When Life Gave Me Brussels Sprouts

Brussels sprouts.  The name alone makes me cringe.  I did actually try them last Thanksgiving, but not even bacon, parmesan cheese, and EVOO could hide the dreaded taste or the awful texture.  Of course, I choked them down so as to not make a scene in front of my in-laws.  But when my writer-friend asked me to think of a disgusting food yesterday, Brussels sprouts immediately came to mind.

This week, the doctor served me Brussels sprouts.  It’s difficult for me to call it what it actually is: cancer.  (1)  Because I am only 37, and (2) The prognosis is not as horrible as what so many others with such a diagnosis must endure. 

The abdominal mass was discovered on a renal ultrasound this past summer.  While this is not a routine test for most people, I have one yearly to monitor congenital bladder and kidney issues.  Since I also have endometriosis and had had a fibroid the size of a grapefruit removed along with my beautiful baby girl during a C-section 15 months ago, my gynecologist attempted to remove the mass laparoscopically. However, he found it to be out of his territory and surrounded by blood vessels and wouldn’t touch it. 

Next step was a colonoscopy. The general surgeon took sample tissue of the egg-sized growth that seemed to be attached to the outside of the colon.  While obviously not normal, it did not seem to be anything too alarming.  Over the past twenty years, I have had other cysts and tumors arise.  A surgeon would remove them, the pathology report would come back clear, and life would go on.  Once again, this seemed to be the case. 

But, thankfully, the surgeon did not write this off.  Three months later he ordered a CT scan to monitor any changes.  Despite having such tests before, this time I had a reaction to the dye and ended up in the ER.  But when I read the online MyChart report that the mass had not changed in size or appearance, I figured this was the worst that could happen. 

To my surprise, he did want to remove the mass.  I was devastated.  This would be my thirteenth surgery.  I have a 15-month old that I would not be able to pick up during recovery.  I would have to take a few weeks off from my new job as library media specialist that I loved.  I asked him if we could wait until summer vacation since the mass was so slow growing. No, we could wait until Christmas break, but not until June.

On December 28, I had the mass removed and my colon re-sectioned.  I had another allergic reaction, this time to the anesthesia, but otherwise the surgery went very well.  I was up and moving the next day, eating solid food two days later, and home by New Year’s Eve.  I felt so much better than I expected -- well, until my terrific toddler brought home the stomach bug.  Then I was nauseous and lost my appetite for days, but luckily Grammy was around to help change Maddie Grace’s diapers.  Still, I managed to stay hydrated and avoided going back to the hospital. 

On January 10, I had my follow-up visit with the surgeon, and as he removed the staples which made my stomach look like it zipped up the middle, he told my mom and me the news.  The pathology report was not what we expected.  The mass was actually two tumors (7 centimeters and 2 centimeters) called GIST or Gastrointestinal Stromal Tumors.  These alone are very rare and only recently identified as cancer.  As I would later read online, only around 15,000 cases are diagnosed in the United States a year.  Of these, only 2% occur in the colon.  I always have been one of a kind.

I couldn’t believe it!  The doctor had briefly mentioned this GIST thing back in November, but I had been so busy with Maddie and school and writing assignments and the holidays that I hadn’t even given it my usual WebMD attention.  Mom and I gathered up our winter coats, her hastily-written notes, and our chins and did what any two women in our situation would do – we headed to the DQ and ordered Blizzards.  The sweetness of the chocolate and salted-caramel concoctions helped to mask the taste of the Brussels sprouts as I called my husband at work and broke the news.       

      

The next couple of days were spent telling loved ones, watching comedies on Netflix, and Googling the new terms on the Internet.  On Friday the thirteenth, I met with my oncologist.  While this word does not exactly roll off the tongue either, I again feel that for a bad situation mine is the best there can be.  Even though he is fairly young and has only been in Owensboro a short time, his training at the University of Kentucky was actually in this area of rare cancers.  He described a pill he has used to successfully treat other patients which specifically targets GIST cancer cells and has few side effects. 

Life may have given me Brussels sprouts, but my portion is small and for that I am so very thankful. If all goes as expected, my treatment will last three years.  I will have frequent blood work to monitor the effects of the Gleevec medication and undergo CT scans every three to six months (with a dose of Benadryl and steroids to prevent an allergic reaction), but there will be no chemotherapy or radiation.

Undoubtedly there will be days when I just can’t stomach these Brussels sprouts, but seasoned with faith in God and love from family and friends I can digest them.  Hopefully those bad ones will be outnumbered by days like today, when I can drown them in a little humor sauce and take them a bite at a time.  

To the Woman Struggling with Infertility

I have been in your place

              in those cold mental stirrups

  and pink paper gown

              staring at black and white shapes shifting

  on the screen, searching for a follicle –

A small hope of what might be.

I have heard the advice

               Eat this; take that.

               Try this, not that.

               Just relax; just adopt.

               Maybe it’s not meant to be.

From those who mean well but cut deeper.

I will be your shoulder to cry on

               When your body says it’s impossible,

               but your heart says, “It is everything.”

               When your numbers come back too high or too low

               and you feel like a pin cushion.

Because you are tired, just so tired.

              

I will pray for you

               As the bills pile up, and insurance won’t pay.

               When you throw away another test

               that you just knew would be your

blue line, plus sign, or happy face.

And hope that one day you will find your peace.  

I will always remember

               The shots, the maybes, and the disappointments

Even though they are faded by morning sickness,

swollen feet, labor pains, and

               a whole new kind of tired

Because they brought my miracle to me.

7 Habits Wordles

7 Habits Wordle Posters

HABIT 1 -- BE PROACTIVE

http://www.wordle.net/show/wrdl/8022154/BeProactive.Habit1 

HABIT 2 -- BEGIN WITH THE END IN MIND
http://www.wordle.net/show/wrdl/8022174/Habit2

HABIT 3 -- PUT FIRST THINGS FIRST
http://www.wordle.net/show/wrdl/8022122/Habit3

HABIT 4 -- THINK WIN-WIN
http://www.wordle.net/show/wrdl/8022128/Habit4

HABIT 5 -- SEEK FIRST TO UNDERSTAND, THEN TO BE UNDERSTOOD
http://www.wordle.net/show/wrdl/8022140/Habit5
HABIT 6 -- SYNERGIZE
http://www.wordle.net/show/wrdl/8022163/Habit6

HABIT 7 -- SHARPEN THE SAW
http://www.wordle.net/show/wrdl/8022167/Habit7


ALL HABITS ON ONE

http://www.wordle.net/show/wrdl/8023046/7Habits

My Mimi

Tonight I was hungry

     For a bacon sandwich

But I did not realize

     Until I ate the last strip

     Of thick pork

That what I was really craving

     Was a moment,

     A memory of my Mimi.

And 'tho my stomach filled,

     My heart remains empty

Longing for one more day,

     Another meal together

     One last chance to ask her

About the origin of

     The little wooden rocking chair

     That she gave me.

If only I could send her

     A picture and a note

Then await her handwritten reply --

     A comment on the weather

     Her most recent favorite meal, 

And how cute my kittens are

     Sitting on the embroidered blue seat

     Of her miniature rocker.

But that post will never arrive

     Because her memory

Will linger longer than

     The smell of bacon

     Hanging in the springtime air

And more moments will come

     That remind me of my Mimi

     And her love. 

After sitting in a PD all day on co-teaching, my brain is dead.  My teacher brain and writer brain can't seem to occupy the same space at the same time.  I wonder if that is why I don't incorporate enough creative writing into my lessons?  I usually blame that on Common Core these days, but maybe since I have a difficult time writing creatively during the school year, I don't ask my students to do it enough either.  The last two years on the end-of-year evaluations I gave students to fill out, even some of my reluctant writers made the comment that they wish we had done more creative writing. I need to remember that this year instead of letting myself get bogged down, but it's difficult to squeeze it all in!

Sometimes, some things

Sometimes I am too tired to sleep

Too worried about things I've said

or maybe its the things I didn't say

Thoughts bottled up inside my head
Flitter like fireflies in a mason jar

Too anxious about things I haven't done

errands that must be done tomorrow

items to check off my list, maybe some tasks

that aren't intended for me to complete

Too excited about the possibilities

of what more I could become

if I set my doubts free, of the place 

I could go if I let myself explore

Too overwhelmed by 

all of life's uncertainties

of dreams that could become reality

if only I wasn't too tired to sleep.


This is my second installment of today's prompt, written around 1:00 this morning.  Probably should have just put it in my reader's notebook, but that's still on the bookshelf in the cellophane, and my iPad was right next to the bed.