS odd, thank you very much; that's what comes of two hernia surgeries) AND (my favourite in the squeamish department) the insertion of a portacath under local anesthetic.

I'm feeling a bizarre combination of tired and antsy - apparently that's what the steroids (and perhaps the countless other (legal) drugs and dyes I've ingested over the the past 24 hours) will do for you, but the anti-nausea drugs seem to be largely doing the trick. My significant other claims that "bossy" was NOT one of the steroid side-effects named by the pharmacist, but he just wasn't listening properly.

We continue to be grateful and amazed by many things:

• Compassionate and incredibly efficient care at every step of the way. We arrived at the first chemo session to find the first two rounds of drugs already dispensed, packaged in separate ziploc bags, and accompanied with a colour-coded calendar of when and how to take them. During chemo, the team was arranging the home care visit and a good date for the portacath insertion in the midst of the countless other appointments.
• Neighbours who bring food and messages of support without warning.
• Co-workers who offer food even though I know for a fact they barely have time to pee, let alone cook for themselves.
• Prayer, prayer, prayer. I will not stop saying this: it means everything to us.

I mean it - get outside!

Warp speed ahead

The chemo haircut

Well, as of today things are moving at warp speed.

We met with the oncologist, and have a treatment plan. We are exceedingly grateful that this week's scans indicate that the cancer does not appear to have metastasized despite early fears.
Treatment looks like 4 months of chemo every two weeks, then surgery, then radiation.

My hairstylist of many years dropped everything to race over after work to give me a chemo cut, and then refused remuneration. If you're looking for a new stylist, let me know and I'll give you Jackie's number. I can't say enough good about her.

What we didn't expect was the call later in the day that chemo would begin Monday. I'm good with that - game on.

I also have a procedure booked on Monday in which they insert a small titanium clip into the tumour so that they can still find it once the chemo has shrunk it. I trust that this is not in fact some twisted game of geocaching that oncologists play in their spare time ...

Other things we are grateful for:

• Continued prayers, cards, and emails of support. We feel deeply supported and loved by our communities - this means everything to us.
• Amazing health care teams that are skilled and compassionate and organized beyond all imagination.
• Food (my parents made it unnecessary for us to cook for an entire week)
• A sense of God's presence in the midst of much uncertainty and upheaval.
• The chance to go to the climbing gym this evening and do something FUN.

Off the wall?

February 3, 2014

Another whack of tests this week (thanks to all of you for diligently paying your taxes). By the end of this week or early next week we should have a bigger picture that will then determine the treatment plan.

Thanks also for you supportive emails and texts, food, and above all: your prayers that sustain us.