How I Ended Up Back In the Hospital

I went home Friday, and although I wasn't able to share all the details of that until today, I began writing this post Sunday and then all hell broke loose during the week.. So I'm sorry for my lateness. But here is a mashup of my week since Friday.

--Friday, April 24--

I never thought I would be so happy to be home. There is nothing like sleeping in your own bed, around the people you love and being able to be free to roam and do as you will because, well, it is yours.

I literally thought the day would never arrive.

Spending a month in the hospital this time was much more difficult than the last (when Bex was born and I got my first round of chemo). Then, Bex and I were both in the hospital and I could focus on seeing him and spending time with him (when they'd allow me to when I wasn't sick). But it was a different experience.

This time, I loathed the hospital. I didn't want hospital food. I was tired of how the hospital soap smelled that I had to wash my hands with 28334738 times a day. I was tired of looking out of the same window wishing I could just go outside and breathe "real" air. I was tired of the IV pump beeping every 20 minutes or whenever one of my lines kinked and needed fixing. I hated having to ask someone to let me off bed alarm so I could go to the bathroom because I was considered a "fall risk." I don't know if I even told you guys about that night...

My days were long, my weeks were longer and then it literally seemed in possible for me to come out on the other side. I thought I was going to go bat shit cray cray.

But here I am, back at home, with all my boys. And I'm so happy to be home.

When Klay and I pulled up to the house there was a waiting party with balloons, a "Welcome Home" sign and a beautiful newly upgraded flower bed, thanks to my wonderful neighbors who do so much for us.

They've done it all. They've let the dogs out, purchased toys and leashes to take them on walks, they've donated money, they've re-done our flowerbed (making it more beautiful than it's ever been), they've brought us food, mowed our yard, they've been there when we needed someone to talk to, they have kept an eye on the house when we aren't there... And that's only the beginning of a very long, long list.

They are so thoughtful and mean so much to us. I'm so glad they were brought into our lives. We just love you two, Carl and Jana. Thank you for being our rocks during this time. You are and always will be a part of our family now. We don't know how we will ever be able to repay you.

I know the next three months are going to be extremely tough too.

I'm not supposed eat any fast food or food from restaurants, which my taste is way off and everything taste like shit anyway so it doesn't really matter. But when you have three or more doctor appointments in one week, you have to come prepared, and I am not prepared because I have to depend on everyone else to get me prepared (aka go to the grocery, make a meal, and for me to grab it for lunch on the way out).

I can't do anything for three months.

--No vacuuming, cleaning or dusting.
--No changing diapers.
--No dealing with doggy poo and pee. Don't do that anyway.
--I CANNOT be around cats or kitty litter.
--No veggies/fruits without peel on them unless they are canned or frozen.
--And a whole bunch of other shit, I don't remember...

Needless to say, with me feeling like I was whacked with a sledgehammer and completely exhausted, Klay is like a single-parent for the next few. I can feed Bex and try to entertain the kids, but I have to have someone there with me all the time to help me with them.

And I get tired just getting dressed for the day. I'm wiped out.

Plus, I have to take extra precautions to try to not get sick. If I get sick, it could be very serious and most likely will land me in the hospital (where I don't want to be).

--Tuesday, April 28, 1 a.m.--

At 1 am Tuesday morning, I started having severe abdominal pain. The pain woke me up and hit me out of no where.

I thought was having another gas attack like I dd before, but this time it felt slightly different. My tummy (up by my breast bones and around my ribs down on the right side of my stomach) were extremely tinder to the touch and my actual abdominal area (near my belly button and below) were softer and not as bloated as before.

I wasn't sure what was going on. Similar pain that I though may resolve with releasing some gas, but by 7 am and NO SLEEP, I couldn't keep it up.

We already had another doctor appointment scheduled for Tuesday afternoon, but we called and they told us to come in to find out what's going on.

Off we went to the Dallas--again for the the third time this week since Sunday--to the hospital. Of course we hit morning traffic which added nearly 50 minutes to our already 35-40 min commute. And I was in so much pain I couldn't think.

I had vomited twice at the house already and everything I'd eaten the night before between 4-6 had come up and it was not digested at all. I had some peanut butter and a banana, which is high in fat, so they said that could have kickstarted this whole thing, though it was waiting to happen.

Apparently gallstones, kidney stones, etc are hereditary and happen often to women post-pregnancy. So on top of everything else I have going on, I've just added another few stones on my journey to recovery.

I ended up having to stay overnight Tuesday so they could to a CT scan and ultrasound in the AM and then also to keep my pain a minimum.

I did get some heavy, much-needed sleep finally. I slept hard.

It might have been the drugs.
It might have been the fact I'd been awake FOREVER.
It might have been that I'd seen my kids this past weekend.
It might have been I was rejuvenated from my stay at home (though it was brief).

But whatever it was, I slept hard. I was out.

I was so happy to see my nurses though when I came back up to the floor!

--Wednesday, April 29--

After completing a CT scan, my doctor wanted to do an ultrasound as well. So yesterday was quite busy for me. I had to run around and do all of these tests.

The pain had become tolerable but it was still there, so I was OK with that for the time being.

After my ultrasound the doctors said my gallbladder was really inflamed and hazy looking and there were gallstones in there, plus a few in each of my kidneys.

As soon as my ultrasound was finished, they brought me back upstairs. Klay had school so he had to leave, but then the "surgeon" came in and told me, we needed to remove it today ASAP.

So ON TOP OF THE BIG C, I have to have a surgery to remove my damn gallbladder? What are the effin' chances?

Klay was running to CVS for me to grab a few feminine products I've needed (because, oh yeah, I've been bleeding for 5 or 6 weeks). #plugmeup

I have to wear pads to reduce infection-risks.

And then he had to run out to Academy to get a few fresh items of clothes since we didn't grab any in the rush to leave the house from the hospital.

By 3:30 pm, I was being wheeled down for gallbladder-removal surgery.

Insane. I did not wake up early this morning thinking I'd be making a trip to the OR. But I knew I couldn't suffer another gallbladder attack again.

I was under for about two hours or so.

It was a laparoscopic surgery, so there were was incisions made in my belly and three around my rib cage, so the recovery time is supposed to be better.

Of course since I'm immuno-suppressed, it may take a bit longer for me to heal. And they actually said post-operation that is why mine got so bad so quickly. Normally it takes a few days for someone to experience that much pain and for their gallbladder to look the way mine did, and it only took mine 8-16 hours.

When I woke, I was in pretty bad pain. I feel like someone had stabbed me and it was burning. I didn't think I'd be in the much pain post-operation, but I was.

I was that annoying person who wakes up groggy and confused and is saying "give me pain med. I'm hurting, I'm hurting."

Yep that was me--the whiner.

It was past 7 pm, by the time I woke up.

Once the doctor came out to talk to Klay in the waiting room, (and they wouldn't let him back in the OR recovery area), Klay came up to wash our clothes he had purchased and the nice clothes I came up here with, since I was now sporting an epic blue gown with a gorgeously planned out square design on it. #dontbejealous #makeitwork

--Thursday, April 30--

So the surgeon who performed the procedure came in this morning to tell me that my gallbladder was pretty "ugly" and inflamed. I had a few gallstones that were in the canal trying to make their way down to my liver but they got there just in time, but that would have made things incredibly worse. He did biopsy my liver because he said it looked a little nasty too, but my oncologist said that's to be expected with such high doses of chemo I'm

It was definitely the right decision to remove the gallbladder.

Sucky thing is: NO high fatty foods for two-three weeks. #aintthatsomebull

Dammit dude, I'm already having a tough time with what to eat at home, now this too? Shit. I'm screwed. But I am losing weight though, just not the way I would want to do it.

I'm supposed to be on clear liquids the rest of the day. I haven't eaten since Monday around 6 pm. #bitchesbestarvingaroundhere

Honestly though, I haven't wanted to eat. My appetite is not the best right now anyway. But for real though, a bean burrito sounds amaze balls. Just saying'.

I am missing home and my boys a lot. I just want to be with them. And I know this is really confusing for Brody. They are saying that I should be able to go home tomorrow. They just want to make sure that I'm doing OK for a full day prior to discharge. And I get that.

I got a bigger room this time. Go figure. In here a few days and get a bigger room, in here for over a month, get a smaller, more cramped room and bathroom. Oh, hospital logic... is there any?

I am getting up and moving around on my own, which is good.
Mostly, I'm just sore and tired.

I figured you guys needed a hefty update! So much has happened since I last wrote. I'll try to be more prompt this week. Got some more news (good news) to share soon!

OH! My friend Jaycie is hosting a Younique (a beauty product line) in my honor. She is donating all of her commission to me. If you think you're interested in some of their amazing products (I love their 3D Fiber Lash Mascara), visit her page on Facebook here and her Younique product page here. 

You can also watch a video of my review of the 3D mascara (which I did pre-cancer diagnosis and pre-Bex pregnancy) here. Video at the bottom of post.

So please help us out and order something for yourself (while also helping me out too)!

Hope all is out there in the world with you normal folks! Enjoy your days at work, your days with family and your time at home.

Tired, sore and feeling anything "but" sexy in my blue gown,

No Sleep Tonight

***Please note this post was written two weeks ago, and I was just having a bad day. This was pre-wreck and pre-lumbar puncture.***

My chest is tight, almost like a heavy rock is sitting on it.
I have restricted breathing.

Something isn't wrong medically, at least I don't think so. It's my brain that has my body all twisted up in knots.

It's 11:41 pm and I'm wide awake... wide awake thinking.

Normally I don't go to bed before 11, but Klay has to get up crazy early in the morning, so I was trying to get as much sleep as possible before Beckham woke up for a late night feeding.

But somehow, even after taking an Ambien, I'm still awake.

My mind is racing and tonight is just one of those nights I feel legitimately scared.

I read an email earlier about my stem cell transplant. It seems that the transplant won't happen until mid-April because my donor is unavailable 'til then.

So then I start thinking... what if the cancer comes back before then?

I can only do the transplant while in remission. I'm scared it will resurface and then everything will be put on hold.

And my mind keeps going...

You're going to have to be away from your kids for a while.
Your kids are going to be bouncing around from house to house while I'm stuck in the hospital.
The road to recovery after the transplant is a long one--one year or more, they say. But for most up to six months, I have to be super careful.

I just attended a transplant class to learn more about the transplant and procedure along with a whole list of things they will tell me I can't do.

We learned a lot, but the main thing I realized is we are going to need a lot of help from my caregivers. Klay is going to school, working full-time and goes to the USAF Reserves one weekend a month. He does all of these things for us. The school helps better his future, but we also get some money for rent while he attends, and the Reserves is strictly for us to have good insurance, which we clearly need right now.

I feel so bad because I can't contribute. It would be absolutely incredible if somehow I could grow this blog and make even just a little money off of it. Though, if I don't make money, it's not going to change how or the reasons for me blogging. I will continue to do this as long as people are reading. I love doing it--money or not.

But you know who all of this is unfair to when it comes to the transplant?

My kids.

"Mommy will not be normal for a long time," I have to tell them.
"Mommy will be in the hospital for a while, so things are going to be different for a long time."
"Mommy won't probably be able to take care of you when you're sick, if you get sick before mommy gets better."

For three weeks, I won't be able to kiss them goodnight.
For three weeks, I won't be able to sing my "good morning" song to them.
For three weeks, I won't say "OK, Bro. What's for breakfast?"
For three weeks, I won't be able to bathe them, change diapers, or snuggle with them when they cry.

And that's just a guess for how long I will be in the hospital. It could be longer if there are complications and maybe a few days shorter if I just kick some straight up transplant ass.

I just hate it. I feel like a caged animal. And I haven't even started the transplant process yet.

And then I start thinking about the lumbar puncture I'm supposed to have (where they will run chemo up my spinal canal and brain to make sure no leukemia cells are hiding out). I was told yesterday that I would have to have that procedure w/ chemo done four times. FOUR.

My chest is getting tighter right now.

What if something happens to me?
What if my kids are left without a mommy?
What if I'm so sick I don't get to do normal things with my children?
What if the cancer comes back? I know I said that already but what if it does?
The "what if's" can drive anyone crazy.

I know I can't dwell on that, and I know I must stay positive, but some days I just want to cry.
This can't be my life. It can't. It just can't.

Why would God do this to me?
If it was to save my children from any type of illness like this, I'm all for it.
But I just can't understand the WHY, the reasoning, and I know no one does but Him. But why?

I know I will get a lot of comments telling me "only God knows," but it still doesn't make this fair. It still doesn't explain "why me?" It still doesn't explain why my family has to go through this.

Did I do something wrong in this life to deserve this?

These are some of the questions and thoughts that keep me awake at night.

My life has been turned upside down in three months.
My family's lives have been turned upside down too.
I'm so tired all time.
I'm so physically tired that today I could barely keep my eyes open and was just praying Bex would sleep for a while so I could nap. But then I have Brody to take care of, and it's not fair that I'm napping while he's watching cartoons. I should be playing cars with him on the floor or being active with him in some way. I should be taking him outside to see the sun because it's been way too long with all this crappy, cold, icy weather we've been having in Texas.

I'm tired of the appointments; there are so many appointments.
I hated going to the doctor before, but now I really hate it.
I'm there two-three times a week, at least. And next week, if platelets are high enough, they will schedule the first lumbar puncture (this post was written two weeks ago, so I just completed my first lumbar puncture yesterday, March 19. I'll talk more about this in a later post).

I'm tired of driving all the way out to Dallas. I'm tired of having to leave my kids at home because they aren't allowed in the office because other patients are neutropenic. I'm tired of only getting out when I have a doctor appointment. Otherwise, I stay home with the kids because I'm too tired to take them both somewhere. And any exposure to strangers or groups of people puts me at risks for infections.

I'm tired of taking this Nexavar pills. It make my neck and face all bumpy/rash-like and I have to take it so many hours before I eat or so many after. Coordinating my food around that medicine is the most infuriating thing because I like to snack. (But since I wrote this post, my doctor took me off! Virtual high-five!)

I just cannot believe all of this.
It's so difficult to process.

The only way I can stay sane sometimes is to joke about it.
Just to really just laugh about what is going on.
Just laugh about being bald.
Laugh about having no eyelashes.
Laugh about looking like a bruised banana.
Laugh about trying to get a "cancer discount" every where I go.

I just try to get through this in any way I can.
Tonight is just one of those nights I'm letting myself really feel the weight of it all.

I honestly don't care any more that I'm bald; that doesn't hold me back anymore. Whatever. It's who I am now; it shows the struggle I'm going through.

I just want a normal life again.
I want to be with my kids.
I want to be with my husband.
I want to be with my family.

That's all I want.
And I want this fear to go away, so I can breathe again.

I'm eagerly waiting to start the transplant, but I'm equally dreading it at the same time. I dread being away from my boys, from my dogs, from my home but I know I have to do this to get better and have the best chance at this.

Right now, they have me scheduled to go into the hospital March 30 to get a tri-fusion thingy put in my chest to infuse the stem cells through. I'll talk more about this and the timeline of the transplant in a future post. I've learned a lot about the process since the class this Thursday.

I was very nervous about the lumbar puncture and chemo, but now the anticipation for the transplant is keeping me awake at night.

I hate how much I won't be able to contribute to help out because I'm the one going through this mess. I hate that I won't be a "normal" Cass for my kids and family. I just want to be normal again.

On the plus side, I'll be getting some good drugs soon when I get admitted in the hospital... that should help me get some legitimate rest. Amen for some good drugs!

Drug me up and knock me out,


PS. The next week I got into a wreck. I guess things can get worse, but I feel a lot better mentally right now. I'm ready to kick some cancer butt and move on from this part of my life.

Knocked Down

There are days where I truly think I have this cancer thing down.

I mean I'm tired of going to the doctor every few days and having to be admitted into the hospital for blood transfusions, platelets, magnesium and potassium like twice a week, but I just keep thinking "I'm almost there," and I may actually beat AML.

Then a day like yesterday happens.

There were a few things that happened at this particular doctor appointment that got me down, but when I went, though I was super tired and exhausted, I was smiling and laughing and even made some new friends in the waiting room.

And, I thought, maybe this is what I should do? Work in oncology somehow after all of this is over and help boost people's spirits and make them feel like they aren't alone going through this. I mean I do know how they feel... I'm going through it too.

This sweet couple I met had found out about the wife's diagnosis in January. So they asked a few questions and I talked a bit on how things went with me (chemo, being pregnant while finding out, and transplant stuff). They were still learning, and I am too, but I was able to provide a little insight on what's to come for her.

So, I was feeling pretty good.

Then, my doctor comes in and asks me if I was told about the "lumbar puncture."

I told him "no," and he goes on to explain.

For those of you who may not know, a lumbar puncture or spinal tap is a minimally invasive procedure where they put a needle into the lower part of your back between two lumbar bones to draw cerebrospinal fluid (CSF). They will do this to make sure no leukemic cells are present and then they will run chemo through the spinal tap. It's a procedure that takes about 30 minutes and I believe he said it can be done in his office.

He basically said this is precautionary. We just need to do it to make sure nothing is hiding anywhere (particularly my spinal canal and brain) and to reduce the chances of the AML coming back.

I get that.
I do.

But when you're talking about running chemo through my spinal canal and I'm assuming that goes up to the fluid around the brain, that scares me.

My doctor acted like it was no big deal, which of course, is the way my husband took it. But now that's just one more thing I have to do and this is particularly scary. I don't want to even think about the things that could go wrong.

That's my brain we are talking about messing with. I know I don't have much up there, but it still is my brain.

I just wasn't ready for that news.

I don't know when that procedure will be done. I do know he said he would do it when my counts started to come back up.

Then when I was leaving their office, about to checkout, I just looked around at the people who are also sick with AML or ALL and I start to think not all of us are going to make it.

And everyday I go to the doctor, that waiting room is full of cancer patients and according to a nurse, his patient intake is only increasing. I mean it's good for him business-wise, but it saddens me that so many are effected by this disease.

Through all of this, I still can't believe this happening to me. It seems so unreal. But then there are days I don't know what the hell I did before being diagnosed. It's honestly taken over my life.

I'm actually in the hospital now getting blood, platelets, potassium, phosphorus and magnesium. I'm low on everything. It's almost 2 p.m. I'm sure I won't leave here til 8 or so.

I hate this too. Everything takes so much time.

I just want to be home with my kids.

I may be heading in for a transplant in two or three weeks so this crap takes away my time with them.

Of course, I do need a break from them from time to time since I keep them by myself everyday, but I miss them when I'm not around them. That's the curse of being a mom--you need a break, but when you take one, you miss and think about them the whole time.

Anyway back to yesterday. The spinal tap wasn't the only thing I was upset about. I'd talked to his assistant about the possibility having another baby the week prior. They said the probability of being sterile--especially after transplant--is 80-90%.

They let me know that freezing my eggs would take too much time to do, and we'd have to do it pre-transplant, and they don't recommend postponing my treatment any longer.

Then, they told me about a shot they can give me before my next round of chemo that can shut down my ovaries so that they aren't further damaged and then they should start operating again in 3-5 years, if I understood them correctly.

Klay and I really wanted to do the shot. He didn't want to have the option of another baby ripped off the table either. We figured at least with the shot we will have tried, and they told me it will up my chances to conceive to about 50%.

So I was pretty excited about that when I went to the doctor last Thursday.

Then, yesterday happened.

"How badly do you want to have another baby?" my doctor asked.

Uh oh. Doesn't sound like this is going in a good direction.

"Why?" I asked.

He asked because the type of chemo he planned to give me prior to the transplant is the one that does the most "damage" to your ovaries or has the highest percentage that I will be sterile following treatment. He said he could change my chemo to something less harsh, but he would rather use this "ovary killer" kind. (I'm not quoting him there, just telling you how I feel.)

My heart sank.

I know I have to do what is necessary to beat this, but cancer has taken so much away from me already, and now it wants to take my ovaries and eggs with it?

And I know I have two beautiful boys and I should be so thankful for that; other people out there have a lot less and aren't so fortunate. But I just hate that this cancer is determining my future and our future as a family.

It makes me feel guilty that I most likely won't be able to produce another baby for Klay and for the boys. It makes me feel worthless.

I mean how am I ever going to feel like a woman again? If I can't have babies, I have no hair and no eyelashes, plus I just had a baby and I can't exercise, so my body doesn't feel womanly at all. I feel stripped of my womanhood.

And I'm not ready to let go of the baby stage yet. Little Bex is doing so good, and all I want to do it snuggle with him and smell him.

Needless to say, I left the appointment feeling defeated and not wanting to talk.

Klay and I went to grab some dinner and sat down in our booth, and as soon as I started talking about everything, tears just poured of my eyes. I couldn't stop.

I feel like I have handle on it all and then something like this happens. Two things thrown at me at once and I feel like I'm knocked back down again. I mean physically I am beat down, but mentally too.

When I think of all of this, I just want to cry.

I'm scared of the lumbar puncture and chemo through the spine and its side effects. Primarily, they say the main one is headaches, like a 20 or 25% chance for headaches and a 20% for really bad headaches. Um. THAT will be me. I get headaches all the time, so I guarantee it will be bad.

I know Klay, you're reading this and thinking "Cass, why do you always think the worst?"

Babe, it's just in my DNA. I'm sorry, but that's where my mind goes.

But if I expect the worst and it ends up being a cake-walk then I'll be like "hey, that wasn't so bad after all."

And today, I just feel like I could sleep all day. I mean it makes sense because my body is low on everything. But I'm just run down, beat down and knocked down today and not just physically.

I know I'm doing a lot better than others with AML. I found a donor and I need to keep that in mind. But I can't help the hurt and fear I feel.

This isn't over yet.
I still have a long road ahead.

At least I have these three nerds stopping by to keep my spirits up! Officer Logan, Lauren and my hubs.

And these two cuties to go home to...

How can life be so good but suck so bad at the same time?

Confused, Happy, Sad, Scared and Grateful,