When my mother was alive, she was an extremely passive aggressive person. When she wasn't passive aggressive she was yelling and screaming at us. When my sister ignored my request, I just snapped. I couldn't handle her being passive aggressive towards me. I couldn't handle the fact she showed absolutely no empathy toward the fact that I just found I had breast cancer. I couldn't handle the fact she turned my house upside down. Her intentions were good, but I would have appreciated a heads up. I didn't appreciate the fact she erased my younger children's things without asking me first. I didn't appreciate the fact that I needed to in fact rest, and I couldn't.

While I was gone, I had asked my neighbors to check-in on her and the kids. I just wanted to make sure she had everything she needed. My neighbors and I just became friends earlier that summer and I felt comfortable sharing certain things with them. I hadn't counted on my sister telling them things that were private about my life. I hadn't counted on her taking them through my house.

I should have realized something was wrong when I invited her and my neighbor Emily for lunch that day. Beth was acting extremely off. More off than usual. When Beth is hiding something she has that "fake" smile. You know the ones I'm talking about. The kind where it's more a grimace, head bowed down because they don't want to look you in the eye. The whole lunch felt awkward. But, I thought it would be fun and keep my mind off the fact I had breast cancer.
The following day my neighbors ask to speak with me at Emilie's house. I was curious and a little concerned about why they wanted to have this chat.
"Leslie, we are so sorry." Becky said.
"For what"? I asked.
"I gave your sister the number for Social Rehabilitation Services and she called them," Becky said.
"Leslie, we were concerned about you, we thought she was trying to help you."
They went onto tell me about the conversations they had with my sister while I had been in Kansas City. Beth even eluded that I drank and tried to find alcohol in my house.
I was in utter shock. Then Becky showed me the texts she had received from Beth.
"It's done," Beth texted.

She obviously was referring that she had in fact turned me into SRS. Which really didn't make any sense since the house was clean. I was so angry with her, but I had other things I was dealing with too. Seriously? This was her idea of help.

Could I have used help earlier that year? Yes. Was I majorly depressed six months prior, yes. But I had started going to church, getting out more, and enjoying life. My kids never went without. I couldn't buy them the most expensive things in life, but that's not what being a parent is about. They had their basic needs met. Yes, my son needed a new mattress, but the week prior to my going to Kansas City I went shopping with my other sister for just that. I was just still price comparing.

So, that was that. Now, with a stage IV cancer diagnosis my sister was after my children as well. She made it known she wanted them to come and live with her. She insisted that's where they needed to be. It didn't matter what I want, or what I thought was best for my children.

"We should have believed you Leslie and we're so sorry for not believing you," Becky said.

I finally felt validated.

disclaimer..(This next part of the story isn't to hurt anyone and isn't up for discussion of whether or not I should have told it. This is from my point of view and if the parties disagree and are upset I apologize in advance, but this blog is about my entire experience, not just certain parts. I also want to point out that I have no regrets with anything I've been through because I'm a better person today because of it).

Previous to my cancer diagnosis, my sister had visited for the weekend and stayed with my kids so I could go to Kansas City for my appointment where I would learn I did in fact have cancer. Upon my return, I came home to a different house.
My house wasn't a disaster when I had left. Yes, it was cluttered. Yes, I had been fighting a mouse problem that was just about taken care of. No, I hadn't yet cleaned up yet. Keep in mind, I was diagnosed as stage IV breast cancer which means I was probably living with it for quite a while. I was always tired and the energy I did have was spent taking care of my children's needs the best of what I could do. I was also enjoying life. I loved taking my son to his football practices and going to his games. I loved hanging out with Mickaela.
According to Dr. Mcginness's instructions, I was suppose to take it easy for the next couple of days. After all, I had just undergone two biopsies in my left breast and was sore. I had just experienced a trauma and I wasn't ready to talk about it yet with anyone. I just wanted to be left alone. Well, left alone with my children to think about what was going to happen next and where I went from here.
When my husband and I seperated, he took my two youngest with him. At the time, it was the best thing to do and with my cancer diagnosis there was no way I'd be able to take care of them. I still had Sam and Emma's things in their room because I knew they would be returning. This was their home too.
My sister had completely cleaned my older son's room, which he was suppose to have done. I had it cleaned two weeks prior, but he was 12 years old. He knew how to pick up after himself he just chose not to. She took the bunk beds down and rearranged it so it would just be Nick's room. I hadn't overreacted to that. She had also vacummed the mouse droppings up that I hadn't done yet.
That evening went fine as well. Both children had new bedding, which she took credit for as well as getting Nick a new mattress. I was completely shocked by her efforts to make things better. At least, I thought she was trying to make things better. The next day however, was awful.

 She was up and hard at work again. I really appreciated her hard work, but I felt like she was annoyed that I wasn't helping her do anything. I wasn't suppose to push a vacuum, lift, or really do anything. I thought she would have understood this given the fact she was studying to be a nurse. I really thought she would have realized that I needed my rest. I didn't need to hear clanking of totes in the bathrooom tub while I tried to get some sleep.
Later that day, it was time for my son to get ready for football practice. She was out practicing volleyball with my daughter and my son was looking for his "essential" parts of his uniform which he couldn't find and we couldn't leave til he found them.
"Do you know where Nick's cup is?" I asked her.
She ignored me and continued to play volleyball with Mickaela. I asked her again and she still ignored me. Was I nice about it? Probably not because she had rearranged everything in his room and he didn't know where she put it and she wouldn't come into look for it. I don't remember what happened from that point on, but I do know my annoyance with her had escalated to a fight with her which could have been avoided if she would have helped her nephew look for what he needed.
I blew up at her. I was stressed beyond what anyone could imagine and she calmly and sarchastically told my children that I was reacting this way because I was bipolar. (A story for another time). I told the kids to get in the van and I wanted her to leave my house if she was going to behave that way towards me. Upon my return, she was standing outside across the street talking to my neighbor, which I found incredibly annoying.
My sister and I have never seen eye to eye on anything. I may not be perfect, but I am the mother. I am the one who takes care of my children on a day in and day out basis. I am the one who fixes their meals, takes them to school and picks them up, takes them to the doctor, and everything else a mother does. I try and make decisions based on their well-being and she has never respected me as a mother. She can disagree with me, but she has to respect me as a sister and as a mother.

guardianship

The universe has a funny way of working when it comes to making decisions. My dad, my aunt, and others asked me if I was sure I wanted to sign this guardianship and I explicitly said yes. The cost of guardianship would be $900 and I said to Becky and Karen that I didn't have that kind of money. Of course, once again Becky said, "Don't worry about it, Roger and I will figure it out." That seemed to be alright with Karen and I said okay. Now, it was just a matter of getting my ex-husband to agree to it as well.
The kids were already staying across the stret without the guardianship and when Manning would drop the kids off for the weekend Becky and Roger invited him in to try and make him feel comfortable with the arrangement. Sometimes he would stay three hours at a time.
Once he left, Becky would come over and tell me about their conversations.
"All he does is talk about himself," she said. "You would think he'd ask how the kids are handling everything, or he would ask questions about us."
I sat their and listened every time. I kind of smiled to myself and thought, haha now you understand why he drives me nuts sometimes.
The weekend before the hearing Becky came over frantically spouting out in her Arkansas accent.
"He won't sign the guardianship papers," she said.
"He went over it with us and had problems with it."
At the time, I didn't understand why she was so upset. I thought she was upset for me because I wouldn't get the healthcare I needed if this didn't go through. I now think she was upset because my ex-husband wasn't about to give his children away to perfect strangers. I believe now she was upset because my ex-husband put a kink in her twisted plan to take my children away by using God to manipulate me.

Every time she had a problem with Manning, she would come over and tell me about it. I was suppose to be recovering from my chemotherapy treatments and she was causing me undue stress. I finally had to tell her I couldn't handle it anymore. There wasn't anyting I could do about it. In her own words, she was "on the hamster wheel." I believed she enjoyed being on the hamster wheel and enjoyed having the drama in her life. She presented herself in a fashion she was helping you, but in all reality she was helping herself. Hiding behind God once again and in it for her own agenda.
My ex-husband has never been one to express himself openly. I didn't know if he approved of my decision, if he wanted to take the kids, or if he really knew what to do. I was angry because he wouldn't talk to me openly about it. He wouldn't tell me, "I want my children to come and live with us."
My dad said I needed to have a conversation with my ex-husband, but I knew he wouldn't talk to me or give me an opinion one way or the other. If he had an opinion, he wouldn't have backed it up. I felt that I was on my own.
My husband and I had seperated earlier that year, before I found out my cancer diagnosis. I couldn't depend on him to take care of me or the kids, which I'll get into later. He was down in Texas and legally he couldn't take Nick or Mickaela even though he offered to. I knew that wouldn't fly with my ex-husband though.

The following week, Becky and Roger went to court and Judge Johnson signed off on the guardianship. It was a done deal now. I was happy my children were getting taken care of and that I was going to be able to get the healthcare and help I needed. Now, Manning was out of the way. Little did I know Becky moved onto my sister.

decisions

Whenever you have that sinking feeling or self-doubt in your gut, LISTEN TO IT! There were so many times while my supposed "caregiver" was taking care of me that I felt that she was after my children. I even confronted her on it a couple of different times.
A lawyer who makes house calls? Karen came to the house with guardianship papers in hand for me to sign. Even though I had three chemo's behind me, I felt I was able to make a sound decision. The wording in the document said, "temporary." I thought the word "temporary" in the document meant I was signing a "temporary" guardianship. Later I would find out this guardianship was anything but temporary.
"This is just a piece of paper," Becky said.
They invited me into their home and made me feel comfortable with how they were raising their own daughter. They invited me to dinners and always updated me on the children.
"Leslie, I'm doing this for you!" she said. "We just want the best for your children." Words I clearly wanted to hear, because after she said these words I let it go.
Every time I turned around, she would say, "This is just a piece of paper so we can make decisions for them, take them to doctor's appointments etc. One other reason for the guardianship is that I needed medicaid. As it was, I was receiving child support from my ex-husband and I needed to figure out how to get that out of my name. $650 put me way over the limit to qualify for anything, and I didn't have health insurance or any other income. I was scared that I wouldn't be able to be treated for my cancer if I couldn't get the health care I so desperately needed.

The Truth Is....

The truth is, cancer sucks!
The truth is, surgeries because of the cancer suck!
The truth is, missing out on my children's lives because I'm too sick to be a mom suck!
The truth is, looking down and having no boobs suck!
The truth is, laying on your bathroom floor Christmas day sucks!
The truth is, not being able to lift up a plate, or take out the trash sucks!
The truth is, realizing the all the people waiting with you to have blood drawn all have cancer too sucks!
The truth is, having to apply for social security benefits and medicaid suck!

The truth is, the receptionsists of Westwood Women's Center are amazing!
The truth is, the doctors and nursing staff are amazing!
The truth is, KU social worker Lizzy Linder is amazing!
The truth is, my dad lent a helping hand and is amazing!
The truth is feeling good enough to attend my sister's wedding and take pictures was amazing!
The truth is, I have survived a year of chemotherapy and surgery!
The truth is, there will be a cure one day!

My seventh grader and his friends post on facebook all the time, "the truth is." It's their way of communicating their honest feelings about one another whether it be how they met, what they think of that person, how they feel about their siblings or parents. There are so many uncertainties with a cancer diagnosis, but there are also truths. These are mine.

Unanswered questions

I look back at a counseling appointment with my psychiatrist and he asks, "Do you have any suicidal thoughts."
I replied, "Well, not so much anymore, but yes I have in the past."
As he's jotting in his notebook he says jokingly, "Suicide seems unimportant when you have death staring at you in the eyes."
I mean if I really wanted to die, I'd just stop going to chemo, right? This is a perfect excuse. I don't have to think of ways to do it like taking pills or slitting my wrists. I don't have to think of ways to hurt myself because either I fight the cancer or I die.Point blank.
There were so many times throughout my chemo treatments that I said I can't do this. A little over half-way through I was ready to stop. I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't take the person I had become. Wham am I fighting for if my quality of life sucks?
While I was fighting cancer, I was fighting my family, I was fighting people who wanted to keep my children away from me, I was fighting social security, I was fighting medicaid, I was simply in a state of fighting. What is the point of living if all you're doing is fighting to survive? Living shouldn't be this difficult.
I will say it again, 80 percent of surviving any kind of cancer is positive thinking. How can I be positive when I'm having to deal with all of this stress?
And, where was God through all of this? Am I such a bad judge in character that I brought unintentional, emotional harm to my children? Yes, I had free will, but I was out of options. Or at least the options in front of me weren't beneficial to anyone least of all them. God gave us the ability to have free will and make choices. Why do people use God to manipulate us into their way of thinking? Why do people call themselves Christian and then turn around and try to prove you an unfit parent because they can't have children of their own? Why do Christians try and look for fault in people to make themselves appear better? Why did God bless me with four children and only bless her with one? Why, as a Christian does she still prey on unsuspecting women thinking she loves them and she's their for them. How do you fight a person hiding behind God? Why were my family so ready to believe her and her rants about me and my home life instead of taking a chance on me?

A helping hand

10. How are you feeling? Really?? How am I feeling?? How would you feel after being shot up with poison for eight hours.

9.  If you're a caretaker, do not, I repeat do not give the cancer patient hot tomales for their dinner. I had a neighbor think I might actually like these.

8.  If you've had cancer and are trying to console a friend who has cancer, do not constantly compare your experience to theirs. Everytime I had a conversation with a particular individual the conversation always started out, "When I had cancer," or "your tastebuds are never going to be the same." Everyone is different and reacts differently to chemotherapy. Don't make the converstion about you. Cancer patients really just need someone there. Sometimes no conversation is the best conversation. Just knowing you are thinking about them and are there for them is enough.

7.  Overprotective family...Don't get me wrong. Family is an important support system. However, family should not try and "police" the cancer patient. We know our limitations and what is good for us. We know what we should be doing. Just because you think a patient should be doing something, doesn't mean they will. If you disagree with them, keep it to yourself. Isolation isn't the answer in keeping away germs.

6.  Again, if you're a caretaker, ask your friend or relative how involved they want you to be. If you're there for support at a doctor's visit be ready to take down information, but sit quietly in the background. Oncologists only want to deal with the patient, not the entire family. This is their illness, not yours. They have had their life turned upside down and no longer have control over their bodies. The last thing they need is for someone to take over an appointment.

5.  Be that person available to call at midnight or two in the morning.

4.  Don't make the cancer patient feel guilty for sleeping more. Fatigue is an understatement with chemotherapy.

3.  Be prepared for mood swings. You may be doing everything you can for the person your taken care of, but when there is noone else to lash out at, you may be the only person left. Understand this isn't them. They are facing mortality. They are scared. Just take it.

2.  Know that we love you and couldn't go through this without you. You can' t expect a pat on the back for attending an appointment or being their for surgery. If you make that choice, don't expect gratitude right away. The cancer patient has more things on his/her mind than saying thank you.

1. Just be there. Be there when noone else will be. Don't tell them they need to fight. We know we need to fight. There are days though you don't want to fight. There are days where you're angry with God, with your spouse, with the person taking care of you. There are days where you think this will never be over. There are days when encouragement just isn't enough.

Level lab 3

Soft, warm lighting, copies of crossword puzzles and word finds, and artwork filled the waiting room of level lab three. We all knew why we were being sent there. Our platelets were too low to receive chemo, but in one last, ditch effort they would draw blood again in a special tube to see if your numbers would come up.
An aid brought an elderly woman in a wheelchair to await her fears. She was argumentative in a comical way. "I'm going to eat ice-cream whether she wants me to or not," the woman told her caregiver. I sat there thumbing through my magazine, not really paying attention to the pages and I just couldn't help but smile.
"Dr. Chapman is your doctor, isn't she?" I asked.
"Why, yes how did you know?"
"Because my mother said the same thing after one of her appointments," I said. The foods my mother once enjoyed were now being taken away from her little by little.
At that moment though, I knew my mother was with me. I felt her so strongly in that room, holding my hand telling me it was all going to be okay.
This was my first roadblock I had to overcome. Something I didn't have control over. My platelets were too low and I hadn't even started chemo yet. How could this be? Hence, why I was sitting in level lab three. I was so scared my chemo was going to be delayed.
One woman, trying to smile while she told whoever was on the other end of her cell phone, said she wouldn't be receiving chemo that day. You couldn't help but overhear her. You couldn't help but notice her hands trembling, her voice shaky, her spirit defeated. Her husband held her hand as she gathered her things to leave for the day.
Being told your platelets are too low not only means your not able to receive chemo, but it also means this ugly disease has a chance to grow and spread until you get treatment. Every day counts.

"Give it to God"

"Close your eyes. Now, visualize yourself in God's image. Imagine yourself wrapped in his arms. He's protecting you. What does he look like to you? Now, give all your problems to God. Let Him carry the burden for you. He loves you and will protect you. The people who have hurt you before cannot hurt you anymore. Imagine a jail cell. She can't hurt you anymore. She's in 'Jesus Jail.' She has to answer to God now." Norm explained.
Pretty powerful if you're trying to remove anger from your life. If you're trying to forgive the people who have hurt you and preventing them from hurting you into the future. Just give it to God.
I believed so deeply, with everything I had that this process was going to help me forgive and help me heal my past and help me become a better person. I believed God would take me in His arms and take care of me. He would heal me. He would heal my shattered heart. I felt that finally I could let all of my anger and resentment go. I felt that I finally had people in my life who loved me and cared about me and accepted me for who I was. I was worthy of being loved.
Becky came over whenever she wanted to "check" on me while I was recovering from chemo. In some ways it was a blessing to know that someone was there who actually cared about me. She had my very best interest at heart. After all, I entrusted this woman with my children.
Every day she would knock and just let herself in. She would sit on my couch and tell me how she supported my choice to keep my marriage in tact.
"Leslie, I went through what you're going through a few years ago. Roger and I went to a retreat in Nebraska and it saved our marriage," she said. The only thing I can compare it to is a marriage encounter. No TV, no phones, no computer, no communication of any kind.
"They will give you the tools to communicate with your husband. They will teach you how to listen to each other." Becky said.
"Yes, I want to do this," I replied. "I need to do this."
I was full of hope that this is exactly what my husband and I needed to repair our broken marriage. If she believed in our marriage surviving, I knew it was possible. I knew if I was happy, then I would be able to love and trust my husband with everything I had.
I called my husband and explained to him about this four day retreat. I just didn't know when we would be able to do it because I was undergoing chemo.
"I really think this is what we need," I told him.
"Leslie, you need to 'fix' you, before we can fix our marriage," He responded. I was so angry with him. I didn't want to wait. I didn't want to "fix" myself. I felt that even if I "fixed" myself we still needed to do this and I really didn't want to waist anymore time. I wanted my family back. I wanted him to come back home and take care of me.
I fought him every step of the way. I didn't believe he loved me because he wouldn't do this one thing for me. Every time we spoke on the phone it would turn into another fight, and I started them. At the time I didn't realize I was starting them on purpose, but now I think I started them to get a reaction from him. Any reaction was better at this point then no reaction at all. I didn't care that he was taking care of our two smaller children, I didn't care that I had hurt him in more ways than one. I just didn't care. I took him for granted. All I cared about was getting him to say he still loved me and wanted to be my husband again.

Counseling

I was really nervous about pastoral counseling. I wanted to have extra support there and at the time I was very trusting of Becky, so I invited her to go with me.
We walked up to the church and was greeted with warm handshakes by Jenn and Norm. They had an inviting room with a warm atmosphere. We both sat on the plaid couch and Jenn and Norm took their cue and sat on wing backed chairs. You couldn't help but notice the bibles on the end table and their legal pad they wrote on to take their notes.
Norm led the session. I thought to myself, an engineer by trade, a previous winery owner, and now a pastoral counselor? Does he really know what he's doing, or is he just as lost as the rest of us?
One of the first things he had me do was fill out a sheet of people in my life who I thought were controlling and then rank them. I had to list just about everyone. Maybe controlling isn't the right word.
Of course with any counseling, they ask you what you'd like to accomplish or what are my goals?
"I just want to be happy and peaceful," I said.
"I don't think I've ever been truly happy. I set myself up to fail, whether it's work, school, kids, or especially my marriage."
"When you're ready, you need to ask God for help," Norm said. "Give it all to him."
I hesitated, and replied, "I'm not ready for that."
Norm responded, "That's okay. When the day comes we will be here for you, let's pray on it."
He pulled out his bible and we all bowed our heads. He read scripture and then he prayed in his own words.
Three hours later it was time to end the session. I felt rejuvenated. I felt that anything was possible, but I had so many questions. If I give it to God, then what? It's not like the problems just go away. I'm still the same person.
Part of what I did learn even with all the skepticism is that you don't have control over your life. You don't know what is going to happen, only God knows. Your life is predestined. God gives you free will to make choices. It's what you do with those choices. You don't have the power here, you never did.
Cancer will teach you that. Where you once thought you had control over your body and health, you simply don't. You have the choice of who your doctors will be, and if you choose treatment or choose to die, but it's up to God essentially.
This was a really difficult concept for me. I had to trust in my doctors, I had to believe that I was going to beat this. I suppose that's why they say 80 percent of beating cancer is positive thinking.

Faith

I found my faith right before I was diagnosed with breast cancer thanks to my daughter. She wanted so badly to feel part of something bigger than herself and wanted to feel like she belonged somewhere. I wasn't prepared to try something other than the Catholic church so I allowed her to attend with our neighbors.
When I saw how happy she was when she came home, I thought to myself I'd give this a try. Becky reached out to me and asked the following Sunday, "We'd love for you to come with us." I accepted and found myself in a very different kind of worship than what I was use to.
In his microphone, the pastor had everyone in the palm of his hand, "Who are you?" he asked. "Who are you besides a mother, a father. Who are you without your children? Maybe you've separated from your husband, or maybe you're suffering from an illness. Who are you without all of that?"
I felt like he was talking to me. A tear slowly fell down my cheek as I listened to him. He's talking directly to me, I thought to myself.
Live music filled the church. You'd think Pastor Paul appeared to look like Jesus in his happy way. He had the beard, the hair, the sandals etc. You couldn't but raise your hands up and praise God when he sang. "My God Saves, My God Saves." Others stood up and praised God raising their hands. How could you not be inspired by this? Pastor Mccowan's sermon was empowering to say the least.
I continued to go throughout the rest of the summer and continued to put myself out there more than I ever had before. I enjoyed life again. I found myself joining the choir which I absolutely loved. I finally felt like I was part of something bigger than myself. I wanted to be a better person, a more positive person.
Becky knew about my marital issues and insisted she could help me get through this difficult time in my life.
"Becky, I want to go to counseling, but I simply can't afford it." I said. I knew I needed help rebuilding my life. I knew in order for my marriage to work I needed to "fix" myself. I needed to learn what it was to be a wife and a mother. After all, I never really had any good examples growing up. We are what we learn unless we know how to move past it. I didn't know how to be anyone else but who I was.
"There is a couple I want you to meet. They are wonderful, and I'm sure they will be able to help you," she said.
The following Sunday she introduced me to Jen and Norm. They recently decided to sell their family's winery to go into ministry.
Jen, stood about 5'3" with short, blond hair. "It's so nice to meet you," she said, this is my husband Norm," He stood about 6'2", glasses, and balding.
I was really excited I was finally going to get my life on track. I wasn't sure about pastoral counseling, but what did I have to lose at this point?

Trust and breast cancer part 1

Trust is not something that comes easily for me. I still struggle with it even today, but I'm learning that if I don't trust, I will never have  successful relationship. Psychologists and psychiatrists say adults who don't trust usually had something happen to them during their adolescent years. For me, it was my mom and dad's divorce.
As I process through what has happened, I am retrieving memories that I had hidden away so deep that I really have to work hard to remember.
My parents were not at all loving towards each other. My mother withheld love and affection. She didn't do this on purpose, I just don' think she knew how to love. She had so many things going on in her own life, that being a single parent of four children was extremely difficult for her. My father had no idea how to show his love for us. He tried, but I just think it was too difficult for him to show affection. I remember how my grandparents treated him whenever we would go and visit, and all I remember is sarcastic humor and nagging.
When my dad had his interview in Indianapolis, IN we were all excited about the prospect of moving. Instead, he filed for divorce and I was left with my mother and my three younger siblings.
I was so angry with him for leaving me with a crazy person. I was angry because I was no longer "daddy's girl." My mother would often say, "I can't deal with you, you act exactly like your father," or "You look just like him."
Every time we would go and visit him, we would return and then I was interrogated for the upcoming days, followed by a huge fight with yelling and screaming, and tears streaming down my cheeks.
Grandma and Grandpa would come visit and they would always say, "Try and get along with your mother," or if I was being difficult it was always my fault. If my bed wasn't made, I'd get the belt. If  I argued about doing something, I'd get chased around the house until I was in a corner with nowhere to run.
My dad who once protected me, was no longer there. This gave my mom free reign to behave however she wanted. I knew saying, "I'm going to live with my dad," would piss her off and maybe she'd leave me alone. For a few years, that worked. I'd pick up the phone and threaten to "tell on her."
My mother had me when she was 27 years of age. Within that same year, she discovered she had breast cancer. She waited to long and she had to have a radical mastectomy. I honestly believe because I was born the same year she had cancer, she somehow held me responsible. I was to blame for why she was so disfigured.
I go through pictures of our past and I see very few of her smiling while holding me. I don't think she really had an opportunity to bond with me like other mothers and daughters.
Over the years my mom changed her behavior towards me once I had children of my own. I had always wanted her to validate my feelings and she finally admitted her behavior was wrong. But it just goes to show people can change.
My brother said "cancer doesn't have you, you have cancer." Cancer has given me the ability to form a close relationship with my older son and daughter. Having cancer gave me the opportunity to see how smart, beautiful, loving, and sensitive my daughter is. I see her in a way that I hadn't been able to see before. My heart has softened and opened up to her. For that I am grateful.

Children

It has been said cancer doesn't just affect you it affects everyone around you.
When I began chemotherapy, there were a lot of things in my life I needed to figure out. Instead of being given the choice to figure things out, there were people in my life that simply took over. I was never asked if this is what I wanted, or how did I want to handle things, it just was. And given the fact I didn't have much faith in myself I allowed it to happen. The idea was so that I wouldn't have any stress.
When I decided to leave my children in the hands of my neighbors, the only questions I got was why would you do that? Why wouldn't you leave them with family? For one, leaving them with family meant uprooting them and they had already gone through so much I didn't want to uproot their lives yet again. My ex-husband and I coexisited for the sake of our children, but I didn't feel that I could ask him to take them. I wish he would have simply offered, but that didn't happen either. I felt like this was all on me.
I didn't want my children to be with people who didn't respect me. I didn't want to leave my children with people who constantly harrassed me and wouldn't simply leave me alone for a month when I had asked. I didn't want to leave my children with individuals who believed to know more about my illness and what was going to happen to me based on statistics. The people I wanted to take care of my children didn't offer and I didn't feel comfortable asking them. I felt as though I was on my own. Hence, why they ended up with the people they ended up with. If my mother had been alive, there would have been no question in her mind. She would have gladly taken them.
Whispers and questions were floating around constantly. For one, I wasn't ready to share with anyone what I was going through. I wasn't ready to divulge what was said in every appointment and if there was a prognosis. Just because you are diagnosed with stage IV mestatic breasts cancer does not mean you are automatically going to die in five years.
I made it known that I wasn't ready to discuss this with anyone except those closest to me and that included my husband. What surprises me is how people react when they find out you have cancer. Don't presume to know all there is to know. Every individual has their own unique makeup and that is why chemotherapy is such a crapshoot as to if it's going to work or not.
I don't know about anyone else going through chemotherapy, but there are people out there who only want to help on a superficial basis. They are glad to give their opinion on what you to should do, but they don't want to roll up their sleeves and get dirty with you. Even though I wasn't ready to share that information with everyone, it still would have been nice for those closes to me to let me know they would be there for me if I needed them to be and they would be there even if it meant it would be inconvient for them. They would be there with me even if I didn't want them there in the doctor's office with me.
Conversations were going around as to what would happen to the kids if I were to die, where would they go. I was amazed how quickly people had opinions on this. I wasn't even close to death, yet this was being discussed. They go with their dad, plain and simple. Get over it.

BRCA1 Gene and decisions

I haven't talked about this much before, but three years while I was pregnant, I found a lump in my breast. Talk about being scared then. My mom was alive then though and was able to go with me for support. Dr. Mcginness felt my breast and biopsied the site. They concluded it was non-cancerous. During the appointment, she talked to me about genetic testing for the BRCA genes. She explained to me the benefits of having this test done, and because my mother had already tested positive for the gene, my cost would be significantly less. Insurance wasn't an issue at the time since we had Federal Blue Cross Blue Shield so I agreed to have it done. I suppose I should have given it more thought because if you're not sure what you're going to do once you hear the results there really isn't any sense of having this test done.
Within a few days, I knew that I tested positive for the BRCA1 gene. What did this mean for me personally? I honestly didn't know. I just ignored it for quite a while I guess. I talked to my husband about having a double masectomy for prevention, and he was extremely supportive of it. I wasn't ready for that though. I thought, like most people it was a little extreme. I mean, these are my breasts. They are part of who I am. What would it mean for me if I didn't have them anymore? After all, it was one part of my body which I was quite fond of.
Knowing your predestined to have cancer isn't something that's easy to wrap your head around. Like many women, the easiest thing to do is ignore it. I supppose that's why I ignored the lump I felt. I was going through so much though.
My mom had just died the previous year from battling ovarian cancer, my sister-in-law was literally on her death bed fighting triple negative breast cancer. At the time, I justified it by using him as an excuse. I didn't think we could handle something this huge. Bottom line was, I couldn't handle it. I didn't want to go to the doctor. I knew in my gutt what my doctor was going to say.
I wanted my husband to force me to go the doctor. I wanted him to say, I want you to live. I wanted him to fight my fight. But this was my fight. Noone else could fight it for me. Noone else could make me go if I didn't value myself high enough to live.
When I found out, I wanted to blame him for not fighting harder for me to go to the doctor. He was my husband and we were suppose to be there for each other in sickness and in health. I felt that if he didn't fight for me, then he really didn't love me or want me to live. It was just the opposite though. He wanted me to fight for myself and he wanted me to value my life and fight for my life.
Because my neighbor knew how I was feeling, she used my emotions as an emotional weapon against me. She tried to convince me my husband really didn't love me since he wasn't here supporting me. She told me all he focussed on was what would happen if I died. All he cared about was my money and what he would get in the event of my death. The sad thing was, I believed her. I believed all he cared about was himself and what he could gain.
Now, I ask myself what does the breast cancer gene for my sons and daughters? How will I encourage my daughters to get rid of their breasts at a young age so they don't have to go through what the rest of the women in my family have gone through.
The BRCA gene affects only a small percentage of women who actually have breast cancer. In my sister-in-law's case, there was absolutely no family history. If you have the gene statistics are high which in all likeliness means you will develop breast cancer. In a way, that was one of God's gifts. For some of us, at least we are able to find out ahead of time.
I strongly urge you, if you test positive, be ready to make some tough decisions. They shouldn't be tough decisions, but they are. Bottom line is, if you're able to live a cancer-free life, then be proactive and get tested.

Humor in a double masectomy?

The physical scars of a double mastectomy can be shocking at first. I refused to look at my scars when I was in the hospital. Dr. Mcginness changed the bandages herself and wouldn't allow anyone else to touch me. It wasn't until I took my first shower at home when I looked at them. I sat on my bed alone to unwrap the ace bandage. I didn't want any help because I didn't want anyone else to see. I was afraid of how they would react because I didn't know how I was going to react. This wasn't something I was prepared for. No one really prepared me for how I might react.
Breasts are more than just a physical feature. They are more than how men see and are attracted to you by them. They are more than how the media focuses on them. They are a part of who you are physically and mentally. If you've had children and breast-fed, they give your babies nutrients and provide bonding between mother and child.
Once I was diagnosed with cancer and had undergone chemotherapy, removing my breasts was a no-brainer. I couldn't exactly say no, but then again my doctors didn't really give me a choice in the matter. I'm afraid if I had the choice I'd still be trying to decide if saving my life was more important than the physical attributes of keeping my breasts intact.
Prepare yourself is all I can say. I tried to hold back the tears, but the shock had worn off and I realized how scarred my body really was. What was once breasts was just a flat surface with incision scars. I had a lot to be grateful for though. My surgeon did the closing herself so my scars were minimal. She did an amazing job and I will always be grateful to her.
What are some of your fears? Embarrassed or not, sexuality coin sides with breasts. Although my husband told me not to worry about my physical appearance and not to worry about how he felt, I did. How could he still love me and be attracted to me without my breasts? Maybe that's petty of me to think that way, I don't know. My best friend wondered if after the reconstruction surgery if you would ever have sensation again. I thought to myself, you know that's a really good question. An embarrassing question and a question hard to ask tactfully, but definitely worth asking. Would I feel anything if my husband sucked on my nipple? I had to laugh at myself, but my plastic surgeon assured me after six weeks of the surgery, yes, the stimulation comes back. Maybe I should have asked, if my husband stimulates my nipple with his tongue will I feel anything? Still doesn't seem appropriate to me. Haha. Again, sexuality is important in a marriage. It isn't the only thing in a marriage, but it's another form of intimacy in my opinion.
I don't know if it's fortunate or unfortunate, but I don't have to worry about the reconstruction for a few a more months. My oncologist wanted me to wait a year before we would proceed with that surgery. She explained to me the stress if I were to get it done now.
Dr. Sharma explained a lot of times if you have the surgery done following the mastectomies unknown tumors might appear in scans. Which would mean further testing, further questions, further stress from not knowing if it's cancer or not. She said it would cause me stress and cause her stress.
I have chosen not to wear a prosthetic. They are hot and sweaty and uncomfortable. I still don't know how my mom did it for decades. I'm comfortable enough in my own skin that it doesn't really matter to me now that I have no chest. I know I will and I'm just grateful I'm alive and my surgeons were able to get rid of any cancer left in my breast and lymph nodes.

A Life of Craziness Entangled with Hope: Waiting...

A Life of Craziness Entangled with Hope: Waiting...: There is a good amount of waiting when one has any type of cancer. Waiting for a parking spot, waiting for the doctor, waiting for test resu...

Waiting...

There is a good amount of waiting when one has any type of cancer. Waiting for a parking spot, waiting for the doctor, waiting for test results, waiting for lab work, waiting for your energy to come back up, waiting for surgery and so on and so on.
Like most, I hate waiting. Waiting means you have all this dead time to think about what's going to happen and what has already happened. You have time to reflect on your life and the choices you've made. You have time to think about what would happen to your children if you weren't here anymore. You have time to wonder if you really have it in you to fight this dreaded disease. You have to time to dwell when you should be being positive.

"Ms. Jones, follow me please," the nurse said.
With her clipboard in her hand, she instructed me to put my purse down and stand on the scale. Next, I was instructed to take a seat where she put a cuff on me to take my blood pressure.
Oh my god, the blood pressure cuffs. I don't know about the rest of you, but the electronic ones are so tight. When I was done, I had red verticle streaks on my arm.
"Are there any medications you're on?" She asked. At that time the answer was no.
Since this was my first appointment my aunt and my husband were with me for moral support and to ask and record questions.
We followed the nurse into the examining room. Again, I was instructed to undress from the top up, something I was used to it at this point. I suppose one positive was that the gown wasn't paper. My aunt and husband waited outside the room while I changed, and then we waited.
My aunt and husband decided to make idle chit chat. You know the, "How's the weather" conversations and "how are the kids." Noone really talked about what was truly on their mind. How bad is Leslie's breast cancer? What happens next? Are you scared?
Honestly, I really can't tell you what was said in the exam room. I remember Dr. Sharma feeling my breasts and measuring the tumor.
Once she was done with that I changed back into my clothes and then we were brought into a conference area where Dr. Sharma came in with her resident.
I was so scared to hear that I had stage IV breast cancer. All I truly remember from that day was that my husband held my hand and I was trying to fight back tears. I knew I would have to undergo chemotherapy and I was terrified of what it would do to me, my children, my marriage.
I managed to get through that though. I'm not exactly sure how though.
The following day my husband and I met with my chemotherapy nurse, Evyonne. She was my guide through all of this, to answer questions, to help me emotionally, and be my support. She presented me with a big red notebook which contains information on your cancer journey.
She then gave us a tour of where I would be going for my treatments.
"When you first get here, we will need lab work," Yvonne said.
On the second floor of Westwood Cancer Center, there is a very large waiting area filled with people waiting to be seen by doctors or lab technicians.
We then proceded to the third floor where the actual chemotherapy would be given. The chemotherapy is made on site by the pharmacy and then double checked by the nurse who will be assigned to you for however long you're going to be there that day. They always ask you for your name and date of birth, they also double check that with the iv bag and ask you the name of the chemotherapy poison you will be given.
We walked down a long hallway and then approached several cubicles. Each cubicle had a reclining vinyl chair and a television. If you're lucky, you can request a window view and sometimes you'll get it.
After the tour, Yvonne sat down myself and my husband and started to go through the big, red, three-ring binder. She gave me handouts on the chemo drug I would be receiving and the side effects. She explained how many cycles I would be receiving, how I may be feeling afterwards, and all the other junk I can't remember now.
I suppose I was still in shock. Most of what she said went in one ear and out the other. I suppose I remembered most of it since I was able to share it with you a year later, but I was just still in such disbelief. This was really happening to me. How was I going to get through this by myself? All those questions I asked in the beginning of this blog, I was still asking.

Scans and other Yucky stuff...beyond the pink

When you are diagnosed with breast cancer, your life is turned upside down. I had so many things going on at once it's a miracle I didn't have a complete breakdown.
You would think chemotherapy would be the worst part of it, but for me I think the scans gave me the most anxiety.
One thing I want you to remember, not one scan can predict where the cancer is, or if you have it. My oncologist told me this after I was freaked out from a bone scan the tech showed me. My oncologist ordered a bone scan, ct scan, PET scan, and MRI.
My husband held my hand through all of this. I was angry because he was so disconnected, but I realize now that was just his way of coping with thiis dreaded disease and me. He wasn't equipped to handle my psychosis. And I was screwed up before I had cancer. Haha.Well, not really a haha moment for me.
First of all, scans are not pleasant especially with a contrast dye. At Westwood Cancer Center, you are brought into this room and given a paper gown, you get very familiar with paper gowns by the way.
"Make sure you take off all jewelry and your bra." The not-so-friendly aid said.
I stepped into a changing room and did as I was instructed. When I came out I put my things in a locker and turned the key.
The aid brought me back to what all I can say is a holding room. There is privacy which is nice, but as I walked passed others, I felt like I'm not suppose to be here. These people are old and I'm only 36. I felt as though there eyes were on me feeling sorry for me and wondering why I was possibly there. At this point my own anxiety was getting the better of me.
The aid brought me two bottles. They call it a milkshake. It's NOT a milkshake. It's a milky like substance that you must ingest prior and it's the grossest thing in the world. What's more it caused awful diareah. It would have been nice to know beforehand that this could have been a possibility so that I could have brought a change of underwear.
I mean you're just sitting there drinking this crap as to what seems forever, and then you get up and notice a stain on the back of your gown. I explained to the aid that I needed another gown. That this milky-like substance was going through me literally.
I guess I inconvienced her or something because she acted like this had never happened before with any other patient. It didn't help that I was embarrassed. I was exposed at my most vulnerable. My husband had no idea what was going on because he was in the waiting area.
One of the other things they don't tell you is how flipping cold it is in there. You wouldn't think there would be that much difference from the waiting room to the exam area, but I felt like they were trying to freeze me out.
If you have an awesome nurse as I did, they will offer you a warm blanket. I wouldn't categorize it as a blanket, but more like the fabric they use to swaddle newborns. They have this microwave like heater they put these blankets in. Similarly, like wrapping yourself up in a blanket when it first comes out of the dryer. It's still warm and snuggly.
My favorite part of the experience is when the nurse comes in and tries to find a vein. They inject you with a dye so when you go into your scans your insides will light up if there is cancer present. Yes, all of these things are going on at once before you actually get your scans done.
It's finally time. The nurse brings you into a room with a smaller room with computer monitors and the technologist.
I kick of my sandals which and sit down on the side of the "bed." A long, plastic, padded, cold surface.
"Lay your head right here. This will only take approximately 20 minutes," she said. "We will tell you how much time has passed and how much time you have left."
A tear started to fall down my cheek. I wasn't exactly sure why because I didn't feel scared. What do I have to be scard of? I have professionals looking after me. After all, I'm only entrusting my body to these people. They are there to do a job, that's it.
The table began to move forward and so it began.
A godly like voice came out of nowhere, "Breathe in, hold it," the voice said. "Breathe out."
I wish i would have had music or something to focus on, but all I could focus on were the noises coming from this machine.
After about ten minutes of this, I paniced. I started to feel very anxious and just wanted to get out of there.
"We're half-way done," they said.
That wasn't good enough for me.
The thing is, if they pull you out early, they have to start completely over. You have to remain completely still, or they won't get what they need from you.
At one point, I pushed my panic button. The tech came out. They tried to calm me down and provided some air. I just felt so trapped in this machine. The cool oxygen helped and I managed to finish the scan.
Fortunately, two of the scans were done almost simotaniously. I was greatful for that. I don't think I could have taken anymore that day, but I knew I still had to do the MRI and the bone scan.