The Day the Silence Spoke Back

 

Dear Frenchie,

There was a time I believed that once someone passed, they were simply gone—out of reach, out of touch, out of time. The physical pain of your absence has been unbearably hard. The silence I’ve felt is so loud, it hurts.

But then something changed.

Slowly, quietly, profoundly—I began to hear you. To feel you with me.

It didn’t happen all at once. It started with a whisper of intuition, a warmth in a room where I stood alone, a flicker of a memory that came alive in real time. I thought I was imagining it—but I desperately wanted it to be real. Over time, those feelings returned, again and again, with clarity, with power, and with love.

Grief has cracked me wide open. And in that open space, your spirit found room to enter my heart and soul. Thank you for that.

I’ve realized that spirits don’t always come with flashing lights or dramatic signs. Often, it’s subtle. It’s the beautiful sunsets and the wondrous sunrises I now love to wake up to.
It’s the song that plays when I’m thinking of you.
It’s the memory of you learning the Stanky Leg and how happy that made you.
It’s the feather on my doorstep or the ladybugs that continue to show up.
The dream that felt more like a visit than a vision.
It’s the way my body chills just before a wave of peace washes over me.

The more I’ve leaned into trust, the stronger the connection has grown. I began talking to you—first out loud, then in thought, and sometimes just through tears. And always, you responded—in your own way, not in words, but in presence. A presence so unmistakable, I can only call it sacred.

I’ve come to understand: love doesn’t die. Energy doesn’t end. And your spirit hasn’t abandoned me. Quite the opposite—you have stepped into my heart and reassured me that you are with me anytime I need to tap into that spirit.

Because of your visits, I’ve learned to stop and enjoy the small things—like you did during that year and a half before you passed away. My awareness is palpable. Strikingly overwhelming at times, but I am grateful for the continued lessons I’m learning about you.

I’ve learned to meditate by sitting in the silence, breathing air into my lungs, and feeling your presence wrap around me like a soft embrace. I only remember the good times we shared. I don’t take your presence lightly—it is profound.

Our loved ones are not “lost.” They are transformed. They walk with us, whisper to us, and when we get quiet enough to listen, they answer.

Your mom did that with me after she passed—her first visit was when I had to be resuscitated during a very long and dangerous surgery. It only lasted a few minutes, but what took place with her seemed like much longer. When I opened my eyes, I was in Heaven. Your mom was there, holding her arms out, wanting me to run into them—and I did. Her eyes were as blue as I remembered, like the Caribbean Sea. She told me Heavenly Father had asked her to visit with me, and she instructed me about three things I still needed to do here on earth.

On that visit, your dad was there too. I hugged him and felt the strength of his embrace. I told him I didn’t want to go back—that my life was too hard. He didn’t hesitate. He waved his hand to his left and said, “Do you see those children playing? Those are your grandchildren, and they need your influence and example in their lives. Now it is time for you to return to your life on earth.”

Then he looked at your mother and said something I later found peculiar: “It’s time for Monya to go back to her life on earth, and it’s time for you and I to get back to work.” Get back to work? What did that mean? I had so many questions as I tried to make sense of what had happened to me that day.

The second time your mother appeared to me was in a dream. We walked through a beautiful garden as she explained one of her “jobs” in Heaven: she oversaw it. She asked me about you, whether you were treating me with love and respect, just as Ray had treated her. She asked if I was happy. We talked about spiritual things, and I remembered why I loved her so much. She still visits me in my dreams.

I felt it when my brother, Lance, passed away. I carried shame and guilt, wondering if I had taken him to the hospital that night instead of worrying about him keeping me awake, could I have saved him?

But when Lance visited me not long after his death, he placed his hand on mine as I prayed about him. I reveled in those moments, eyes closed, listening as he spoke. I heard him as if he were alive and standing beside me. He said:

"Monya, my death is not your fault. It was my time to go, and I am happy. Now it’s time for you to move out of Mom and Dad’s house and start living. Go and enjoy your new life with Eric—he is a good person."

And then he was gone.

When Jami was diagnosed with breast cancer, I knew I needed to visit her—but I didn’t. I felt uncomfortable. How could I face someone I loved so much, someone who had already suffered so deeply?

After her death, I punished myself with guilt for not going to her. That pain became even harder to bear when I was diagnosed with breast cancer myself.

But I began to pray about Jami, and the spirit I felt was hers. She assured me she knew I loved her—and she understood why I didn’t come. She told me that now, having received the same diagnosis, I would appreciate it. She reminded me to focus on the fight ahead. She told me I would be blessed through the process and that Heavenly Father would never leave my side.

She was right. I didn’t waste energy worrying about who came to visit or who said the wrong things. I gave grace—because I remembered how I felt with Jami. And when I told you that story, you were mesmerized. You asked why you’d never had experiences like that.

I’ll never forget what I said:
I told you that you didn’t need the reassurance like I did. You were raised in a very different environment from mine.

For me, those spiritual encounters kept me grounded, alive, conscious. They carried me when I felt I couldn’t go on. It wasn’t always easy—in fact, it was humiliating at times—but I made it through.

And finally, there was Black Rock Beach.

The Lord allowed you to visit me in the very place where you took your last breath. I believe He escorted you there and left us to share sacred time together.

You told me you saw me on the beach that day—you knew I would never be the same again. You told me about where you are. You said you are so happy that where you are, there are no negative feelings or thoughts. You said Heaven is real—it’s the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen. Then you shared your spiritual connection with Heaven and the life you now have. It was the first time I had ever seen you in this light, and it was so refreshing.

You told me you were excited to be allowed to visit me. And that I have a gift—a gift to feel the spirits of those we love who have passed.

You told me you knew you couldn’t help me any other way—but visiting me was enough. It was everything. You shared your love for the Lord and assured me He lives and loves us all. Those spiritual thoughts you shared with me are my favorite—because I had never heard you speak with such intention.

I know now, without a doubt, that there is life after death. And I can tune in to those feelings when needed. I didn’t want our moment to end. But when it did, I looked at my watch, stunned that we had spent four hours together.

I treasure your love and your presence in my life. I feel you often. And I am eternally grateful to Heavenly Father for that day on the beach—and for the life we shared.

As rocky as the beginning of our marriage was, I will always be proud of us—of our grit and determination to keep going. The world said we were a statistic, that we’d never make it. But we did. And we both know we had a beautiful love story. It is more evident to me now how much you love me.

Thank you for loving me the way you have, and for continuing to show me your beautiful, vulnerable heart. I love this part of you.

Now, when I feel that gentle tug in my soul—or the warmth over my entire body—I no longer wonder. I know.

I am a special daughter of God, protected and guided by the spirits of those who love me.

I am not alone.
I never was.
And neither are you.

I am in love with our eternal companionship.

I love you. And I look forward to seeing you again.

Love,
Me, your cute wifey

Curve Balls

 

SUNDAY, JUNE 16, 2013

Curve Balls

Man, life throws many curve balls, I was not expecting one that came flying at me last week.  I was Fired from my volunteer work.  Not the accomplishment I had expected, and it was devastating for me. I loved that job; I loved the people I worked with, and I especially loved all the patients who touched my life. I violated HIPAA law and took pictures of patients. First off, I just want to say they all had my permission to take their picture, and 2nd I would never post something about a patient without their consent. However, I recently had my blog redesigned, and all the journal entries I had written and drafted, were posted public without me knowing.

  They were written a year or year and a half ago, when I was asked not to mention the facility that I was volunteering for or the patients, I immediately drafted all of them for my children to have, and for myself to look back and remember. For those of you who do not know about drafting, it is a journal you write and never post for all to see but is kept secret and I eventually wanted my blog to be made into a book for my children, so I did as I was asked, and I took all the posts off my blog immediately.  To be honest, I have a ton of drafts, things I don't want the world to see but have saved for my family to read long after I'm dead and gone.

When I went to my "volunteer" job 2 weeks ago, I was called into a meeting where I was "let go" I was told if an employee had done this, they would be "let go," so they felt it was time for me to be "let go" I asked them if I could delete the entries. The answer was "you have 3 days to get them off your blog, or we will be forced to file a federal suit"  so sad, I took off my scrubs and handed in my badge out the door I went feeling like I had just been defeated by the world, I cried uncontrollably for hours, well actually the crying went on for days, I finally got it controlled to a slow tearful drip after a few days.  When I got home, I asked our attorney if this could happen to me; he said NO, that the facility I was volunteering for could not sue me for violating HIPAA laws the patient would have to be the one to sue me, --and since every one of those patients or their caregivers still email me regularly, (except for one), I contacted each person who I had ever posted about, got written permission from them or in a couple cases the patients had passed on, and I got permission from their caregivers, who by the way also asked me for a copy of what I had written, by this time I had already deleted them.  However, I told them once I had their written permission, I would send them a copy of what I had handwritten.  Each was so grateful, I had journaled, and each had already known about the experiences and the intimate talks I had with them, so it was not a surprise to any of them when I read the journaling to them.

 I'm not sure what this world is coming to, I do understand the HIPAA laws, and I do understand the right to have privacy, but I would never post something without first asking the patient. There was only one post that I had written that I felt was imposing without permission; names were never mentioned, and if this person had found it on the world wide web (1 in a billion) They could have guessed it was them I was talking about, but there were no pictures or proof.

I learned a lot from this experience, and although I think "they" were being a bit dramatic in their decision, I know the Lord has something else planned for me.  It's important for me to be in a place where I am not only needed but appreciated for the service I love to give.

My Visit with Dr. Northfelt

 

SUNDAY, MAY 26, 2013

My visit with Dr. Northfelt

This past week my husband turned 55 years old--we decided to go to Paris for the week. We always have an enjoyable time together, but I don't think we will go back in May again. It was rainy and cold. We went to my "happy place" to ride bikes, and it was pouring down. No bicycles and it is freezing. We walked around, drank some hot chocolate, and talked about having my ashes spread there in that beautiful place--they painted the house/chateau a red and white color. I liked it better when it was just white--Eric spoke to the guard at the gate, and he said for a fee, we can rent out an area or room for family--could it be that he is finally warming up to the idea of my cremation?

Porte Jaune my "happy place"

the walkways and bike trails in Porte Jaune

This is the cute little hot cocoa/sandwich shop we love

At the river, usually, there are giant white swans

the private chateaux

Paris is and always will be "our place" I love spending time with Eric in Paris, and it never gets old. We have our favorite places we like to go to, but mostly just spending the days alone together holding hands and walking through the beautiful parks and streets is the best.

Frenchie

Notre Dame picture for Dr. Northfelt

These are what I save up all my sugar for--days to look
forward to--pastries are my favorite sweets, and I will
wait a year. If I know, I can have them.

I'm not always forthcoming regarding my visits at Mayo Clinic, especially with my family. I just don't want them to worry--if there is a concern, I will tell them, but to go for regular appointments with my doctors and for tests and more tests, I usually just don't give any reports. I saw Dr. Northfelt just before we left for Paris (he is my medical oncologist). We visited for a while; lots of questions, few answers. No, I am not cancer free. He asked if I wanted to change the cancer medicine I take every day and see if I would get fewer side effects. My question was, "what does it do?" his answer was, "blocks estrogen," then I replied, "What does the medicine I'm taking now do" His answer was, "Blocks estrogen." we both looked at each other and laughed, he shrugged his shoulders. All he could say was, "1/2 of my patients do really well, the other half don't, but they all have side effects" I then smiled and said, "well, OK then, let's try it," until I went to get the prescription filled and found out it costs $299.00 pp, and that was with my insurance, I decided to stick with the original medicine and live with the side effects if I was 100% sure there would be a change for the good I would pay it. Still, I'm not willing to take the chance of even more side effects and a massive possibility of no changes. I emailed Dr. Northfelt from Paris and told him, and he replied back that my decision was reasonable and to please send him a picture.

I am coming up on my 4th anniversary of being diagnosed with breast cancer. I'm grateful to still be alive and know I still have a long road ahead of me but don't we all? Life is Good for me right now.

Mayo Clinic Cancer Symposium

 

THURSDAY, JANUARY 24, 2013

Mayo Clinic Cancer Symposium

2nd annual Mayo Clinic Symposium was held at the Marriott just a mile from the Phoenix Campus of Mayo Clinic. I attended again this year. Seeing my team of doctors was good, and ready-to-present information was good.

Dr. Northfelt, my med/oncologist, and myself

Some of the information I learned from the meetings was new to me, and some I already knew, but this is the reason I like to attend these symposiums so that I can learn all I can about my disease and what the new techniques or statistics are.

I learned that 200,000 new cases per year are reported of breast cancer, and the side effects of radiation are some that I am still dealing with. 

Lymphedema ✓

Lung inflammation

Fatigue ✓

Depression and anxiety ✓

Chest wall and or breast tenderness ✓

Breast swelling ✓

Skin burning

I only have five of those seven side effects, so I feel blessed to not have to deal with lung inflammation or burning skin anymore.

I learned that Radical mastectomies no longer are performed and have not been performed on breast cancer patients since the 1970s. They no longer perform these because the surgical procedures have been incredibly advanced since then. In a radical mastectomy, they used to have to take everything, including the bone surrounding the area, this left women with horrible battle scars. I had a Bi-lateral mastectomy. Both breasts were removed with all the surrounding tissue but not bone. This allows the surgeons to reconstruct more efficiently, with much better results.

When someone has a lumpectomy, they only have a 1.9% of recurrence. a single
mastectomy 1.1% recurrence, and only 0/3% of cancer patients who have a lump in one breast will get another in the other breast--in Dr. Kreymerman, "they are sisters, not twins."
BRCA 1 or 2 mutation only has a 30% 10-year recurrence in the other breast.
Only 25% of breast cancer diagnoses are women under 80.

Some great things to come are:
Cancer Vaccines
the studying of tumor clones
DCIS vaccines
Her2 antibodies

One bit of information I thought was interesting, 15% of patients who go through the cancer process will get Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. As you have been through a war, the fear and anxiety of the return of cancer or having to continue to deal with the side effects of cancer treatments can literally put one's body into traumatic stress.

With recurrent patients, 45% of women have treatable anxiety and depression within the 1st 3 months of 2nd diagnosis. This is a mountain to climb but more terrain to walk through.

Did you know

55% stress over financial problems during treatment
46% cut back on food to be able to pay their bills
6% lose their homes and have to relocate
50% are not comfortable talking about any of these symptoms, even to their doctors
50% of patients do not share all of what they are feeling or their fears with caregivers or family
history of abuse, physical, mental, or sexual, will increase the levels of anxiety and will not be
shared with doctors
most women post-treatment will have low sexual desire and vaginal dryness and feel embarrassed about asking or talking about it with their doctor.

I was not surprised that most women do not want to share many intimate details with their doctors but was reassured knowing I am one of them and it is normal.

I am still waiting to hear back from Mayo about my ultrasound and low white cell count--no news to report.

Dr. David Servan Schreiber Dies

 

MONDAY, DECEMBER 19, 2011

Dr. David Servan Schreiber Dies

Today I was searching on the Internet for some cancer information, trying to find another book written by Dr. David Servan Schreiber. He wrote ANTI-CANCER, a book I read shortly after getting out of radiation therapy research found that he had passed away in July 2011. Just a few months ago, my heart hurt when I read this. His book has helped me to give up sugars, flours, and preservatives for the past year and a half. I learned from him to live with NO REGRETS; this has been Eric and my theme for the past couple of years. He lived much longer than he should have because he changed his way of eating, exercising, and environmental thinking.
 This is the article I read about him:
Obituary: Dr. David Servan-Schreiber Empowered Cancer Patients

Dr. David Servan-Schreiber, awarded an honorary doctorate in humane letters at Carnegie Mellon’s commencement this past May, died of brain cancer on Sunday, July 24. He was 50.

Servan-Schreiber’s career spanned two continents as a professor and physician in Pittsburgh and Paris. After completing two medical degrees, Servan-Schreiber earned a Ph.D. in cognitive neuroscience at CMU under the guidance of Jay McClelland and Nobel Laureate Herbert Simon.

Servan-Schreiber’s distinguished career touched many Pittsburgh institutions, including senior leadership posts at the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center, where he co-founded the Center for Integrative Medicine, and academic appointments at the University of Pittsburgh and CMU. He published more than 90 scientific monographs and lectured at leading international educational centers.


One of the seven co-founders of the Nobel Peace Prize-winning Doctors Without Borders U.S., Servan-Schreiber, served in Iraq, Guatemala, India, Tajikistan, and Kosovo, addressing epidemics among refugees. He served as a member of the organization’s board for nine years.


In 1992, at age 31, Servan-Schreiber discovered a tumor in his own brain while conducting brain-imaging research. He was diagnosed with brain cancer and given six months to live. Confronting his illness and marshaling his own will to live, he embarked upon a 16-year journey fighting and seeking to understand his condition, culminating in his 2008 international bestseller,” “Anticancer: A New Way of Life”” The book and his international lectures have empowered cancer patients and survivors with knowledge and tools to combat the disease.


Servan-Schreiber is the eldest son of the world-renowned Jean-Jacques Servan-Schreiber, the late politician, publisher, and co-founder of the French newspaper’Express. Jean-Jacques Servan-Schreiber was a distinguished lecturer at CMU during the years that his four sons, David, Franklin E’866, HSS’899), Emile S’855, HSS’899’ 911). Edouard S’888) were students at the university  Je n-Jacques Servan-Schreiber who worked closely with Raj Reddy, CMU’ss Mozah Bint Nasser University Professor, as founder and president of the World Center for Informatics and Human Resources.


The funeral will be held in Paris on Thursday, July 28.

After he was told in 2010 that another brain tumor had been found — he called it” “the Big On”” — Dr. Servan-Schreiber wrote the third book,” “We Can Tell Each Other Goodbye Several Times”” with Ursula Gauthier, a journalist  Ma y viewed it as a final testament.” “Death is part of the life process; everyone goes through it”” he said in one of his last interviews ““It is very reassuring in itself””

Neuropathy

 

MONDAY, OCTOBER 24, 2011

Neuropathy

Just when I thought I was done with neuropathy.... surprise, it's back. My legs feel like the nerves have been exposed to the air again, and the pain is sometimes excruciating. I am learning that a small percentage of people who get neuropathy from the effects of chemo must deal with it off and on for life--yes, I am one of those people--no big deal, I can handle it--
Today when I was at work, one of my friends I had not seen for a while came over to talk to me. She was wearing a pink beanie to cover her bald head--she went through a double mastectomy a year and a half before I did (stage 2). Now, it has metastasized to her lungs--she showed me the X-rays --I cannot stop thinking about her today. Cancer really is this ugly VILLAIN, it invades lives, and just when you think you've turned a corner looking to a bright future, BOOM, it's back to haunt and taunt you. Whether a recurrence or side effects, it never goes away.

Give Me Experience-Trystan

MONDAY, AUGUST 15, 2011

Give Me Experience-Trystan

WOW, life just comes atcha sometimes. Recently I posted a blog about getting away from life's trials. After this post, I received dozens of emails asking me to tell more about what happened with Trystan. One person left an anonymous comment that made me believe it was Trystan ....Over the past few years, I have posted so much personal stuff about my life, and people will sometimes leave an anonymous comment. Still, those have never bothered me because I understand and can appreciate if they want to express to me how they feel without revealing who they are. Thank you for your comments. By the way, I look forward to seeing them; if it was you, Trys, I hope your life is going well. I continue to pray for you; if it was not Trystan, I hope you will understand why I am cautious.
With a lot of prayer and consideration, I decided I would blog about some of the details of what happened with Trystan and how we came to find out she was not being truthful. Please know that I,  in no way, shape or form want to re-live this again, it has been a terrible experience, and I am still trying to make some sense out of it. With that being said, I also want to make some awareness so that others will not have to go through this actually; most of you are much wiser than I am and would not allow yourself to be put in this situation, but if you know someone like me have them read this if you feel they are.

Those of you who know me well know that I am not a complicated person, I say things like they are, and everyone knows where they stand with me. However, I open my life up to people because I love people and want badly to help and be there for anyone who needs it.

I started this blog before I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I've always been a journal writer, but as I get older. As our family gets bigger, I felt it would be easy to journal about our family and to be able to check in with a family who lives out of the state I live in.

After my diagnosis, this blog made it easier to express myself and share the details of my journey with the VILLAIN. Little did I know it would impact many women also treated with chemo and radiation. Those women have touched and strengthened me in ways I could not explain. They are women who genuinely understand the struggles of being a mom, a wife, and juggling the effects of the VILLAIN taking over our lives. I also thought it was essential to journal my entire journey, every detail so that women could know precisely what a person goes through when they get this type of diagnosis. Also, for my children, who don't really read my blog, to one day read and understand my diagnosis just in case, heaven forbid, they get diagnosed with breast cancer. Their chances are higher due to Eric's mom and I having breast cancer.

I've loved the connections I've made with women worldwide, experiencing the same emotions I have. One day I received an email from a woman who was undergoing chemo. She only had 2 more rounds and wanted someone to talk to. I began to email her, and the story was heart-wrenching. She explained how she and her 2-year-old daughter were in a car accident 5 years ago, and her daughter did not survive. When Trystan came out of the coma she'd been in for five months, the doctors told her about her daughter Paige, dying in the accident, and that her husband committed suicide when he was told his daughter was dead and his wife wouldn't make it through the night. 

She then endured months of rehab, learning to read, write, walk, and talk. Now she was living with the VILLAIN. I cried when I read that email. I could not believe anyone could endure what she had at such a young age. I remember praying that night, asking the Lord to please relieve Trystan of her pain from chemo and strengthen her with FAITH and HOPE, just like I had been strengthened through my experience. I felt a connection with her, something I had never felt before, and I continued to keep up with her progress. When she had her last chemo, I celebrated that day with her. Our conversations became daily and were emotional and humorous. 

I think it's safe to say we trusted and admired each other. Trystan shared with me that not only was the VILLAIN a big part of her life, but she was also dying from kidney failure and needed to be admitted into the Mayo Hospital in Rochester. My heart went out to her, and I continued to talk to and email her daily. One email I sent her was me telling her how I wanted to start a non-profit organization for women with breast cancer who do not have insurance. Through the contacts I have made with all these women, I realized many of them do not have health insurance, and many states will help them pay for treatments but not for reconstruction, so I wanted this non-profit to help those women get the reconstruction if they wanted it. I asked her what she thought about my idea, and she was very supportive and tried to help me.

She explained that her family was not close, and her brother and sister-in-law have 15-month-old twins. She told me her brother was the drummer of the band REM, and I had no idea who they were.

She explained that when she was in a car accident with her daughter, Honda had given her a massive settlement for her payout (200 million). She said it was the second highest payout ever from the Honda company.

She then told me she would donate a million dollars to my non-profit you can imagine how excited I was because I knew this would help to jump-start this organization and get the help to women immediately. She told me about an organization she has. She bought a home in Hilton Head on the beach for children with terminal diseases to go with their families for a week. She then sent me a magazine article she was featured in about her organization and the fundraiser she did for it in July of 2010. REM. Loretta Lynn and several other performers came to Hilton Head and did an all-day concert. She told me she would help me organize my first fundraiser and that she had all these connections to help me. I explained my gratitude to her, and we started planning our first event.

Her stay in the Mayo hospital was long and dreary. We talked every day, sometimes for several hours, I just did not want her to be alone, and I enjoyed getting out of my little cancer world and helping to cheer her up. Trystan asked if it was okay for her doctor (Dr. Williams) to email me and give me updates while she was in surgery. That night Dr. Williams began emailing me about the severity of Trystans health. I was told Trystan's kidney was only working at 20% and that she needed a kidney transplant. 

Trystan asked me if I would be willing to give her a kidney. After discussing it with Eric, we decided it was the right thing to do. However, I was unsure about my health condition and whether I would be a good candidate. Her doctor assured me she knew I was a match and that God had brought her and me together for this reason. During this time, I was also having some issues and needed to see my gynecology oncologist, Dr. Magtibay.   

She and I talked about everything with each other. She told me about when she was in John's Hopkins Hospital for kidney failure. She was blessed to get a kidney from a donor; however, while she was in the ICU, a nurse physically abused her by putting a drug into her IV, which made her paralyzed, but she was awake and aware of everything going on, he raped her and vaginally cut her up, she was rushed to the Mayo Clinic in Scottsdale for vaginal reconstruction surgery, and her doctor was Dr. Magtibay, with the assistance of Dr. Williams they were able to "fix" her. Still, the trauma from this event has never left her. She could not sleep and was deeply emotionally scarred from it. Dr. Williams begged me to try and get her to discuss it with me since she had never had any therapy and refused to speak to anyone about it.   I prayed as to how I could help her.

Being sexually abused, I felt like I could talk to her more freely about it,  but I knew this would be emotionally draining on me as well. I have never discussed the details of what happened to me as a child, teen, and young adult, nor did I want to start now. After all, I had put all that stuff behind me, except for one little thing, when the doctors told me they wanted me to get a hysterectomy, it always scared me and brought up some past issues. This is the reason for me never agreeing to that surgery until now. I began to talk to her. I told her a little at a time, hoping she would open up to me. During this interaction with Trystan, my children were apprehensive about me; they told me that they felt something about Trystan was not right and that I needed to let go a little and get more information about her. This was difficult to hear because I enjoyed having someone to talk to, especially someone who could understand what I was going through. (I forgot to mention that she and I had become friends on Facebook early on in the friendship also) Several times she was near death, her brother would text me and ask me to please pray for her. I had been emailing Blake and telling him about Trystan; he emailed me one week and suggested we have a family fast for Trys, so I suggested it to her brother; at the time, Trystan and I had just had surgery on the exact same day in January, but she never came out of her sedation.

I  explained that we would start the fast in the evening and close the following night, 24 hours with no food or drink and lots of prayers. The next day she woke up--it happened to be on my birthday--I had posted that the only birthday gift I would care to have would be for her to wake up--and she did. All of this time, she was supposedly in the hospital. 

Dr. Williams was emailing me and having me update her "Care Page," which is available through Mayo Clinic, so every day, sometimes, several times a day, I would update the page so all her friends could keep up with her recovery-or lack of. I received emails and comments on my blog from Loretta Lynn and her brother and sister-in-law. Just when we thought she was strong enough for me to come and visit, Dr. Williams emailed me one night and said that Trystan needed some vaginal repair done and that she was going to call Dr. Magtibay at the Mayo Clinic in Phoenix and ask him to do her a favor and fly out there for a couple of days to do the surgery, she told me that her and "Paul Magtibay" were friends and colleagues and that he "owed" her for some things she had done for him. Any of you who have followed my blog should remember that Dr. Magtibay is my gynecology/oncologist. Dr. Williams told me that when Trystan was abused at Johns Hopkins, she had to be flown out to Mayo Clinic in Phoenix to be operated on by Dr. Magtibay. She asked me to never discuss this with him as there is a dr/patient confidentiality problem with her discussing all these things with me.   

In the meantime, I received an email from Blake telling me that a woman in Scotland named Shannon had emailed him and said to him that she was in fear of me being hurt and that he should tell Eric right away about Trystan being a fraud (the same thing happened to her) except that she did not have cancer. Shannon had a child who was autistic and did not have the money to help pay for his medical bills.

POSTED BY Bonbon AT 6:37 PM  

Mayo Clinic Visit

 

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 15, 2011

Mayo Clinic Visit-

Needle for accessing my PORT

I went to Mayo Hospital yesterday for some tests..... still looking at that hip. It was a year ago this month that I finished up my radiation treatments. One of the doctors told me yesterday that Mayo is building a new radiation department at the Hospital. He explained how the new system is so precise that it hits the tumor no matter what size at a 99.9% effectiveness rate, with no room for error. This is so awesome for the world of cancer.

Yesterday as I walked into the Mayo Hospital, I felt calm and at peace until ........ I stepped off the elevator onto the floor, the floor where it all goes down, you know what floor I mean? The chemo floor reeked of chemo smell and made me sick to my stomach; as I waited outside the door for my beeper to go off, I was pacing and remembering and wishing Tamy was there to help me "get over" this panic attack I was having. I mean, seriously? It's been over a year since I've been done with chemo, yet I am sick every time I get there. When I walked into the room, I immediately saw a young girl undergoing chemo treatments. She could not have been more than 16-17 years old. My heart started to race as I sat across from her and watched her being injected with that RED dragon. The nurse took my vitals and said I needed to calm down; I thought to myself, "I wish I could, I really wish I knew a way to do that" She accessed my port, took my blood, and I was outta there. When I got to my car, I had to take a deep breath and remember where I'd been, how far I had come, and where I was going--

Chemo Brain

 

MONDAY, JUNE 13, 2011

Chemo Brain

I feel the best I have felt in 2 years; thank you, Heavenly Father, my prayers have been answered. Blake will be home in 3 short months, and I want to look healthy for him. My hip pain has subsided. It's extraordinary. There's a spot on the bone they still are not sure what it is; once I started to exercise again, the pain went away. I also came back from MLOA to US AIRWAYS about 6 weeks ago. Seriously I had no idea how smart I used to be.... haha! I

I was diagnosed with chemo brain; I forget things all the time. I forget my children's names even when they are looking right at me, and I forget simple daily things that should come easy to remember. Now that I am back to work, I realize how much knowledge I had, and being re-trained has been difficult. I have to write everything down. Just so you know, chemo brain is an actual condition some patients get after undergoing extensive amounts of chemo... boy, that's good to know. I was beginning to think I had the start of something new like Alzheimer's or dementia; those are awful diagnoses to have.  
It's fun to see people at work I have not seen for a long time; some will look at me and say, "Oh, did you cut your hair?"  I just smile and say, "why yes, yes I did"  I am only working 4-hour shifts a couple days a week, but I am thankful to be back to work and challenge my brain a little. I feel like my life is finally getting back to a "Normal" I can live with.

Where I Grew Up

 

WEDNESDAY, MAY 18, 2011

Where I Grew Up

House on Highland

I was not blessed as a child to grow up in the same house for all of my years. Recently I drove by the places we called "home" in Phoenix. Floods of memories returned to me; the house I lived in during elementary school looked so small to me now. Across the street was the Solice family. I was in 2nd grade throwing the football back and forth with the Solice children when the football exploded in my arms and immediately broke my eardrum; I remember my mom grabbing me and hugging me tight as I cried from the pain. I endured many, many surgeries on my right ear. Previous to the football explosion, I had a blow to the ear; my birth father was drunk and hit me one night when I was 2 or 3 years old; I am now deaf in that ear. In this house, my step brothers and sisters were taken from school one day by their mother, she drove them to California, and I never saw them again. I remember my sisters and me throwing toilet paper all over the yard and trees the night my mom gave birth to my little brother Lance. One of the scariest things that have ever happened to me happened here; my mother was cooking dinner in the kitchen; I was sitting at the little table. Standing in the middle of our kitchen, I looked up, and behind my mom was a child, not just any child. She never came out during the day. She had what seemed to be transparent pink skin, extremely white Afro hair, even more white than mine, and her eyes were red; she looked right at my mom and asked if I could play with her. I later found out she was an albino of African descent; we became friends, and then one day, she was gone; I wonder now, as I think back about that day, where she is, who she became, where she grew up. Then I realized in this house, there are memories, but this is not where I grew up.

51st avenue house

I drove past our house on 51st avenue several times before I recognized it, then I sat in my car for a long time in front of the house; this was my junior high years, and down the street was the Hulshoff family. In the summer months, I remember playing kick the can and hide and seek with them every night; I had my 1st kiss on this street with a boy named Eric. 

I'll never forget the day Elvis Presley died. My mom cried like a baby; I remember learning how to mow the lawn, pull weeds, and get grounded for lint balls being left behind on the carpet after vacuuming. I don't want to look at this house; this is the house where bad things happened. In this house is where I was forced to choose between sparing my mom's feelings and my stepdad's desires. The tears flow as I look at my old bedroom window. (on the far left) I often wanted to jump out that window, run, and never look back. This house is filled with horrid memories, but this is not where I grew up.

79th avenue house

Driving towards our house off of 79th avenue, I was shaking, not knowing if I could do this and why was I doing this? I turned in and on the left was Sara's house. She lived behind us. Up ahead was Susan's house. Driving toward my house, I was overwhelmed with emotions. This was the house I lived in during my High School and young adult years. I could imagine my white 65 mustang parked out front. I smiled, thinking about the memories my friends and I had in that car.   

On the front lawn is where I took pictures in my cap and gown on graduation night from Alhambra High school in 1981. Little did I know, just a few short years later, my brother Lance would die in this house. He was only 15 years old. I will never forget that cold November morning. I wonder if the people here now know what a special spirit lived in that house. Lance was the best brother; I loved him so much. I met my husband Eric while I lived in this house.

I knelt and prayed at my bedside for hours, begging the Lord to help me survive the evil in this dysfunctional house. I made promises with The Lord. I promised Him if he would help me get out of this house, I would promise to always keep the Gospel in my life and try my hardest to be good. Looking back, I realize the Lord kept his promises and understood the Atonement a little better than I did. I know all things happen for a reason. In this house is where I first learned the Gospel of Jesus Christ is true, that HE loved me, even if I felt no one else did, HE DID. As I stare at this house, I cannot help but remember so many bad memories. There was not a lot of love in this home, there was abuse verbally, physically, mentally, and sexually yet through it all, I knew it was just a small chapter of my life. I somehow knew good things were yet to come for me, and believe it, or not this is not where I grew up. As I drove away, I looked in the rear view mirror, thinking goodbye and good riddance. I will never return here again, but the memories will never fade.

Our Home on Seneca in Chandler

On my way home, I decided to drive by the homes Eric and I have lived in; I wanted to write down the memories I felt in each one of those homes. In Chandler, Arizona, there is a house where Eric and I brought home Kayla and Blake from the hospital after giving birth. In this home, we laughed, cried, and loved in this house. I worked hard at learning how to be a wife and mother. As a young mother, I always felt like I was not doing a good enough job. In this home, I learned to cook, clean, and be responsible not only for myself but now for a family. I remember one night, a cricket was just outside our bedroom window. One night Eric laughed at me, seeing me searching, determined to get "rid" of it. 

I was so busy being a mother in this home that I failed to read my scriptures like I should. I compared myself to other mothers and wives and let the world define "motherhood." I struggled with self-esteem. I attended the Temple once a week with Eric's dad for over a year so that I could learn more. We met Tom and Tamy Scheurn. She became a great friend and sister in the Gospel. Still, as I stare at this home, thinking about the memories, I know this is not where I grew up.

Our Home on Cove in the Islands

One more stop before getting home, the Islands. In this home, we welcomed Kaitlyn and Haleigh to our family. In this home, I continued my quest to do everything "right." I wanted to be the "perfect" wife and mother. While living in this home, I realized I needed to have family prayer and scriptures and be active in the church. Not because I was forced to but because I knew these things would enhance and bless our lives, not because everyone else was doing it. 

In this home, Kayla broke her arm and had surgery, and Blake broke his arm and several other bones by jumping off everything he could climb on. Eric and I met Mike and Jenny Scow, and they have become friends. While living in this home, we celebrated my 30th birthday with Jenny and Mike.   

In this home is where I realized a dad should have respect and compassion for his children. I learned this by watching Eric with our children. I knew I was not living in reality, and it was time to face it. A year later, I confronted the stepdad about my abuse, and he denied it. My mother refused to believe it and ultimately walked away from her children and grandchildren. This home was the darkest time of my life. The guilt I felt for breaking up our family was so overwhelming I went into a deep depression, but still, this was not the home where I grew up.

Where we live now in Gilbert on Poinciana

Leaving the Islands, we moved into the home we are in now. Still, I was broken. My heart ached for my mom, and I wanted that relationship to be mended. I tried so many times, and every time I came away, even more hurt than before; I once sat in a fetal position by the front door crying until Eric got home because I was so upset about my mom. Debbie Slade became a dear friend and helped me through rough times. She called David LeSueur, who at the time was our Stake President; he laid his hands on my head and gave me a blessing I will never forget. He blessed me to be able to find peace in my heart, and he was the first church leader who told me he believed in me. From that day on, I began to heal from my past, finally realizing none of what happened was my fault. Finally, for the 1st time in my life, I felt at peace with my decisions. 

Haleigh was in the nursery, only 18 months old when we moved here. My children were baptized on their birthdays while living in this home. In this home, I raised my voice too much while raising teenagers. I began looking to other women for inspiration, advice, love, and recipes. I hated that I could not just get on the phone and call mom for those things. 

In this home, I watched our children face challenges. I've spent many hours on my knees praying for each of my children to understand the importance of obedience. 

I learned the importance of saying, "I'm sorry, I was wrong." 

We took pictures of each one of our children going to prom. They all graduated from Highland High School while we've lived here. Kayla and Jeremy were married and had their reception in our backyard. 

Eric and I gathered our children and son-in-law together at our kitchen table to break the news that I had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Six weeks later, I  sent my son off to the Dominican Republic so he could full fill his dream of serving the Lord on a two-year mission. 

I underwent a double mastectomy, was told my cancer had spread and endured more surgeries. We had another reception in our backyard for Kaitlyn and Brian, and I started chemo two days later. The next month our 1st grandchild was born, followed by radiation and more surgeries. It was not until I went through my cancer treatments that I finally realized how much Eric loves me. How much love I have to give and, most important, how much my Heavenly Father loves me and has been with me for every step of my life decisions. I know HE lives. I am entirely sure of this; I can now see the times when he carried me and literally pulled me out of overwhelming situations, but still, this is not where I grew up.

During my short 48 years on this earth, I have learned that a house is just a structure built of wood or stone to create four walls and a roof. What truly makes a home is the love, compassion, respect, laughter, joy and enduring the trials a family goes through together. A home is where a child should not be afraid to live; every person in that home deserves to be listened to and hugged. Every family member needs to know they are loved, especially by their mom and dad, and they should hear those words every day. I wish I had been taught this as a child. I wish I had lowered my voice and softened my heart when my teens struggled. Knowing this makes me want to be a better mother, wife, and grandmother. This is the beauty of the Gospel of Jesus Christ and the Atonement. No matter what age we figure all this out, it's never too late; he loves us all THAT much.

The Beautiful Mesa Arizona Temple

It is here that I grew up in the Temple of the Lord. This Temple is where I searched my heart and soul and found answers to life's scariest questions. Who am I really? What defines me as a woman? What and who are the most important in my life? Have I done all I can to be the kind of person the Lord will be proud of? What can I do to make life better for someone else? I learned that I am a daughter of God and that He knows me by name and wants nothing but happiness for me. It is up to me to decide how I will obtain that happiness. 

This Temple is where I discovered my true identity; it had nothing to do with the size of our home, how much money my husband makes, the style of clothes I wear, or the car I drive. This is where I learned to listen to the spirit for my answers and guidance and how to forgive. 

The answers came at different times in my life when the Lord knew I was ready to hear the answers when it was my season to learn what I needed to learn. I learned to let the Lord work things out, to put things in his hands, and if I am doing all I can do to be more like him, it will all work out in this life or the next.

I