This post feels jumpy. Like my mind lately. It's been all over the place and back again.
I am not a doctor. I really am so very not a doctor.
I am a teacher. I think I was born to do that. There are just things you are supposed to do.
That's what I love about Montessori school. They try to help kids find 'their thing.' I think that's more important than mastering the broad array of elementary education. It just is.
That being said, there are a lot of different types of teachers out there. Very different styles. And it's all good if you are dealing with a real teacher. But there are teachers and there are, well, not teachers. And those 'not teachers' walk around the building with badges and classrooms full of materials. Some talk a good talk and some don't even bother. Teachers don't like these civilians masquerading through our halls.
Don't get me wrong, a teacher has good days and bad days and even good years and bad years. Gosh we feel so sorry for our kiddos in the bad years. But, hey. We're human. It happens. But, the civilians have the same days and the same years just all the freaking time. And we teachers feel bad for their kids. We do. But mostly, the thing that gives our face a little Elvis lip curl as we stare at the back of their smiling, nodding front row heads from our back row seat at the faculty meeting is this: we get the same paycheck.
Doctors deal with the same thing, I've noticed. There are doctors and there are not doctors. And those not doctors walk around in white coats and have patients. And really nice paychecks.
I know this is the case, because I have seen not doctors before. And I've seen real doctors on both good days and bad days.
And as much as I avoid the doctor, I do really go when I think it's necessary. I just maybe don't think it's as necessary as some.
Anyhow. I've discovered another commonality between teachers and doctors. First, we follow protocols, and we know how to minimize liability very well. Then we teach (or doctor.) This has somewhat freed my mind from taking everything the Dr. says as holy doctrine. It is first, the protocol of the day. Secondly, it minimizes risk of lawsuits. Then, it tries to help within those boundaries. Boundaries might not be what I need at this juncture.
1979 Toyota Celica
I was not as appreciative at the time for the old, yellowed-used-to-be white 79 Toyota Celica I got from my dad when I was 15. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't a jerk. I loved having a car. I loved my Dad for getting the car. I drove that little stick shift, no power steering and everything, all over the place. Steering it gave me arm muscles for like the only time in my life I owned arm muscles. I would drive nowhere for no reason. Just to drive it. But, I would get so embarrassed when the engine would tank every time I idled - not cool leaving the packed South Gwinnett parking lot where you spend a lot of time in idle. Time in front of peers. Unfriendly peers with fancier cars.
But, all in all. I loved the little car, just not as much as I should have.
Crazy thing about it. I had never once in my life seen that kind of car until my dad got it for me. First one I ever laid eyes on. Or so I thought. And then, boom! as soon as I had one, they were everywhere. Everywhere. I'd see them in parking lots. Pass them on the road. Where had all these 1979 Toyota Celicas been hiding all my life?
They were hiding, of course, where most unseen things hide: Right in front of our eyes.
Personal experience. It alters the lenses. Changes the prescription on life's glasses.
When Ani ran away from home, those right around me knew what was going on. As for everyone else, well, it didn't make for pleasant small talk and rarely came up. Then it was graduation time and many lovely souls were asking me about Ani. I was like a broken record in a perpetual awkward moment. So, I did what people in this generation do. I posted it to facebook. 'Here world, here is my laundry. Sort it for me, because I can't make heads or tails of it myself. Ha.'
But after posting that. You dear people just have no idea. The messages. Private messages of those who have gone that path ahead of me. With adopted children, with birth children, with loved ones. I was not alone. By a long shot. How had I not seen this? Right in front of my face?
The same thing has been happening since my diagnosis. Where did all these terribly ill people come from? Well, from right in front of my face. Unknown to me.
People have problems, ya'll! Lots of them. Terrible problems. And you don't know it.
They are quiet people. They trudge through life and you do not know their problems.
My friend Trish Blackwell says, "you want to know who has problems, honey? Count the rooftops."
We should all listen to Trish Blackwell. And maybe be a little bit nicer to people.
Especially if they seem kind of crazy.
The lower part of Appalachia surely thinks a crazy lady has moved in.
I've been asked by more than a few of you how I am doing. Most of the time, I'm more fine than I should be. Then at the most random of times, I lose it a little. Like when the lady at the tag office told me I'd need to return tomorrow with other paperwork. All of a sudden my vocal chords quit working, tears streamed down my face as I simply shook my head and pointed strangely at some hospital bands on my wrist. (I really don't wear the bands for fun. If you take them off between the 1st visit and the procedure, it's no procedure for you.) In retrospect, I can chuckle at the look on the poor woman's face. It has earned permanent etching status into the memory bank!
I've had a number of these encounters over the past weeks.
To answer the question, I'm tired. Very tired.
I'm emotionally tired. My body is physically tired. My brain is so, so tired.
And I cannot tell if my vision is a rapidly deteriorating symptom at this point, or I have been reading way too much and my eyes just can't take it anymore.
I have been reading. Like an elementary kid. Digging through heavy medical studies and journals with my highlighters and pens. Like so many close reading passages. Oh, my teachers. Slow down on the close reading passages. It takes a toll.
But- I have learned a lot of stuff.
And if there has been a positive study on rats and I could find a testimonial to back it up, I've adopted it into my new routine.
So far my diet now includes:
* as little sugar as possible
* more greens and berries
* bone broth
* cbd oil
* berberine
* quercetin
* sea cucumber
* turmeric plus black pepper
* vitamin C with iron (not with calcium)
* calcium from sea algae
* whey protein powder
* cottage cheese mixed with flax oil
* prebiotics
* probiotics
* bitter apricot kernels (for the b17- which turns into cyanide within a cancer cell!)
* frankincense oil
* vitamin d
* reishi powder
* cordyceps powder
* many herbal teas (have not ordered essiac tea: but will)
* a little red wine
If it's on that list, I've read about ten tiny print pages on that one thing. And watched some videos.
Biopsy time.
Piece of cake he says. Just like a chin tuck he says. Look as good as new within a week he says.
He's a real doctor, not a pretender. He's a plastic surgeon most of the time. And he's a good surgeon. But, dude. He's not realistic.
I had no problems with surgery. Which is awesome. Although I somehow thought it would be different than the last time I had surgery. Which is the only other time I've had surgery- my cesarean with Eli.
Maybe it was the 'piece of cake' thing that threw me off. But, people. A c section of your face isn't quite a piece of cake. I did learn from my first surgery mistake when I told them I didn't need that lortab. Don't like taking meds. Then the epidural wore off. Yep.
Ouch.
Needed lortab.
This time I took the lortab. Just one day, but took it.
My face still hurts a week later. And as Eli put it, I look like a zombie. All the lovely swollen, greenish yellow skin dotted with purple. I could join the cast of walking dead and save them all kinds of makeup time.
But. All of that is of little importance.
the Important thing
The biopsy confirms the diagnosis of lymphoplasmacytic lymphoma waldenstrom's macroglobulinemia.
My case has two aggravating factors: wide spread and hyperviscosity of the blood.
This cancer hasn't ever been cured by chemo or radiation.
But, that is still the protocol.
...yet
In the Tim Burton movie, Big Fish, when the family thinks the father is dying, he insists he isn't yet. Because it's not how he goes...
I've been talking a lot with God lately. I really feel He is saying this isn't how I go.
Or maybe He's saying it isn't when I go. One or the other. That's what He's sending me.
And then. I read and reread the lab results.
Guys. I had to use some Google searching to help me decipher the language. But there are some weird things that showed up on that microscope. Things that mean the tumor tissue is dying. Things that indicate the presence of killer T cells with cancer fighting proteins.
Something on that crazy diet list might be working, people.
My praying friends. Keep praying. God could heal me with or without that list if He chose a miracle. But the God of all Creation also made creation with built in problem solvers (as in the list.) Nature was designed to heal.
Gratitude
So. At the end of the day, I find myself thankful. I'm thankful for 42 really amazing years. I'm thankful for family and friends.
I'm also thankful for each breath in and each one out.
And oddly. I'm choosing to be thankful for this cancer.
Wake up calls are good.
I can't live like I've got time to waste.
Which is a bit cool.