3 Pounds!

Last weekend in a whirlwind Chicago/Cedar Rapids/Des Moines flurry of activity my mom (who I only saw in Chicago, just to clarify) asked if I had lost weight again. (Again? Gosh, I love you, Mom.) In truth, I've been fighting those 20 pounds that chemo (and maybe the remainders of Cavanaugh's baby weight) had left behind since I finished treatment several years ago. Steroids are not fun for the healthy skinny girl who (realizing I'm completely genetically blessed) had never before had to worry about weight. When my doctor equated losing chemo weight to losing baby weight I perked up -- Kile's 55 pounds were gone after 6 months! This wouldn't be bad! Six months after the end of chemo though, my "cute" clothes remained in a pile at the back of the closet and the scale remained stubbornly stuck just a few pounds shy of the immediate post chemo weight.

I set my goal, realistically four or five pounds heavier than I was before becoming pregnant with Cavanaugh. I started working out. I'd always been a pretty healthy eater, but I consciously made slightly better selections in food. And nothing happened. For a long, long time. Having hit menopause at age 31 and then coming back OUT of it did little to help the situation (contrary to my onc's hopes that it might). All of those teenager hunger cravings came back with a vengeance -- and if you ask Eric, the teenage mood swings did too.

Honestly, I didn't see major results until a Wii Fit came to live with us. I wasn't even that dedicated (ok, in the beginning I was, mostly because it was fun. And no, they didn't pay me to write that.) In the last 10 months, I felt like I was thinner. My clothes gaped a bit, but the numbers on the scale weren't living up to my expectations. I revamped my lunch and breakfast menus and put myself on a strict snack at school diet (nuts, not chocolate!).

As all the rumors have alluded to, I too found the last five pounds to be the worst. Months went by with me checking the scale and seeing no movement. When Eric commented about how I was watching how much I ate for dinner about six months ago I knew I was getting there.

Finally this morning at the onc's office (my nurse said I looked thinner just before I stepped on the scale and I rolled my eyes at her), success. Three of the last five pounds had disappeared, as if by magic. I was almost more excited about that than I was the fact that my chest x-ray was normal. Ok, I think I actually AM more excited about that...

For me, I know it's not about the weight. It's really not. I have friends who struggle with weight continually and I know for them watching me freak out about 20 pounds is annoying, maybe even insulting. So please understand, it's not the numbers. Getting back to my pre chemo weight just makes me feel more like myself again. A survivor, not a patient. I am once again in control of what my body does and looks like -- well, mostly. : )

So Mom, yes, I HAVE lost weight. And I love you more than ever for noticing.
Carpe diem.
Trela

Onc Again

I guess it's a sign of my relative peace of mind that it's 9:45 the night before my next oncology appointment and I'm just now sitting down to write about it. I have my quarterly check tomorrow at my "local" doc's office -- just a chest x-ray and some labs, and of course the usual poking and prodding. I almost forgot about it. In fact, I DID forget about it as this appointment was supposed to have been the week after my last Mayo appointment -- ooops!

It may seem redundant (and you're currently thinking, "didn't she JUST do all kinds of tests?) and you're right. But it's not. Though I've had MRI's a-plenty, not a single test at Mayo looked at my lungs, and that's the purpose of the x-ray. Also, apparently it's a good idea for an actual oncologist to peer at me now and again... woo hoo!

We expect absolutely nothing out of the ordinary but I felt it was still a good idea to cover my bases and alert the troops. Thank you, in advance, for the positive thoughts and prayers.

Carpe diem.
Trela

Pumpkin Carving Extravaganza '09

You are invited to

The Rottinghaus' 7th Annual
Pumpkin Carving Extravaganza

Friday, October 30th

In the Barn

Chili Supper at 6pm
Carving from 7 to 8:15
Judging follows

As always,
BYOP (Bring Your Own Pumpkin)
and a snack to share.

Hope to see you there!
Carpe diem. - Trela

Vive Le Lance!

If the day after you tell one of your oldest friends (and Hodgkin's survivor) that you have cancer and he tells you, "welcome to the club. Now get over it," your tone sort of changes.

The wallowing, self-pitying, curl up on the couch and wait for the end to come thoughts you may have had become terrified and scurry to the far reaches of your mind. That cements it, really. Despite setbacks and tests and appointments galore, if you take his advice, you don't really have a choice. You move forward. Fast. And with energy, even on the days you don't have any. You move if for no other reason that you're maybe a little scared your friend may show up in your driveway and beat you. Ok, not really, but you get the idea...it's a big motivator.

That's kind of what tomorrow is about. October 2nd is the anniversary of Lance Armstrong's very serious cancer diagnosis. I latched onto the LIVESTRONG ideal from the beginning, not only because his bright yellow wristband is the sarcoma color, not because I look better in yellow than baby pink (though surprisingly, I do), but because his attitude and stickwithitness inspired me. Does that sound cheesy? That's ok. Cheese is yellow, too.

Not everyone loves Lance, but take it from me (and my oncologist), the attention that he has brought to a disease which one out of three Americans will be directly affected by is pretty darn impressive. Many forms of cancer are preventable. Other forms don't have to be life-threatening if they are caught early enough and treated correctly. Regardless of the statistics and soapboxes and insurance and medical issues, there's one simple fact: cancer sucks -- yellow is pretty. (I guess that's two simple facts, whatever, I don't teach math).

So, wear yellow on October 2nd to show your support for people everywhere affected by cancer -- people who might need just a LITTLE more encouragement to LIVESTRONG.

We could all use a little more sunshine.

Carpe diem. Trela
(and if you're interested or need to pass it on, click this for a link to the Lance Armstrong Foundations Manifesto... it just might be exactly what someone you know needs to hear)

They Implanted a Super Hero Clip

In my last post I mentioned the new piece of metal jewelry adorning my insides. I had a few questions so thought I'd delve into the issue a bit more.... After my biopsy, with the guide needle still in position, the radiologist inserted a cute little ribbon-like piece of metal into the biopsied spot. This will serve as a marker on future MRI's and mammograms so that if there's an issue in the future they'll know where they've already looked and tested. Apparently these come in several different shapes (curly q's, boxes, etc.) but mine is in the shape of the awareness ribbon. I teased my radiologist that it was actually a clip that would give me super powers -- he said, "what powers do you want?" (because he's cool and played along with me despite the fact that he scoffed at my Superdawg suggestion after asking me how to spend his upcoming weekend in Chicago...Focus, Trela.) I told him of course I wanted to be able to fly, see (legitimately) out of the back of my head, and naturally, cure cancer. : )

Anyway, all's well that ends well, and it appears my superpowers are well in tact -- Mayo called Eric this afternoon to confirm our hopes -- my biopsy revealed some sort of fibrocystic issue that is definitely NOT cancerous. No malignant cells to be seen! It will be monitored with semiannual MRI's (so we're doubling the frequency of them), but no other changes need to be made to my regimen.

I so appreciate all of your kind thoughts, words, and prayers since this issue reared its head in July. Many of you have commented on my strength throughout this -- if you are reading this, you are the reason I am strong.

Carpe diem.
Trela

Mayo Day

No surprise, my morning started with a scheduled ultrasound and unscheduled biopsy. What was a surprise was the location of the area in question -- much higher and closer to the center of my chest than we'd thought. No wonder it didn't show up on the mammogram -- it probably didn't even make the range of film. If I have to have another mastectomy I'm going to have delicious visible scars on BOTH sides..... (And I found out that when I type "biopsy" into my cell phone as a text message it comes out "choppy." Interesting.)

My radiologists didn't give me the "Oh, THERE it is," or "YIKES, I see what they're talking about" kind of reaction I'd steeled myself for. Instead they said they didn't really know (is it odd that at one of the best health care facilities in the world I actually feel BETTER when they DON'T know?). They opted for biopsy to be on the safe side. (And probaby my oncologist would have insisted anyway, that's just his nature.) I killed about an hour with a radiology tech and her sidekick nurse (we watched You Tube's baby dancing to Beyonce... seriously). They were amused by me. The doctor who actually did the biopsy asked me if I was in the medical field after I answered all of his questions -- score for smart Trela!

Biopsy was a core -- medium sized hole and they took ten "clicks" or samples (it clicks when they punch it out). They also inserted a marker so that later they can know exactly what area they've examined more closely. I'll wear ice and take tylenol for a bit but other than that no biggie. Had another mammogram just to record the marker after that and then we were free for lunch (amazing, almost never happens on our Mayo days!).

Met with my onc at 1:15... he pretty much said he's leaning toward this NOT being an angiosarcoma. What?!?! That doesn't of course rule out ANOTHER form of cancer (what?!?!?!), but he said it's pretty deep for an angio... didn't know that was a guideline, but we know now. He showed us the MRI and we, too, could see the area pretty clearly. We'll know results from the biopsy on Friday or Monday, but he's obviously hoping it's benign. Even if it is, we're definitely going to step up my MRI schedule and do another in 6 months (if not an additional one right away). Hate that stupid tube!

Sorry we don't have more to say at this point, let's all hurry up and wait! We're currently waiting to be seen by my specialist, but are pretty sure she won't have much to add...even though her brogue will be delightful, I'm sure.

Carpe diem. -- Trela

Sigh (Again)

My new doc spoke with Eric this afternoon. I need to return to Mayo for an ultrasound of ANOTHER questionable area next Thursday. I'm slated for the ultrasound, a possible biopsy (depending on the ultrasound), and meetings with this new specialist and my oncologist (which I would have had anyway, we just hoped we'd be able to cancel them).

As far as we can tell, the area originally flagged by the radiologist in Waterloo was ok, but there's a different area that Mayo has flagged. My mammogram was deemed normal, which is frustrating, but still good news. An abnormal mamm and abnormal MRI would certainly have painted a darker picture.

And it could still be nothing. Thanks for the positive thoughts and prayers.

Oh, to all my cute work people who ask BEHIND me and are nervous to ask me themselves: I currently have ONE breast (the right one) and one VERY good prosthetic (the left one). (Therefore all of these questionable tests are on the RIGHT side... because doing a breast MRI or mamm on the left side is impossible.) It's been like that for a year and a half. And yes, I'm ok with that.

Carpe diem. Trela

Back In Iowa

There were a few scheduling complications at Mayo this week -- I ended up NOT having an appointment on Tuesday and Wednesday was equally messed up. All's well that ends well, I guess. Yesterday Eric and I drove the 100 miles north and met with a new breast specialist. She was darling, from Ireland, and hoped my whole reason for needing to meet with her was "rubbish." The second I heard her accent I felt better. When I asked her where she was from and she responded, "Ireland," I managed to restrain from rolling my eyes and instead asked her to be more specific. We got on very well. : ) On a medical front (ha), she also didn't feel anything out of the ordinary, so that helped immensely. She was able to squeeze me in for a mammogram (ha again) yesterday afternoon, so we did that before the MRI.

The mamm was fine -- if you remember from my original mammo ordeal, we're in a waiting room (which is much like I imagine purgatory, but with HGTV) sitting around in equally unattractive gowns. They've upgraded since my first go round, now the gowns are a hospital blue color instead of the previous dusty pink. They call you back for your mamm one at a time, do the test (which is only slightly more complex because of my implant) and send you back to the waiting room to - wait -. If your test looks fine (I'm not yet sure if "fine" means "you're healthy" or simply, "we don't need any more pictures") you're free to go. On my previous two journeys to mammography I've needed to be called back for an ultrasound so I fully expected that. The poor woman sitting across from me had been coming to Mayo for 40 years for her yearly check and had NEVER had a problem before -- until yesterday. So I sat there for most of my 20 minutes of waiting chatting with her. Surprisingly, they didn't need more images from me, so I got out of there with just the original mamm -- yippie!

MRI was next and Eric and I were a bit concerned I'd be late. No worries, though -- the computer at Imaging was pitching a fit and my 3pm appointment was delayed until almost 4:15. Delays persisted after I was taken back and changed and I didn't actually get into the tube until nearly 4:45. The scan was no big deal except for my arm falling asleep (it always does) and by 5:30 we were on our way, with complimentary parking for our inconvenience.

We ate at Chipotle on the way home and the extra helping of guac did much to soothe my irritation over an annoyingly long day. We won't hear for a bit how my tests went, but certainly NOT needing an ultrasound and having an expert feel no problems are points in my corner.

Now I'm sitting at work - exhausted - and should finish my kids' warm up for the day. Fortunately I'd already planned a decently easy work day for myself because I'm definitely not up for super high energy teaching today. Don't tell my boss. : )

Carpe diem -- Trela

Mayo Week

My Facebook status update this morning says "Trela Hansen Rottinghaus is not interested in spending two days at Mayo this week. If everyone thinks it's fine, why do I have to go prove it?"

Tuesday I have a mammogram sometime in the early afternoon (probably should find out when...) because it's a prerequisite for having a breast MRI with them. They have to do it the day before so I get to make the drive twice. I decided there was no point in staying overnight in a place I didn't want to be, and it's only a two hour drive. So, mam on Tuesday, I'll just head north on my own and get that taken care of.

Eric comes with me Wednesday for a typical "Mayo Day." (Read: Day filled with lots of appointments and probably no time to eat lunch.) We see my dear onc at 8am, a breast specialist at 10 something and finish the day with an MRI. So, yet again, I'll be waiting for a phone call... There's a decent chance my doc will have seen my mam before our appointment on Wednesday morning, but he won't be able to say anything definite until the MRI read is done.

I'm hoping that by Friday I'm looking at this as a HUGE inconvenience and nothing more.

Carpe diem. - Trela

When I Am an Old Woman, I Will Wear...

When we were living in St. Louis and voracious Taboo! players, weekend nights frequently saw us sprawled on the living room floor paired off in non-married couples trying to avoid the buzzer. Even Eric would agree (though reluctantly, I'm sure) that Gabe and I dominated Taboo. When I say dominated, I'd ask you to conjur up images of the Bulls Decade of Dominance...J.K. Rowling on the New York Times Best Sellers' List... Finland in educational test scores (long story)... Shakespeare on the stage... you get the idea. As I recall, one of our last games before the guys graduated and moved back to Iowa and Connecticut, respectively, was relatively close. Maybe there was a chance we would lose. Gabe was giving clues, I was guessing words. Just before time ran out, he spat out one final clue: "When I am an old woman, I will wear _________?" When I responded with the answer I knew was correct, Eric didn't blink. He didn't look surprised. He didn't bow his head in the shame of yet another defeat. He didn't do any of these things, of course, because he thought I had lost my mind and blurted out the first answer that came into my head. It never occurred to him that the admittedly strange answer was, in fact, the right one.

(In Bill Cosby fashion:)
Now, I told you that story to tell you this one:

The answer of course, was purple. (It's here if you don't believe me: http://www.aztriad.com/pathmark/purple_poem.html)

I've never been a huge fan of purple. I don't mind it, it's just not one of my top colors. Doesn't look good on me, hard to decorate with. There is, however, one purple thing that I am incredibly attached to. In my writing class this week, I wrote about it. I'm rather fond of this piece that evolved throughout the week... and for me, it was pretty timely. Here it is:

I didn’t hear my mother’s cautious steps as she crept down the basement stairs behind me. Clutching the new box of Crayolas in my left hand, I was far too engrossed in the task on the wall in front of me to hear her stealthy approach. It was a work of tribute to my latest heartthrob.

I was four years old.

His name was Harold.

I was first introduced to Harold by our next-door neighbor who ceremoniously deposited him in my bright orange trick-or-treat basket on Halloween. He was not the first character she had brought to life in my childhood -- Rae was the all-knowing book lady who understood everything about the books I would come to love. I imagined her days ensconced in the cozy basement of the great department store on State Street downtown, pulling Curious George off of the bookcases, calling the doctor when Madeline’s appendix burst, keeping Miss Rumphius constantly supplied with lupine seeds, and of course, helping my friend Harold on his most recent hunt for his bedroom window.

Throughout my early elementary days, Rae drove me to the library to check out armloads of books at a time – a few she chose, a few I chose, a few we found together. She always finished our trips with a reminder, “don’t worry about a late fine, you just finish those books!” We chatted about various characters as if they, too, were neighbors on our block. We happily played with Laura in the Big Woods, helped Corduroy find his missing button, watched the rabbits’ magical wedding in the meadow, and accompanied Betsy to her first day of school, complete with a secret stuffed koala in her backpack.

But despite being introduced to countless vibrant characters in so many other wonderful books, I always returned to my first love, my Harold. When I packed up the important reminders of home in my move to college, there was, of course, room for Harold in the box. He sat quietly throughout all of my college years, the familiar purple spine peeking from the shelf a talisman connecting me to home.

Years later, pregnant with my first child, I sat on the floor of what would become our nursery unpacking a box from my parents’ attic. I found him there, nestled at the bottom of the box. A little more yellowed and battered, but there in all of his gray, pudgy glory sat Harold, still looking for his window.

I opened the book and for the millionth time gazed upon the familiar little boy coloring his way home. I placed him tenderly in an honored position on this new baby’s bookshelf and hoped that someday I would be that mother creeping down the stairs in order to catch my toddler making his mark on the world.

In memory of my book lady, Rae, who left us on Sunday, July 26th, 2009.

Stop. Rewind. Replay.

After a little over a week of waiting for Mayo's professional opinion of my MRI we are exactly where we were three weeks ago. Those of you who are math fans will notice that on a calendar, that puts us BEFORE we took said MRI. So what does that mean?

Basically, Mayo doesn't want to weigh in on another MRI when they're not super sure about the images they've seen. There's something odd showing up, but believe it or not, odd isn't always bad. Odd can just be, well, odd. This doesn't mean bad news. Nor does it mean good news. It's just news. A filler story, if you will, threatening to be cut immediately from the broadcast if anything else about Michael Jackson's toenail clippings hits the airwaves.

My oncologist didn't seem super worried, he did indicate that what the radiologist could see didn't fit the "typical" angiosarcoma mold. We all know how typical my journey has been, so I'm taking that with a few pinches of salt... regardless, for both of my oncs not to be all up in arms and demanding the delight of my presence immediately, well, I'm ok with that. I do love them, but I'm ok with not seeing them regularly.

They will be scheduling my MRI soon (presumably in the next three weeks... I definitely can't do it next week because of teaching commitments) and I'll of course update then!

Cancer Terror Alert Level: returning from orange to yellow (our constant state)

Carpe diem.
Trela

Dutifully Doing My Homework...

I start my last Master's class of the summer tomorrow and was assigned chapters 1 & 2 in preparation for class. I'm not actually hating this textbook, but I just came across these quotes:

I must write, I must write at all costs, for writing is more than living. It is being conscious of living.
- Anne Morrow Lindbergh

When I began to write, I found this was the best way to make sense out of my life.
- John Cheever

And that's why Trela has a blog.... : )

Carpe diem. - T

Color Me Annoyed

Ok, first, Rachel is, once again, victorious. CT this morning of the chest and abdomen (first abdominal CT in nearly 2 years, so I was nervous) was initially considered fine when my oncologist looked at it. Of course, last week, that's also what we said about my MRI. Apparently on a second look-see, they found an area of concern on the right breast, about 2cm in size. I can't feel it. My doctor didn't seem to be able to feel it. Hmm. The radiologist recommended a biopsy, but my Cedar Rapids onc called my Mayo onc and between them they decided to first have Mayo look at the images. They'll determine what to do from there after that step. Shrug.

Worst case scenario, this is a NEW fun kind of actual breast cancer which will need to be surgified, chemo'd and radiated. Best case scenario, the radiologist here is a paranoid idiot. Middle of the road scenario is we have to have a biopsy and go from there. Personally, I enjoy slightly modified best case -- radiologist is paranoid, not an idiot, and erring on the side of caution. Mayo will tell him, "thanks for trying, but please leave this stuff to the big kids." Regardless, there's currently no spread, that's good news.

Mostly I'm just annoyed. I do NOT have time for this. : ) Next week I take my last Master's class of the summer, the following week I take a class on how to teach other teachers to use our new technology, the week after that I teach the teachers on the new technology, and then, wham, it's time for school.

I'm cranky, so perhaps shouldn't write more now or I'll lose half of my following. : ) When I know more, I'll write more!

Carpe diem!!! : ) Trela

(And the color of annoyed? Scarlet, of course...with big purple and yellow flames. ARGH.)

It's Officially Summer

I know this because I start my second grad class tomorrow. Technically my third, I started an on-line class last Monday, but I was still working then, so I don't think it counts. I also don't think I like the on-line version, but I'll make it work. If you talk to me later, my assignment is due June 22nd, so tell me to get crackin'.

Well, my life as a teacher at Logan Middle School is over. We officially finished work last Thursday with two days of Promethean Board training (if you don't know what that is, google it, they're super cool. Six of us had one this year, we all will next year.). Our classrooms got packed up Monday and Tuesday, and thankfully we had relatively cool weather for June in which to do the packing. I ended up with 47 boxes, which doesn't include the six or so that I brought home to work on or re-sort over the summer. Phew.

We're not sure yet when our new school will be ready to open -- at least, we're not sure how much time we'll have before the kids arrive, but we're hopeful. I'd toured the building early this spring and again last week. It's gorgeous, and my room looks pretty close to done. The technology and the furniture are about all that remained to be put in, but some rooms didn't have carpet yet, and others still didn't have lights. The kids will be going to uniforms next year and the staff going to a much more "business professional" dress code (ie, no jeans, ever), so that will be a change. Oh shucks, guess I have to shop. : )

I abandoned Eric and the kids last weekend for a trip to Chicago to see Cara and Andrew and Andrew's sisters. It was great to be able to get away for a couple of days, even if downtown Chicago on Saturday morning was best traveled with a submarine.... which we didn't have. I've never seen rain like that down there before. Of course, by Saturday night the weather was perfect and the view from the 95th floor of the Hancock Building breathtaking as always. On my way home Sunday, because of typical traffic, I shopped at the Chicago Teacher Store (Cara and Andrew conveniently bought a house just a few blocks from it for me) and avoided the highway for a while. It was fun driving along city streets that I know well, but kind of forget. Chicago is such a vibrant city to watch. I miss it.

One of my friends put together a photo album recently that she called "My Other Life." It was her work pictures as opposed to the family and vacation shots we usually see. While I drove on Highway 20 back toward Iowa, missing the city I'd just left, I passed through the little towns just before Galena. Farms and rolling hills shone in the sunlight, the temperature was perfect, the breeze just right, and I couldn't help thinking of Becky's album title. Yep, still missed Chicago, but my other, more countrified life has it's perks, too. (Especially since it's just a four-hour drive from Chicago...)

Carpe diem.
Trela

DVD Delivery!

My chest x-ray was fine today -- I'll have an MRI between now and July (standard protocol now to do that yearly) and then a CT scan of the chest and abdomen toward the end of July. Then we'll eliminate one CT a year to replace it with a chest x-ray... cuts out some radiation exposure, so we're pretty happy about that. It means I'll still go to the oncology office four times a year, but I'll only be in full-panic mode once. : )

We delivered the Team Trela binder of DVD's to chemo today. There were a couple of all-dayers already in the chairs, so hopefully they'll be put to good use very soon! I forgot to grab the DVD player we'd also gotten, so I'll need to make another run down there at some point.

Overall a good day! And it's only 1 o'clock -- and GORGEOUS outside, so no offense, but I'm outta here!

Carpe diem. - Trela

In the Eye of the Beholder

I was chatting with some colleagues today when a reference one of them made reminded me that today was April 15th. Now to a lot of you, that date could mean any of a few different things:

1. The obvious, Tax Day.
2. Happy Birthday, Chris! (Ok, that only applies to one of you, but still, it deserved recognition.)
3. McDonald's Day: On this date in 1940, Dick and Mac McDonald opened a barbecue restaurant in California. (It was another 8 years before they became burger and fry kings.)
4. Take a Wild Guess Day: I'm sure that has nothing to do with #1...
5. In 1947, Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in Major League Baseball. 50 years later on this same date his number was retired.
6. In 1865, Abraham Lincoln succumbed to the gunshot wound inflicted by John Wilkes Booth the evening before.
7. The H.M.S. Titanic sank at 2:22 in the morning in 1912.
8. National That Sucks Day: Perhaps a reaction to #'s 6 and 7. (it's true, I swear www.thatsucks.net)
9. In 1783, the American Congress ratified Peace with former parent, Great Britain. Awww, we CAN just all get along!

As interesting as the above list may be (in fact, I didn't know the significance of the date in terms of Jackie Robinson and a few others until I started writing this tonight), to me the 15th of April represents something far more important -- one year of health.

A year ago on this date, I spent most of the day unconscious on an operating table at the Mayo Clinic having (are you ready? say it with me now...) a left chest wall resection with litisimus flap procedure. (Say that 5 times fast. I can.) I've gotten really good at saying that in the last year. And I've gotten a little proud of it.

That, of course, was just the beginning of a healthy year. And it was probably the most boring part...

This year...
I've traveled to Las Vegas, Naples and Orlando
I've again taught full time, and have only missed 2 days due to illness this year (not including the days I've had onc checkups... but those don't really count)
I've started finishing up my Master's degree, 15 credits between now and the end of July
I've spent evenings (including yesterday's) wrestling with Kile and Cavanaugh (who "helps" her brother by jumping on his head)
I watched my sister, one of my biggest champions, get married... and I got to wear Chuck Taylors at the reception
I perked up to the T-Mobile commercial shot at Liverpool station (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mUZrrbgCdYc )
I've raked my flower beds, planned new gardens and planted over 150 bulbs (which are rapidly appearing much to my delight)
I started growing out my hair again
I changed my mind about growing out my hair and practically begged my hairstylist to cut it off
I have learned to, well, maybe not LOVE my scars, but definitely accept them as totally normal for me
I made Britain's Got Talent's Susan Boyle my new hero ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lp0IWv8QZY )
I've wished I could sing
I have, fingers crossed, continued to pass my Oncology Exams with flying colors

... not bad for a year. Not, maybe, as significant as the historical events I referenced previously, but significant enough for me!

I have my next quarterly check (chest x-ray this time for those keeping score) next Wednesday, but I'm almost looking forward to going. Oh, no, not because of the check up -- that still slightly terrifies me. I'll also be delivering a huge batch of DVD's to the chemotherapy area courtesy of the Team Trela benefit basketball game held this winter. Hopefully they will help pass the time for patients sitting there getting their "cocktails."

And hopefully if my nurses read this ahead of time, they'll still act surprised. : )

Oh... one more "event" to add to the list of my year -- I posted my 100th blog entry. Right. Now. Thanks for reading.

Carpe diem. -- Trela

It's a Good Thing Eric's Sick, Too

I am at home. On a Friday. I was also home yesterday. I am sick. I have a sore throat. My sinuses hurt. I have a fever. Sounds like a cold, right?

In fact, my logical brain KNOWS that I have a cold.

Kile is also home for day 2 with a fever and sore throat.

Eric is home with a fever.

Logic dictates, overwhelmingly, in fact, that this is a cold.

Cancer-brain moron that I am wonders if we all have some weird blood disease that came from my cancer and not only infected me, but found a way to leap out of my body and settle in the bodies of my husband and son (Cavanaugh has been sent to Grammie's under quarantine).

This is the way my brain works now. Any time I have a bump, a bruise, a sore throat, a displaced rib, a twisted ankle, whatever... my brain works out how, logically, this said malady could be a recurrence of the cancer. If you know me, you know I'm a relatively smart girl, so my brain works really well. Therefore, it puts up some pretty convincing arguments backing up my varied "ohmygoditsback" theories. Highly annoying.

Usually it takes Eric shooting me a glare and my dumb brain knocks it off, or at least it stops verbalizing. After a few more whithering looks, it gets the idea and slinks off into normal body functioning again... until the next time. Super, hugely annoying.

I definitely spent a panicked 10 minutes examining a bruise on my arm yesterday (ok, it's on the left, that's the same side, it traveled just a little ways, it's a little red, too, yadda yadda) until I put my sweatshirt back on and saw a hole in the sleeve in the same place on my arm and remembered I'd caught both sleeve and arm on a hook earlier in the day. Moron. Ten minutes I can't get back. Ha. And even though I'm currently typing what an idiot I am, I definitely just took my hands off the keys to DOUBLE CHECK the bruise on my arm, which, shockingly enough, is smaller than it was yesterday. But I had to check...

I'm all for a cure for cancer, God knows. But if someone could figure out a way to fix this cancer survivor brain of mine, let me know!

For today, I know I'm fine. Since Eric is also home sick he will be pressed into service to remind me that this is, after all, just a cold.

I think.

Carpe diem. -- Trela

I Told My Doctor I Loved Him...

Eric was in the room. I think they're both ok with that. Especially considering that moments after the love profession both my oncologist and my husband started picking on me. What else is new? Boys...

So, the upshot of a rather complicated morning (wrong orders, no yucky drinks -- oh, darn -- and failure to prescribe premeds) is that:
1. My bloodwork is fine
2. My CT looks fine
3. I'm free until the 22nd of April from any more tests
4. Yippie!

In the last two weeks (read: Trela insane with nervous energy) I've painted my hallway, the trim in the hallway, the kitchen, and the doorway between the kitchen and living room. I also (randomly) painted a tree (which I must say looks pretty cool... and even Eric likes it). I had to sleep (and then work) or the back hall also would be re-wallpapered (one wall in my house MUST always be wallpaper in recognition of my Aunt Mary) and painted.

The problem is now I have coats in my office, pictures to be rehung, shoes under my table, and no curtains. (They're in the garage, patiently waiting to be hemmed.) Since I've been given the all-clear, my motivation is slacking a bit... if only I could harness that energy and use it when I'm tired! We have company coming this weekend so hopefully I'll pull it together before then. I've decided it's much like the nesting I went through before the kids were born -- except I'm a lot more mobile and now it happens quarterly instead of only once a year. Hmm. Probably no oncology study on that... my doctor claims I'm normal, but frankly I think he was just trying to make up for picking on me.

I texted a bunch of people with my happy results and one of those was my new principal. He texted back a very simple, but appropriate "THANK GOD."

I did.

I am.

I will continue to do so.

But thanks for the reminder.

Carpe diem. -- Trela

Perspective: Cancer Sucks, so 7th Graders Can't be THAT Bad

Every so often, tending to be more often than not, I'm asked to teach a section of 7th grade language arts instead of an additional section of 8th grade. In my current job, where I've been since January of 2003, I'd estimate I've taught that single 7th grade section 4 or 5 times. Sometimes it's been for the entire year, a few times for just a semester.

It's not that I have anything against 12 year-olds. In fact, my student teaching gig, eons ago, was 12 weeks of 7th graders in Dubuque and I absolutely adored them. They were a big part of the reason I'm a middle school teacher now. They were fabulous. Since then, however, 7th graders as a class have lost a bit of their charm for me. In my first teaching job, the 7th graders were completely and utterly horrendous, though when they morphed into 8th graders over the summer all of that nonsense (for the most part) was left behind. In my second job, the "7th grade" concept was easily replaced by sophomores. I still talk to several of the students in my first sophomore class... but only because I also knew them as juniors. (hey, reed-maker -- that doesn't apply to you!) When people are befuddled by my love of middle school teaching, I know that the image they have in their brains involves a group of 7th graders. Likely tying their teacher to a chair. And laughing.

7th graders, especially in our district, are stuck. Firmly implanted in the ghastly middle of middle school. They're not 6th graders, so they're not the babies. Not 8th graders, as the 8th graders so frequently remind them, so they're not cool. Just awkward, goofy, self-centered, peer-focused 12 year-olds whose bodies are practically screaming "NOTICE ME!!!" As I pluck them down off of the ceiling of my classroom and wish that duct tape was, in fact, a standard teaching tool, I try to remember that this isn't their fault. I too, was 12... and awkward, feeling unloved, uncoordinated, unaccepted and totally and completely uncool. It's just the age.

My great understanding (thank you Magic in the Middle guru) however, does not diminish my dismay whenever an administrator of mine oh-so-nicely asks, "so, Mrs. Rott, how do you feel about teaching a 7th grade section this year?" The formality of asking is nice, though I feel I could say "gobledygookywacamoledoodly" in place of an answer and the result would still be 18 hormone-festering children in front of me. Drooling, most likely, at nothing in particular. They do that, too.

What I'd like to say, of course is, "actually, dear administrator of mine, I would MUCH prefer you use the serrated spoon so often seen accompanying grapefruit halves at fancy brunches and delicately remove both of my eyeballs from my head. But if you think teaching 7th graders might be less of a hassle... well, hand me the spoon. I'll do it myself."

Hormones notwithstanding, teaching one section of anything is a pain. It's extra prep working toward a class that I only do one time a day. It's changing my frame of reference when I grade their papers. It's... well, annoying.

I bring this up instead of all of the usual cancer related drivel because I found out today my lovely 7th grade class has been granted permission to continue for another semester... despite my best efforts to the contrary. I've had less than 20 in this class all year, and let's just be delicate and say that they are incredibly interesting (spoon, anyone?). Actually, to be fair, most of them are fine examples of festering hormones, many will grow up to be fabulous 8th graders some day, but a few of them are actually spewing fountains of goodness-knows-what and they drive me straight up the 15 foot high ceiling to join them. Due to scheduling conflicts, having them leave me for the rest of the year isn't an option, so we're powering through. I think I may have thrown a dictionary upon hearing the news...

In retrospect, of course, a biopsy, CT scan mastectomy, six months of chemo, two hospitalizations, another scan, two chest x-rays, biopsy #2, a recurrence, five weeks of radiation, a left chest resection, litisimus flap surgery and another x-ray sound much worse.

Perspective.

I love 7th graders. I wonder what we'll do tomorrow.

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I have had 6 exceptional teachers in my schooling. Some have influenced my career choice, some simply my life in general and, at the passing of one of them, I realized I should have told them ALL that more often.

My first grade teacher, who STILL makes me feel like I'm in the smart group and always manages to give me emails or notes at exactly the right time.

My 8th grade history and Language Arts teacher who desperately tried to get the history part through to me by reminding me that it was just another story to read...

My student teacher/sophomore English teacher and friend who WILL edit my book some day (who I still proofread my blogs for), and who I will repeatedly tell how important she was in my life because she deserves it

My junior year teacher who piled more wit, wisdom, gosh darn good sense, caring and dance lessons than one would ever have thought possible into American Literature. We'll miss you, James. I hope you're proud of all of your Marillac girls.

My college advisor who was kind, comical, and wise... and gave me an A- on my Oral Comprehensive Exam (but he said even Jesus wouldn't have gotten an A... so he was a bit radical, too).

My cooperating teacher who scared the heck out of me, ate lunch with me every day, and taught me my most valuable career lesson -- if you love the content, teach high school. If you love the kids, teach middle school. It saddens me to know he's not a teacher anymore because he was one of the BEST ones.

They, with lots of help from others, have made me the teacher I am. And some days they might even be proud of that fact... probably not 0n dictionary-throwin' days (don't worry, no one was in the room).

But all of those teachers, I'll bet, no matter how good they all are, at some point, all wished for snow days... we're expecting 4-7 inches tonight.... fingers crossed!

CT scan next week.

Carpe diem. Even for the 7th graders. Groan.
- Trela