Dear Farrah: Part 13 (A Little Late)

Dear Farrah:

You are officially a teenager today.  I have so many mixed emotions right now.  My heart breaks a little as you inch closer to the years that will take you down exciting paths that I won't get to walk along with you because your social circle has branched out beyond your mom.  However, I'm also terribly excited about how far you've come and how you've grown and matured impressively.

There's always so much I write about to describe what your year has been like and what wonderful and challenging things you've done, and this year is no exception.  In fact, this year has been our hardest and our best.  Kind of weird, huh.

You have held on to your love for your favorite band (Twenty One Pilots) and have made room for other artists (Billie Eilish).  I have to bow down to your taste in music - it's all pretty rad.  You and your music - Gah!  Although it's my car, you ask me every single time we get in it, "Can I connect my phone?  Can I play my music?"  And like clockwork, if I respond with a no, you say, "But your music sucks!"  Does it?  Isn't half of my music TWENTY ONE PILOTS?!!  Not to mention, all the songs you share with me that I like...I download those too.  And to keep the peace in my car, I'll play T0P (that you love) and shuffle in a little Sia (that you hate).  We went to two concerts!  Two!  And they were both Twenty One Pilots.

Your clothes are just as unique as you.  Somehow, you've managed to look fashionable and homeless at the same time, and yet you wear it well and make it work.  I've caught myself saying, "You're going to wear that?" when you're ready to head out somewhere, and then you give me 'the look' and I remember making that same face to my mother, and I try to turn it around so you know what you're wearing is fine...within reason, of course. You've always had a sense of fashion that seems quirky but ends up cool.

Your art.  My God, your talent absolutely blows my mind.  I can't help but show people your work.  Yes, I'm bragging about you; I can't help it!  It's so good that I want you to let me help you prep your portfolio now because I can see you doing anything you want with the skills you have now...at 13!!
I love that you know you want a future that includes art.  I love that you want to be an art teacher, "But at a university because I don't want to teach kids.  I don't like kids enough to do that all day and they wouldn't be very good."  Understood, Farrah.  But you talk about wanting to go to college in Canada.  Nooooooooo!  Please don't do that to me - it's too far away.  I know you're still young and you may change your mind a thousand more times, but I was excited when we decided it might not be a bad idea to look at working in animation for Disney.  I was particularly happy to see there were locations you could work in Washington.  Now, I know why when I asked my mom, "What would you do if I moved to Alaska?" she said without hesitation, "I'd move there, too."

School.  Oh boy.  I'm always excited to see your report card because you are acing everything!  You went through some crap in 6th grade where you'd been accused of cheating because of how you wrote a summary when their idea of what you'd write would be more like a synopsis.  Your teacher accused me of setting high expectations for you and that you're trying so hard to please me - that made me laugh pretty hard.  I laughed because this woman thought she knew you better than I do.  See, I know that you take your school work seriously no matter how much you hate it.  It's important to YOU to do well.  I know that you know that I don't push you in school and tell you I expect you to get perfect grades.  But most importantly...I know that you don't try to please me.  You're not even trying to please me by making your bed without me asking.  But I am pleased with how well you do in school and how much your 7th grade teachers really enjoy you and most seem to get you.

You've definitely become your own person.  You enjoy your time alone when you can spend hours sketching or drawing while listening to your music.  Your room is decked out with Twenty One Pilots "merch".  Your style is yours and I'm happy when you ask to borrow clothes you like of mine.  You are using teenage slang.  You're using technology constantly to communicate with your friends, work on your digital art, and post your art and look up your favorite things and people on Instagram.  You ask to hang out with friends, to go ice skating, to watch football and basketball games, and now you ask that James and I go on more date nights so you can just have some quiet time and hang out with the dogs.

Our dogs!  You're so great with them.  You truly love Twig and Kaia and spoil them with affection.  It's awesome to see how much they love you too.

So, the reason I've been taking forever on this blog is because this is the part that's been really tough for me to want to write, but it needs to be remembered.  How can we forget?  When I was diagnosed with cancer...I couldn't tell you.  I had to wait a couple weeks to let you know and it ate me alive.  The hardest I cried throughout my entire time dealing with being sick, was knowing I needed to tell you and it broke my heart in a million pieces to think I'd have to tell you such a shitty thing.  I didn't want to scare you even though your only experience with cancer was seeing how sick your sister-in-law got, and that my cousin had just passed away from her battle just months before my diagnosis. 
As always, we handled things with a lightheartedness and humor because I didn't want you to worry or be scared...but I can't control everything.  This put a burden on our relationship and for that honey, I'm sorry.  Your feelings about me being sick showed up as anger.  None of us knew the best approach for you in terms of understanding how to communicate your feelings, to be sure you truly understood what was happening and what was to come, or whether it was best you knew as much as you needed or if I needed to hide things.  But the things that stand out in my mind are when I wouldn't feel good and I'd say, "Honey, can you get me my 2s and 3s?"  All my medications were numbered and you knew exactly where to find them and you never sat there and made me wait for those pills.  You'd get them and you'd bring me something to drink if I needed it.  We got Kaia right when I started treatment, so you took care of her on the days James wasn't home.  You did such a great job and I was so proud of you.  You helped me pick the berries off the marion berry bush and you took care of things as we asked.  I never asked a lot of you, because I knew you were already carrying a heavy weight that you didn't want to deal with or talk about.  And even though we fought a lot during that time because I know you didn't know how to show what you were feeling...every once in a while, you'd see my face and quietly ask me, "Are you okay?" 

We are convinced we're out of the woods, but like me, I'm sure there's some fear still for you too.  I noticed that when my energy started to climb and I was able to be more like myself around the house, you became happier, sillier, and no qualms about chores James and I would ask you to take care of.  I realized, I can't get sick like that again.  But if I do, I think I'd be more prepared how to handle it with you.  I know you were scared, Farrah.  And so was I.  But the thought of you being afraid of the "what if" with me, broke me to pieces.  I fought my ass off so you won't have to see that side of life for our little family again.  And if for some crappy reason I get sick again, I will fight and fight and fight.  I'll fight for you, kiddo.  The best gift I plan to give you for your 13th is a clean bill of health...and some Twenty One Pilots merchandise.

Cancer.

On May 20th, I was diagnosed with High Grade Adenocarcinoma in the endometrium, favoring the cervix.  It was a super wordy way of telling me that I had uterine or cervical cancer.  

I had been experiencing weird symptoms (severe bleeding) since November that I chalked up to the fact that I was just getting a little older.  I had talked to a bunch of my girlfriends who were the same age and who were going through the exact same thing and it was actually quite normal (over 60% of women go through what I had been dealing with) - more details to come in a book.  That's right...I'm writing about all of this with all the gruesome details.  You're welcome.  

When I saw the doctor about what was going on, he said it was normal and I had several options to make it stop: hormone therapy, IUD, implant in my arm, or uterine ablation.  Well, the idea of having something inserted into my body grossed me out and freaked me out, so I opted to have the ablation since I was never planning on kids again.  And no more periods?  Sold!

I was scheduled for my surgery on May 30th and my pre-op appointment was May 16th.  On Thursday, the 16th, my doctor went over what I should expect and I signed a bunch of waivers.  Yeah, yeah, yeah...let's do this!!  Then he told me, just to be on the safe side, "I'd like to take a quick biopsy just in case there's any chance of any cancer, because once we do the surgery, it'll form scar tissue over the cancer making it untreatable."  

Biopsy?

The first thing I asked was where were the drugs.  I didn't get any.  The best way I can describe what having a uterine or cervical biopsy is this:  with no pain killers, no xanax, nothing...someone puts a tiny tool waaaaaay too far up inside you and that tool happens to be like a nail clipper and they just SNIP a piece of you out.  Of course, when you scream or begin to faint, the male doctor (never again) asks, "Do you want me to stop and reschedule?"  Screw you, man.  It was traumatic.  It was horrifying.

Monday, May 20th:

Me:  "Hellllo?"
Caller:  "Is this Kathryn?"
Me:  "Yes it is!"
Caller:  "Good morning, it's Dr. O'Brian.  I hope I'm not waking you."
Me:  "Not even a little.  I've been up working since 5!"
Caller:  "Okay, well, I got the results back from your biopsy."
Me:  "Awesome!"
Caller:  "And I think you need to come in."

My stomach dropped.

He told me the biopsy came back positive for cancer.

James rushed home and we went to see the doctor about the next steps.

Spokane or UW in Seattle?

UW...duh.

I was scheduled for labs, an MRI and immediately had an appointment with Dr. Urban at the University of Washington (best in her field) all in a matter of days.  My whole family came to UW with me and she told me after looking at the MRI, it appeared to be uterine cancer.  After my exam however, she said it was early stage cervical cancer.  Early stage was good!

My options:

1.  Chemo and radiation - Nah, that does not sound fun.  Pass.
2.  Radical hysterectomy - Hmm, a big scar?  I can live with that - there'll be a good story to go with it.

The idea of going with the radical hysterectomy was to remove all my reproductive organs and tissues surrounding the areas to ensure nothing got missed.  While open, they would remove the lymph nodes to the left and right side of my cervix and test them to be sure nothing had spread.  If it spread, they'd stop the surgery, zip me back up, and start the other treatment.

I had my pre-op on May 30th (the day I was supposed to have the other surgery) and my surgery was on the 3rd of June.

I went in, got poked at, drugged up, and I remember the team of surgeons telling me to think of a happy place as I dozed off knowing I'd wake up in an ugly gown in a hospital bed, ready to take some serious naps for the next couple days while I healed up.  I even brought my computer so I could get some work done.

When I woke up...my family was in the room watching me and my doctor was sitting on a chair next to me.  She told me that the cancer had spread to my lymph nodes.  She removed a bunch more to run tests on to see if it had gone any further, but for now, I no longer had my fallopian tubes and I would need to mentally prepare myself because the next steps would be radiation and chemo.

I said, "You'd said originally I was early stage...what stage am I now?"

Stage 3.

I sat there nodding that I understood.

"You said the success rate is 90%.  What is it now?"

60-70%.

I nodded again and accepted the information for what it was.

Dr. Urban squeezed my hand and told me we had a plan and to take some time to absorb the information she'd given me.

Since then, I have healed from my partial hysterectomy, gone through several weeks of daily external radiation, 5 rounds of invasive internal Brachey therapy, and 10 rounds of chemo.

Today was my last day of chemo.

In three months, I'll have my PET scan that I know will show I'm free and clear of any and all cancer. I'll spend the next 5 years of my life checking in on this to make sure I'm good.

There have been tears, but mostly, there has been laughter and love.  God, so much laughter.  So much love.

I couldn't have done this without the absolute unconditional love, strength and support from James, my parents, my family, my daughter, and my friends.  I also couldn't have done it without the support of my bosses and co-workers because they knew I wanted to keep working and stay busy and "normal" and I love them all for that.

What James has done for me...has blown my mind.  I never thought I could love him more than I already did, and wow - I found myself falling more and more in love with him every day as he took every step with me along the way.  Even shuffling steps down the hallways of the hospital for exercise, holding hands and looking out the windows and planning for when I'm better.

I have already started writing details about my experience because I love to share stories.  I have a lot to share, and luckily, a lot of then are funny and light-hearted.  Some suck, but that's because c'mon...I'm talking about cancer.

But to give you an idea of some of what funny little things I experienced were...here's a short story:

Dr. Kim, who was handling the Internal Brachey Therapy (internal radiation) had to give me an examination.  This had to have been my 10th exam because everyone needed to get a look-see before treating me.  With the sheet over her head and me feeling extremely vulnerable and uncomfortable in my stirrups, staring at the ceiling, I heard her say, "Oh!  That's a really neat tattoo on your leg!  What is that?  It's so pretty!"

It wasn't until the next day that I burst out laughing at how inappropriate, yet awesomely funny it was.  I know what that poor lady sees everyday...and it's not tattoos on thighs.  I freakin' love her.

That Time I Was In a Slow Speed Chase

A couple months ago, I was thoroughly enjoying a small guilty pleasure of french fries while on my way back from dropping off Farrah at Stevens Pass for the parental exchange and lost track of how fast I was going.  First, understand that I almost never eat fast food.  Second, if I do, it's almost never McDonalds.  Third, I am very aware how bad that food is for me which is why I was eating it very quickly so no one would discover my dirty little secret that I was loving every greasy McDonalds french fry that went in my mouth.  And in my desperation to complete my high caloric treat before anyone was the wiser, the inevitable weight I was gaining began pushing down onto my right foot.
Before I knew it, the blue and red flashing lights came up behind me.  Damn it! 

The winter here has been bananas and very late.  Because of all the snow fall, the snowbanks were incredibly high and went on for miles.  The very inconvenient thing about that is it makes it virtually impossible to find a place to pull over.  And I couldn't.  So, to avoid getting into more trouble...I simply stopped.  On highway 2.  As the cop walked up, I stuck my head out the window and told him there was nowhere to pull over.  He said it was fine and asked for my driver's license.  After looking at it and seeing I was from East Wenatchee, he told me to go ahead and drive over to Smallwoods (a large fruit stand and small store) where we would discuss my speeding.

I thought it was odd that he would suggest that I turn around, pulling a u-turn across highway 2, cutting over a double yellow line...but who was I to argue his decision?  I started heading back to Smallwoods and watched in my rearview mirror as he had to pull in and out several times to conduct the same u-turn as his SUV was too big.  Anyway, off I went to get my ticket.  Shortly after the cop came up behind me, I noticed his flashing lights were going.

"What the hell?  Yeah, we've already established I'm getting pulled over."

Then he was tailgating me and getting awfully close.

"Jesus!  Knock it off asshole!!  I get it!"

Then he continued to tailgate me, I saw another set of blue and red lights, and finally I heard the  loud sirens.

"Oh my freakin' GAWD!!! Why the hell are you being so dramatic??!"

I found a spot to pull over and thought to myself, "Why didn't he suggest I pull over here?  This is much closer than Smallwoods."

As soon as the cop pulled up behind me, I rolled down my window, "Was that really necessary?  I'm right here!"

Then the policeman said, "I told you to go to Smallwoods!"
"I was - it's right up there." I responded.
"Noooooo," he said, "it's BACK THERE."

In my honest disbelief with my very real handicap when it comes to having any sense of direction, I did the only thing I could think of in my defense.  I laughed.  Hard.

I asked him, "So, because it appeared I was hightailing it out of town, is that why that guy is searching my dirty car with his flashlight?"

Police officer, "Yup."

Cool.  There was a high beam going through every corner of my vehicle.

The cop asked for my insurance and as I was pulling it out of my wallet, I remembered the insurance card that was NOT expired was currently sitting on my desk.  Shit.  I handed it over anyway.  This whole time, I had already accepted my fate and the steep ticket I was inevitably going to receive.
He asked for my registration and as soon as I opened my glove compartment...the flashlight lit up my box of 9mm bullets. 
Oh shit.  Oh shit.  Oh shit.

I watched as the two men talked to each other over the top of my car.

"Ma'am...to you have a gun on you?"

"No, I don't.  Let me guess...are you asking because of all those bulletsssssss the other cop saw?"

"Yes.  Ma'am, do you have a gun?"

This was getting embarrassing.  "Yes, but it's at home...in pieces."
"Why is it in pieces?" he asked.
"Because I took it apart and never learned how to put it back together again so I left it in pieces in the gun case, assuming that it was safer there, than on me."
He didn't ask any more questions about the gun because he probably agreed whole heartedly with me on that.
However, it did prompt his next question...
"Ma'am, have you been drinking tonight?"
I immediately responded by holding up my very melted iced latte, "Not yet!  Mostly likely when I get home, though."

At this point, he seemed at a loss.

But we weren't finished yet.

"Ma'am, I'm giving you back your registration but it isn't signed.  You can get a really big fine if these aren't signed."

My awesome response, "Oh, well, the car is owned by my parents, but I just paid it off and it was supposed to be signed over to me, but I never received the title so honestly, I don't know who owns the car at this point, nor who'd sign that registration!"

He sighed...then he said, "Ma'am your insurance card is expired..."
"Yep!  The one that SHOULD be in my wallet is on my desk.  I'll be sure to put that in there when I get home."

I was suffering from honest-diarrhea-mouth.  I did have a little bit of common sense to conveniently forget to tell him that the driver's license he was handing back to me had my old address on it because I kept forgetting to update it.

He said, "I assumed since you were from East Wenatchee, you would know where Smallwoods was."

"Well, that was your first mistake.  Anyone that knows me, knows I can get lost in my own back yard.  I probably should've warned you."

He just stood there looking a tad dumbfounded as he told me, "Look, I'm not going to give you a ticket tonight.  Just slow down and please...just get home safe."

I laughed and thanked him and wished him well.

The truth is, I know I was let off the hook because I can only imagine how pathetic and a mess I must have appeared.  He probably figured the chaotic life I must live has to be punishment enough.  I laughed all the way home.  It was probably my best pull-over experiences in my life.  I think my naive honesty is what saved my ass.