Tuesday, January 15, 2013

1/15/13 Mr. Potato Head

6:00 P.M.

This is Gabrielle here with my very first post.  I am doing the talking and Renee is in the corner writing all this down.  Therefore, sentence content is my fault.  Any spelling errors are on her.


Last February 18th I turned 52.  In order to make me feel better about reaching that glorious age, Daniel decided that we would call me "Fifty-
too-wonderful-for-words."  I only bring that up because this week I've been ruminating about the "two" side of my age.


To begin with, as all of you have now heard, it was
two weeks ago that I started having stomach aches which were the miracle that led me to the hospital to discover that I have ovarian cancer.  As you might imagine, cancer is an unexpected and unwelcome surprise.


The Bible says in Genesis that when a couple chooses to marry, the
two become one.  And when cancer came into my life, it really came to both Steve and me.  It affects us as two, but we fight it as one.  He has been by my side from the very start and I feel great joy and strength in knowing that he will be there with me every step of the way.


And then there's another
two that have risen to the occasion in a way that makes their mother very proud.  In this past two weeks, Renee and Daniel have also come alongside me in this journey.  They have made me laugh, fed me ice chips, read me Scriptures and devotionals, prayed with me, had "slumber parties" with me in the hospital, and shown me their overwhelming love for me.


I mentioned a minute ago that cancer is a journey, and every journey is a series of steps.  So I will now tell you why I titled this post "Mr. Potato Head."  When Renee and Daniel were
two years old, we were potty training them.  We had two bribes to assist us in this process.  Every time they peed in the potty, they got two plain M&M's.  But sitting high on the top bookshelf in the living room, far beyond their reach, was a brand-spanking-new Mr. Potato Head toy.  They were told that when they learned to poop in the potty, Mr. Potato Head would be theirs.  They gazed at him longingly.  They begged for me to let them play with him.  But it wasn't until they were victorious in their goal that they received their prize.  My first goal this week made me feel like a two-year-old.  My first goal was to get that %#&$ catheter out and learn to pee in the potty by myself.  I am proud to say I have accomplished that goal!  But like my little two-year-olds, I have to achieve that second goal before they'll let me out of the hospital to go home where I belong.  Being home again to continue this journey with friends and family surrounding me will be better than any Mr. Potato Head ever was.


Thank you for all the love and support you have given our family during this time.  Thank you for meals.  Thank you for flowers.  Thank you for cards and notes of encouragement.  And most importantly, thank you for continued prayers for my healing. 

1/15/13 Peace

This is Daniel with a post. I haven't really been posting too much because I am intimidated by the writing skills of my father (LA times-published multiple times) and my sister (minored in writing and naturally-gifted). So while I may not have their skillful way with words I can at least say something that has been on my heart recently.

Less than a week ago my mom thought she was experiencing bad stomach pain from a virus or something, and now she has already undergone surgery for ovarian cancer. The speed at which this has all happened is overwhelming. No one expects things like this to happen, it is something we hear about happening, but never really imagine happening to us. Like my dad said at one point, it was as if you were just dipping your toes in the ocean (my stomach hurts), to being hurled into a stormy sea (stage 3 ovarian cancer). But this is not the end of the story. You see, as Christians, we are never actually alone, and God has promised that He will always be with us.


Joshua 1:9 "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go." <--- one of many verses on the subject of God being with us








Knowing that God is with us is the most wonderful, comforting feeling. I can't really describe it, but all I can say is that God is light, and when we draw near to Him He can fill us so full of light that there is no room for darkness. My mom has been so incredibly brave during this journey. She doesn't complain or say a cross word, she is kind and loving and just as selfless as ever. She feels God's presence with her during this difficult time, and that makes such a difference. 








One of our long-time family friends gifted my mom a devotional a few days ago called “Jesus Calling: Enjoying Peace in His Presence” by Sarah Young. (P.S. my mom loves reading on her Kindle, so if you feel like sending her something to keep her busy during chemo, a little Amazon giftcard would be much-loved J ). We read each day’s devotional together (whichever family member is with her at the time), and today’s brought so much comfort to our souls. Young writes, (from the perspective of Jesus talking to us) “You are surrounded by a sea of problems, but you are face to Face with Me, your Peace. As long as you focus on Me, you are safe. If you gaze too long at the myriad problems around you, you will sink under the weight of your burdens. When you start to sink, simply call out “Help me, Jesus!” and I will lift you up”

Philippians 4:7 And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Matthew 14:30
Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, ‘Lord, save me!’ “

My mom may feel like Pete right now, sinking down in the water, but she has deep, wonderful faith and she continually calls to Jesus, and He raises her up. I am so grateful for the peace that the Holy Spirit has given me these last few days. It is weird to have gone from totally freaking out (that was my first reaction), to an overwhelming since of peace (how I feel now). And I know that this dramatic shift I’ve experienced is a gift from God, His Holy Spirit that brings me peace that passes all understanding.

And I would just like to add that we have felt all the prayers from everyone who loves Gabrielle, or even people who stumble across this blog but don't know her. We have felt enveloped by love and support from family, friends, coworkers, and hospital staff her at Northwest. Thank you so much from the bottom of my heart. Please continue to pray for her. :-) 




Monday, January 14, 2013

1/14/13 Songs in the night

8:04 PM
Steve here.

Not much to add from a medical perspective.  Renee said it all.  Just a random thought to pass on (indulge me, it's therapeutic to write).  It has to do with songs.  Recently on the way home from the  hospital, I turned on the Oldies station.  No kidding, first song up was "Feeling Stronger Every Day"!  I can dig it!  It was a message from the 60's just for Gabrielle.

Tonight, on the way home, the Eagles were welcoming me to "Hotel California, what a nice surprise, what a nice surprise!"  In my mind, I morphed the words to "Hotel NW Hospital", but the syllables didn't match.  Still, I hummed along (sing?  me?  who are you kidding?).  I liked the whole song except where they sang about how you can "check out but you can never leave".  We'll see about that at Hotel NW Hospital!  Maybe Wednesday?  I hope, I hope.  If the "feelin' stronger every day" song has any impact, Wednesday will do just fine, thank you very much.

Next up, back in the woods somewhere lived a cute girl named Gaby B. Goode.  Go, Gaby, go, go, go!  Gaby B. Goode.  Thanks, a lot, Chuck Berry, you made my night!

Yesterday, at church, I got very hopeful.  The final song came up on the overhead.  I was busy pondering the hospital stay, what the bills would be like and (this is the honest truth, I wouldn't lie about a church song) there, up on the screen in two foot high letters was "Jesus Paid it All".  Wow!  Now if that ain't an answer to prayer, I don't know what is!  Sadly, Ron, the choir director had other plans and shook it off quicker than an ace big league pitcher who didn't like the signal from the catcher.  Next up was "My Jesus I Love Thee".  I guess that'll do.

All this is to say that songs speak to me.  They encourage me, make me laugh and the rare ones even get me to sing along.  Off the top of my head, the only two that can do that are the last half of Hey Jude (na na na na, in case you didn't know) and the Big Rock Candy Mountain from O, Brother, Where Art Thou (I especially like the part where there's a lake of stew...).  So this is a request to any and all:  I need some good suggestions for healing, uplifting, make me smile, happy songs a la "Feeling stronger every day".  Do you know any?  Please let me know.  I see that Renee tweaked the settings, so comments may be easier.  I will dutifully take your suggestions and turn them over to the under 30 contigency of the Dudley family, along with my Visa card and point them in the direction of iTunes.  I think Gabrielle will like it.  As for the "Jesus paid it all", could you please send that one directly to Premera?  Thanks ever so much.

1/14/13 Better!

It's about 6:00 pm and it looks like my mom's on the upswing.  Down to a 5 out of 10 pain level, and it will likely keep getting better.  Her surgeon Dr. M swung by and came up with a plan for the night.  My mom looks relieved, and we certainly feel relieved too!  Hopefully she'll get lots of sleep tonight.

Along with my mom and Dr. M, you all are my heroes of the day.  You've prayed for our every need.  You've brought meals, coffee, tissues, toothpaste, books, and beautiful flowers.  You've run errands and taken on projects.  You've sent encouraging words right when we need to hear them.  We're overwhelmed by the outpouring of love for our mom.  We couldn't do this without you!  As soon as my mom feels a bit better she wants to get online and write a blog post herself.  Until then, she asked me to tell you that your prayers and well wishes make a tremendous difference to her.  And she says she loves you all very much!

All right, I'm signing out and heading home.  Daniel gets the luxurious hospital cot tonight, and my dad and I will try to get some sleep before work tomorrow.  (Sidenote: Daniel's a trooper.  He's been here all day and will stay until tomorrow evening when my dad and I get off work.  I've been so impressed--though not surprised--to see the way he ministers so patiently and compassionately to my mom and still manages to make me laugh in between.  I have the best brother!)

Goodnight!
Renee

1/14/13 Leave comments!

I forgot to say in the last post that we've updated the blog settings to make it easier to leave comments.  We're not a tech savvy family, sorry.  So hopefully it'll be simpler to leave a note for our mom now.

It's 4:00 pm and she's still feeling pretty awful.  One day at a time...

Oh, and she aced her self-administered shot earlier today.  Didn't even flinch.  Go Gaby!

1/14/13 a bump in the road

Hi, it's Renee with a mostly medical update.  Things are a little rough here at the moment.  My mom ended her epidural pain meds this morning and it's proving difficult to take care of her pain with oral meds exclusively.  My mom is incredibly tough, but I can tell the pain is starting to get to her.  She's currently rating her pain at a 7 out of 10.  Miserable!

Daniel and I are at the hospital with her right now while my dad attempts to get his work situation under control.  We're doing our best to work with our nurse and doctors to get a handle on the pain soon, but prayers would certainly be appreciated (as always!).  As many of you know, it's a crummy feeling to see a family member in pain but feel largely helpless to stop it.  I so hope that our smart team at Northwest will figure this out soon!

On a much happier note, we had a pretty good night and morning up until now.  I had the pleasure of staying at the hospital with my mom last night (girls night!).  We watched the Golden Globes and she ate her first real dinner in a week: turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and zucchini.  She fell asleep early and slept most of the night!  Can't say the same for myself, but that's what coffee is for, right?  I have never been so happy to hear someone snoring; as soon as that laryngeal metronome started up I smiled knowing she was temporarily free from pain and worry.  Isn't sleep the best?

We keep reminding each other than in between all the hurdles we've had many small victories.  There were several this morning.  My mom got her epidural out, which is ultimately a big step towards leaving the hospital although it's currently hard to be off those meds.  She also got her catheter out, allowing her to feel much more like a normal healthy person.  And right now she's even disconnected from her IV for a while.  That means no tubes in her at all!  She and Daniel just left for her third walk of the day, and it's great to see her moving around totally unencumbered by an IV pole.

The second best news of the morning, if you ask me, is that her nurses cleared her for eating any food on the hospital menu, and they totally have Macrina Bakery cookies her!  Nice one, Northwest!  I ordered some molasses ginger cookies "for my mom," but she'll be lucky if there are any left when she gets back from her walk.

And I saved the very best news of the day for last: we heard the word "cure" for the first time this morning!!!  That warrants three exclamation points at least.  Dr. Lee came in this morning and reiterated that her surgery was optimal, adding that "an optimal surgery is the first step towards a cure."  My mom and I were so encouraged by this.  I keep thinking about the day I'll be able to say "my mom had cancer" instead of "has cancer."  I'm confident we'll get there, and so are her doctors.

Still, looks like it'll be a tough afternoon for her.  But as we've all said over and over, I'm blown away by her attitude.  Just now the nurse suggested she teach my mom how to self-administer her at-home anticoagulant shots, and my mom said with complete sincerity, "Oh, that'll be fun!"  I questioned her about it and she shrugged, saying, "Well it gets a little boring around here.  Something to do."  What a cool mom.

OK I'm going to track down a third cup of coffee before I start into my twenty-ninth hour at the hospital.  But I'm not complaining--my mom's been here for about 120 hours and she's staying strong.  I feel bad that we all get to take occasional breaks but she's stuck here full time.

Oh, and I forgot to add that we're not sure about when she'll be going home right now.  There's a good possibly it'll be tomorrow but we of course want to make sure that her pain is managed well and that she's eating comfortably first.

Bye for now, and many thanks for your continued support!

Renee

PS: Special thanks to my best friend Karissa for bringing me a late-night snack of fabulous homemade dumplings last night.  I'm definitely eating better now that I ever did in "real life" :)

Sunday, January 13, 2013

1/13/13 Sunday evening

8:35 P.M.
Steve here.  Not much new to report after Renee's great update.  She is right: what with the "water feature", the whirring of the IV pumps and the view of The Mountain in the distance, it is indeed a relaxing place to hang out, up there on the surgery/oncology floor of Northwest Hospital.  I don't know what's going on right now as I was told to vamoose and get some sleep.  Last I saw Gabrielle, she and Daniel were heading down the hall on her final walk of the evening at a fairly brisk pace, IV pole in tow, with Daniel paying careful attention not to run over the back of her feet in the process.  He is much better at this technique than yours truly.

Today, I got to see Gabrielle's incisions in all their glory for the first time.  They consist of a long midline one going from the xiphoid process (lowest portion of the breastbone) all the way down, along with a couple of extra incisions on the sides where Dr. M. started with a laparoscopic approach, prior to proceding to the full "unzipping" (that's a bona fide medical term in my book, and if it didn't make the medical dictionary, it should).  All the incisions have been closed with stainless steel staples.  Being the curious doctor type that I am, I counted them: 41 in all!  That number may be off by one or two.  It is hard to count them in the vicinity of her oh-so-cute belly button which is a rather attractive "innie".  As the incision dives down into the nether part of her umbilicus (another medical term for "innie"), I am not sure how many are down there, but I will be sure to snoop around later and get back to you on the final number.

As I looked at the staples, I was reminded of a sermon illustration today by Pastor Blake (full confession: I high-tailed it off to church rather than the sports bar.  I needed the spiritual nourishment more thant some buffalo wings, a glass of warm beer and a view of what should have been a missed field goal).  He showed a picture that had been given to him by Pastor Jan of a broken pot that had been fixed using the ancient Japanese technique of kintsugi which I had never heard of before.  It means "golden joinery" and consists of sticking the separate pieces of broken pottery back together with a gold-infused lacquer creating a bright gold seam at the repair site.  Rather than trying to hide the defect, the gold brings it out and turns the damage into a work of art.  The result is that the final piece is more valuable in the "broken" state than the previous piece without the cracks.  Imagine that! 

As soon as Daniel comes home, I will try and upload a picture of this, hot off the internet.  As he is under 30, he can figure these things out.  Hopefully, the picture will go right here:




Is it there?  Good!  Daniel gets credit for that part.  Isn't this a beautiful pot with golden seams?  That's where the shards of pottery were stuck together.  But to continue my story, I was fascinated by this illustration of broken things being more valuable and beautiful than before.  Gabrielle has certainly been broken this week.  She can never be more valuable to me than she already has been, but she is more beautiful than ever, especially sporting those staples.  And here's the really interesting part.  In researching kintsugi, I found out that it was apparently started (if you can believe Wikipedia) when a shogun from the 15th century was all upset that a broken pot he had sent off for repair had come back held together with "ugly metal staples" and had his craftsmen try and come up with a more aesthetic patch job.  That's when they hit on the gold idea. 

Well, all that may be well and good in 15th century Japan, but I have to confess that as far as "ugly metal staples" go, Gabrielle's are first rate and they look like the purest of golden seams to me for they tell me that she has been "broken open" for the cancer to be removed and what can be better than that?  So here's to my very own piece of kintsugi art work!  Gabrielle, you are indeed more precious to me than gold.  Sweet dreams, dearest, I love you!