As noted in Amy's post below, Sister #1 here to relay the update from Bryan.
All is well! The surgeries were completed with no troubles and Amy will be up in her room resting within the hour.
Things got started on time and they finished up in about 4 hours - no complications or unexpected blips so Amy should be home on Friday afternoon.
btw, Dr. Mayfield is a rockstar.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Game Day!
As I write, it's about 9:40 at night. I have to get up tomorrow at 5:00 AM. The "show" time is 6:30 and the surgery is at 7:30.
I'll have to ask Mayfield about this when I see him tomorrow. I distinctly remember his saying that he turns into a "rock star" by 9:30 AM. . .
Judging from some e-mails, there's some unclarity regarding tomorrow's procedure. This is my fault. I'd alluded before to the idea of doing a reconstruction in the same surgery as the removal. We looked into this. And it's definitely not what's going to happen tomorrow.
In fact, right now, we have no intention to pursue reconstruction. That's a post all in itself, though. Maybe one I'll get around during my recovery.
Speaking of which, I'm told I'll likely be allowed home by Friday afternoon. The kids are with Miss Betsy and her family all weekend, so it should be a very peaceful few days.
Bryan will call Sister #1 with an update after he hears from Mayfield post-surgery, and Sister #1 will post said update on this blog when she gets it. This should be up by early afternoon. If it's not, start praying with wild enthusiasm.
Before my first surgery, I remember having to take an ambien just to fall asleep, and it only worked for a few hours. I really feel like I can go drug-free tonight, so it must be better this time around, no?
Well.
Those alive in the Spirit set their minds on things of the Spirit. All flesh will pass away one day anyway. . .
Thank you for your prayers.
I'll have to ask Mayfield about this when I see him tomorrow. I distinctly remember his saying that he turns into a "rock star" by 9:30 AM. . .
Judging from some e-mails, there's some unclarity regarding tomorrow's procedure. This is my fault. I'd alluded before to the idea of doing a reconstruction in the same surgery as the removal. We looked into this. And it's definitely not what's going to happen tomorrow.
In fact, right now, we have no intention to pursue reconstruction. That's a post all in itself, though. Maybe one I'll get around during my recovery.
Speaking of which, I'm told I'll likely be allowed home by Friday afternoon. The kids are with Miss Betsy and her family all weekend, so it should be a very peaceful few days.
Bryan will call Sister #1 with an update after he hears from Mayfield post-surgery, and Sister #1 will post said update on this blog when she gets it. This should be up by early afternoon. If it's not, start praying with wild enthusiasm.
Before my first surgery, I remember having to take an ambien just to fall asleep, and it only worked for a few hours. I really feel like I can go drug-free tonight, so it must be better this time around, no?
Well.
Those alive in the Spirit set their minds on things of the Spirit. All flesh will pass away one day anyway. . .
Thank you for your prayers.
Monday, March 22, 2010
That Guy Again
On today's pre-op appointment with Mayfield:
How long are these things, usually? 20 minutes? 30 minutes? We were there for an hour and a half with Mayfield, chatting about all manner of things. Many of them medical, of course. But some of them completely irrelevant to the coming surgery.
Like his dogs. Turns out he has always been an akita man. I told him my akita story, you know, the one where my brother's dog tried to kill me.
I asked him one pressing question, and he says he'll have an answer for me soon: How often does a person come to Evans Community Hospital for one reason, then twist or break her ankle on the piles of rocks dividing out the parking lot sections because no one is actually going to walk all the way down an aisle instead of cutting across the lot to get directly to the door, and need, say, ankle surgery?
I'll be certain to tell you all whatever Mayfield learns from his colleagues about this.
Speaking of follow-up, do you remember Yolanda? She was the quasi-willing participant as proxy in the Name Game. She left a note on Mayfield's desk that read, "I have to leave at 11 today, but please tell Amy Ponce I say 'Hello.'"
The whole dang bunch of them are just so super! I took the note and plan to put it in my scrapbook.
We're counting down to the Big Day on Thursday. There is a lot of sadness in this. Tears come out of the blue, often at inopportune times. The pressure this time is almost as great as it was for the first surgery.
But knowing that God has chosen Mayfield to do the job for us is an immeasurable comfort. We're going to march forward, and get through this, and one day count it as pure joy.
How long are these things, usually? 20 minutes? 30 minutes? We were there for an hour and a half with Mayfield, chatting about all manner of things. Many of them medical, of course. But some of them completely irrelevant to the coming surgery.
Like his dogs. Turns out he has always been an akita man. I told him my akita story, you know, the one where my brother's dog tried to kill me.
I asked him one pressing question, and he says he'll have an answer for me soon: How often does a person come to Evans Community Hospital for one reason, then twist or break her ankle on the piles of rocks dividing out the parking lot sections because no one is actually going to walk all the way down an aisle instead of cutting across the lot to get directly to the door, and need, say, ankle surgery?
I'll be certain to tell you all whatever Mayfield learns from his colleagues about this.
Speaking of follow-up, do you remember Yolanda? She was the quasi-willing participant as proxy in the Name Game. She left a note on Mayfield's desk that read, "I have to leave at 11 today, but please tell Amy Ponce I say 'Hello.'"
The whole dang bunch of them are just so super! I took the note and plan to put it in my scrapbook.
We're counting down to the Big Day on Thursday. There is a lot of sadness in this. Tears come out of the blue, often at inopportune times. The pressure this time is almost as great as it was for the first surgery.
But knowing that God has chosen Mayfield to do the job for us is an immeasurable comfort. We're going to march forward, and get through this, and one day count it as pure joy.
Lymphe-loser
I went in for a lymphedema follow-up appointment this morning. This afternoon, we'll go for our pre-op consult with Mayfield at Ft. Carson. During the interim, we've been running errands like crazy and, look! I have just enough time before leaving to give you some very good news:
The lymphedema has reversed! Wooo hoooo hooooo hoooo hoooooooooooooooooooooo!
Praise God. And thank you for all your prayers. This is a very tender mercy, and it's a very sweet icing on top of a very fancy cake.
How do we know it has reversed? Let me back up a bit.
At my first appointment with Lil, a lymphedema specialist, she measured both arms. To do this, she made marks on my arm every 4 centimeters starting at my main hand knuckle and going all the way up to my shoulder.
Then, at each mark, she used her tape measure to take the circumference of my arm at that mark. She then uses these measurements to calculate the "volume" of my arm in mL.
Lil measured my left arm, the unaffected one, to use a baseline. My right arm started off about 300 mL bigger. That sounds like a lot, but spread over the whole appendage, it was barely detectable.
But I detected it. And treating it right away was pretty key to our success.
As for the treatment, I've described before the manual drainage and compression sleeves. At night, I slept in a special, super-puffy foam sleeve with a waffled texture that left my arm looking like a buffet item each morning.
Each time I've gone back to Lil, my arm was smaller and smaller until today, when it measured the same size as the left. And this is with my having not worn compression sleeves for most of the past week. (I'd been feeling a very sore nerve or tendon or something and began to think that perhaps I was squeezing it too much, so I stopped. . .)
So, hoorah! I now need to wear a sleeve a) when I work out and b) when I fly (on an airplane, when flying to tend to my business as a superhero, it's not necessary).
I am also still taping my first two fingers, which have a teensy bit of swelling left in them.
God Bless Lil and the wonderful work she does! I can tell from my internet reading that a lot of women don't have a resource like her--so knowledgeable, kind and helpful. I'm exceedingly thankful for her.
AND, as she made the marks on my arm today, she commented, "We'll start down here at this little Barbie Doll wrist." Extra credit goes to the person who is FIRST EVER to compare one of my body parts to a Barbie Doll's.
The lymphedema has reversed! Wooo hoooo hooooo hoooo hoooooooooooooooooooooo!
Praise God. And thank you for all your prayers. This is a very tender mercy, and it's a very sweet icing on top of a very fancy cake.
How do we know it has reversed? Let me back up a bit.
At my first appointment with Lil, a lymphedema specialist, she measured both arms. To do this, she made marks on my arm every 4 centimeters starting at my main hand knuckle and going all the way up to my shoulder.
Then, at each mark, she used her tape measure to take the circumference of my arm at that mark. She then uses these measurements to calculate the "volume" of my arm in mL.
Lil measured my left arm, the unaffected one, to use a baseline. My right arm started off about 300 mL bigger. That sounds like a lot, but spread over the whole appendage, it was barely detectable.
But I detected it. And treating it right away was pretty key to our success.
As for the treatment, I've described before the manual drainage and compression sleeves. At night, I slept in a special, super-puffy foam sleeve with a waffled texture that left my arm looking like a buffet item each morning.
Each time I've gone back to Lil, my arm was smaller and smaller until today, when it measured the same size as the left. And this is with my having not worn compression sleeves for most of the past week. (I'd been feeling a very sore nerve or tendon or something and began to think that perhaps I was squeezing it too much, so I stopped. . .)
So, hoorah! I now need to wear a sleeve a) when I work out and b) when I fly (on an airplane, when flying to tend to my business as a superhero, it's not necessary).
I am also still taping my first two fingers, which have a teensy bit of swelling left in them.
God Bless Lil and the wonderful work she does! I can tell from my internet reading that a lot of women don't have a resource like her--so knowledgeable, kind and helpful. I'm exceedingly thankful for her.
AND, as she made the marks on my arm today, she commented, "We'll start down here at this little Barbie Doll wrist." Extra credit goes to the person who is FIRST EVER to compare one of my body parts to a Barbie Doll's.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Belated Pink Link!
It's been an uncomfortable week. I haven't sat down to the computer in days because it's extremely painful to sit down. This is because I'm experiencing a stress-related side effect, the details of which I need not share. I'll say only that Preparation-H has been no help.
I missed a Thursday Pink Link. So, Friday's Thursday Pink Link is the following:
We have a tie.
Parin sent me this one.
It epitomizes something. . . Hard to pinpoint what, exactly, irks me about it.
Let's start with this: Wouldn't a ped egg normally be pink? It's a tool mostly used by women. It is stored in the bathroom. It's for maintaining physical beauty. Why wouldn't it be pink?
But, slap a little ribbon on it, and suddenly the pink product becomes a Breast Cancer Awareness product.
I'm annoyed that the color pink has in this way been so totally co-opted. Poor, poor pink. You can't be merely pink anymore.
Sister #1 sent me this one along with the comment, "I'm not sure if all the teams have followed up with this option, but the Chicago Bears seem to have gotten into the jewelry business."
"Business," indeed. Which is why this link earns the award for "Most Obvious and Shameful Attempt to Capitalize on Pink Think."
Note that it's only "a portion" of the proceeds from the profit of bracelet sales will go to "fight against breast cancer." What portion? 5%? 10%? That's making Dick Sporting Goods more money than if they paid for ad space to sell it at a mere 20% off.
And, on a more pragmatic level, Who wants a Chicago Bears-Breast Cancer bracelet? The only person buying this piece of jewelry is the idiot Bears fan who thinks his wife--just because she watches the games with him--would rather have NFL gear on her wrist than, say, diamonds.
Of course, for $17.95, he can't buy her diamonds. So maybe Pink is the cheaper, and therefore better, option. . .
I missed a Thursday Pink Link. So, Friday's Thursday Pink Link is the following:
We have a tie.
Parin sent me this one.
It epitomizes something. . . Hard to pinpoint what, exactly, irks me about it.
Let's start with this: Wouldn't a ped egg normally be pink? It's a tool mostly used by women. It is stored in the bathroom. It's for maintaining physical beauty. Why wouldn't it be pink?
But, slap a little ribbon on it, and suddenly the pink product becomes a Breast Cancer Awareness product.
I'm annoyed that the color pink has in this way been so totally co-opted. Poor, poor pink. You can't be merely pink anymore.
Sister #1 sent me this one along with the comment, "I'm not sure if all the teams have followed up with this option, but the Chicago Bears seem to have gotten into the jewelry business."
"Business," indeed. Which is why this link earns the award for "Most Obvious and Shameful Attempt to Capitalize on Pink Think."
Note that it's only "a portion" of the proceeds from the profit of bracelet sales will go to "fight against breast cancer." What portion? 5%? 10%? That's making Dick Sporting Goods more money than if they paid for ad space to sell it at a mere 20% off.
And, on a more pragmatic level, Who wants a Chicago Bears-Breast Cancer bracelet? The only person buying this piece of jewelry is the idiot Bears fan who thinks his wife--just because she watches the games with him--would rather have NFL gear on her wrist than, say, diamonds.
Of course, for $17.95, he can't buy her diamonds. So maybe Pink is the cheaper, and therefore better, option. . .
Monday, March 15, 2010
B, G and J Day: High and Tight
B:
I mentioned Bryan's retirement last week. A few of you asked what he'll do after 31 May.
It looks very likely now that he will continue to do the very same work, for the same command, only in civilian attire. He is hoping to move into a GS position when it comes online in a few months, and is right now in negotiations with a defense contracting firm to become a contractor for this command until the GS slot becomes available.
Bryan is very pleased with all of this. He really likes his work and really likes the people he works with and for, so he's happy to stay. We're extremely grateful that it looks like he'll have a smooth transition into the civilian workforce. It's been a wonderful provision from God. And it's nice not to have even more big decisions to make. . .
G:
She was sick all of last week. She had a fever and congestion that moved into her ears, so I actually took her to the doctor. Mostly, she just wanted to lie on the couch, watching PBS kid shows. But partly, she wanted to lie there with me next to her.
I did this often--parked myself on the couch. I was usually reading something as we sat together, but now and then, I'd pay attention to what she was watching. At one point, I tuned in to see a dinosaur character talking to the Wiggles, who are 4 grown men living juvenile lives and singing a few songs about it.
I asked Gemma, "Is that a real dinosaur?" Meaning, of course, "Is that dinosaur a character in the show the way Barney is a character? Or is the character really a person who, for this episode, is wearing a dinosaur costume?"
It is not her fault for not getting my meaning.
She answered, with brow furrowed, "In the show, it's supposed to be a real dinosaur, but I think when we see dinosaurs like that in movies, it's really a person in a costume. I think. I'm not sure. . ."
J:
My hair continues to grow. It has gotten to a length that is as short as short can be while still oddly having a feminine look to it. I really should just show you a photo. . .
But until then, you'll have to trust me. It's still pretty short.
We got Joshua's hair cut this weekend. A high and tight. Adorable. His whole face seems 15 degrees brighter now.
When Bryan dropped him off today at his AWANA room, the teacher said, "You got a hair cut just like Daddy's!"
And Joshua said, "No, like Mommy's."
So. Maybe you don't need a photo to picture it after all. . .
I mentioned Bryan's retirement last week. A few of you asked what he'll do after 31 May.
It looks very likely now that he will continue to do the very same work, for the same command, only in civilian attire. He is hoping to move into a GS position when it comes online in a few months, and is right now in negotiations with a defense contracting firm to become a contractor for this command until the GS slot becomes available.
Bryan is very pleased with all of this. He really likes his work and really likes the people he works with and for, so he's happy to stay. We're extremely grateful that it looks like he'll have a smooth transition into the civilian workforce. It's been a wonderful provision from God. And it's nice not to have even more big decisions to make. . .
G:
She was sick all of last week. She had a fever and congestion that moved into her ears, so I actually took her to the doctor. Mostly, she just wanted to lie on the couch, watching PBS kid shows. But partly, she wanted to lie there with me next to her.
I did this often--parked myself on the couch. I was usually reading something as we sat together, but now and then, I'd pay attention to what she was watching. At one point, I tuned in to see a dinosaur character talking to the Wiggles, who are 4 grown men living juvenile lives and singing a few songs about it.
I asked Gemma, "Is that a real dinosaur?" Meaning, of course, "Is that dinosaur a character in the show the way Barney is a character? Or is the character really a person who, for this episode, is wearing a dinosaur costume?"
It is not her fault for not getting my meaning.
She answered, with brow furrowed, "In the show, it's supposed to be a real dinosaur, but I think when we see dinosaurs like that in movies, it's really a person in a costume. I think. I'm not sure. . ."
J:
My hair continues to grow. It has gotten to a length that is as short as short can be while still oddly having a feminine look to it. I really should just show you a photo. . .
But until then, you'll have to trust me. It's still pretty short.
We got Joshua's hair cut this weekend. A high and tight. Adorable. His whole face seems 15 degrees brighter now.
When Bryan dropped him off today at his AWANA room, the teacher said, "You got a hair cut just like Daddy's!"
And Joshua said, "No, like Mommy's."
So. Maybe you don't need a photo to picture it after all. . .
Friday, March 12, 2010
A Strange Embrace
Here's a story for you:
On Sunday, I was checking Joshua out of his classroom at church when Susan tapped me on the shoulder to say hi.
Susan is not really a friend. We don't know each other well at all. The last time I was in the same room with her was a day in September 2008. But I've always liked her, and she's an amazing woman with an amazing story. God is BIG in her life. . .
So I turned to greet her and suddenly found myself hugging her. She hugged me back--it was a really intense embrace, and I started crying. Not out of sadness or grief I just. . .I had no idea why I was hugging this person and why we were both now crying. But there came an overwhelming sense of joy that we cried even more.
It was crazy.
And you all know me! I don't mind a hug, but I'm not A#1 hugger either.
Totally weird.
Eventually, we broke it off and she said I looked great. That she'd been hearing from Christine, a friend we have in common, updates about me.
"You talked with Christine, right?" she asked.
Well, yes, I see Christine every Thursday morning at our Bible study.
We had to hustle along at that moment, and so said good-bye.
A few hours later, I was talking to the very Christine in question and I mentioned how I'd seen Susan for the first time in what seemed like forever.
"Oh!" Christine said, "Did she tell you?"
Tell me what?
"That she was just diagnosed with breast cancer."
Long silence.
Christine went on, "It's at stage 1, and she told me that this is going to be a blessing her life. And I told her, 'You know who else believes that? Amy Ponce!'"
Shortly after their conversation, Susan saw me picking up Joshua from his room at church. So, she knew about her cancer and about my cancer. But I'd had no idea about hers.
But our spirits knew. Amazing. . .
On Sunday, I was checking Joshua out of his classroom at church when Susan tapped me on the shoulder to say hi.
Susan is not really a friend. We don't know each other well at all. The last time I was in the same room with her was a day in September 2008. But I've always liked her, and she's an amazing woman with an amazing story. God is BIG in her life. . .
So I turned to greet her and suddenly found myself hugging her. She hugged me back--it was a really intense embrace, and I started crying. Not out of sadness or grief I just. . .I had no idea why I was hugging this person and why we were both now crying. But there came an overwhelming sense of joy that we cried even more.
It was crazy.
And you all know me! I don't mind a hug, but I'm not A#1 hugger either.
Totally weird.
Eventually, we broke it off and she said I looked great. That she'd been hearing from Christine, a friend we have in common, updates about me.
"You talked with Christine, right?" she asked.
Well, yes, I see Christine every Thursday morning at our Bible study.
We had to hustle along at that moment, and so said good-bye.
A few hours later, I was talking to the very Christine in question and I mentioned how I'd seen Susan for the first time in what seemed like forever.
"Oh!" Christine said, "Did she tell you?"
Tell me what?
"That she was just diagnosed with breast cancer."
Long silence.
Christine went on, "It's at stage 1, and she told me that this is going to be a blessing her life. And I told her, 'You know who else believes that? Amy Ponce!'"
Shortly after their conversation, Susan saw me picking up Joshua from his room at church. So, she knew about her cancer and about my cancer. But I'd had no idea about hers.
But our spirits knew. Amazing. . .
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