An attempt to not be Debbie Downer (A nod to all of those SNL fans)

I feel like lately I have been Debbie Downer. I get through one challenge only to have something new to complain about. So, I am going to briefly update what is happening with my leg and then talk about more pleasant topics. On April 18, Dr. Booth decided that the tunnel in my leg would not heal without intervention. He numbed my leg and then with a scalpel, cut open my leg down to the tunnel so that my leg could heal from the base up to the surface. I know it seems strange to cut a leg open to heal it, but my tunnel would persist, be an area for possible infection and continued drainage. This was a painful procedure and I did not recover like I thought I should. I went back on Thursday, and Dr. Booth had determined that I had cellulitis in my leg, but it was not in my wound, but in the area that I have had problems with scar tissue and suspected an additional tumor. He told me to go the ER and that I would be in patient for 2 to 3 days if it was simply cellulitis, but if it was an abscess, I needed to head back to Salt Lake for more surgery and interventions. I was scared and wouldn't you know it, it was one of the few times I went alone to wound clinic. I went and picked up Kortney and hugged Grandma as I headed to the ER. Once there, I was treated like a hypochondriac who did not know what she was talking about. The ball had been dropped between the old campus of the hospital and the new hospital. After 4 hours at the ER, they had determined that it was cellulitis but my white count was not high enough to be too concerned. (Apparently I can show up normal on blood work and yet have cancer-That was 15 months ago.) So I was referred to Infusion therapy through the holiday weekend to receive daily infusions of Rocefin and to take it easy and try and elevate my leg as much as possible. No problem because all I wanted to do was sleep, I felt like crud. I am now on more oral antibiotics and trying to feel stronger, but my allergies are also kicking my trash. This week I was referred for Hyperbaric therapy. I thought it was no big deal before I saw what that entails. Hyperbaric treatment involves wearing this clear plastic hood over your head with it locked on a collar you put on first so that you get 100% oxygen while you are in this pressurized tank. Did not look like a pleasure cruise to me. I would also have to get my little friend back on my leg. My little friend is a temperamental little machine called a wound vac. The other difficulty is that they want me to commit to 2 hour sessions 5 days a week for 6 weeks. That is a huge commitment to accompany my internship.
Okay, on to pleasantries. I am going back to Southwest Mental Health Youth Division for my final 15 weeks of internship. This is where I did my first 30 weeks and I enjoyed it immensely. It is difficult to work with children, but I love thinking that if I can teach an 8 year old a skill that will serve them the rest of their lives, how much happier they will be. I have run into some wonderful, fun kids there and I am glad they can accommodate me for these final weeks. I was really concerned that I did not have an internship site because I am so close to finishing that no one would want to invest the time in me. I start back on Monday, May 2nd. I will be working with a different population these final weeks. I will be working with troubled teenage boys. I love helping kids and seeing them learn something about themselves that can enhance their lives. Not to mention, I get to play with toys, draw and color, and play all day long. It is fabulous. The other good news is that I am graduating with my Masters in Counseling-Mental Health on Saturday May 7th. And I am walking at graduation. I decided that I need to celebrate the good things in my life. I had wanted to have all my family and my cute husband to be there but the fates did not quite align for that to happen. I am going to graduation with very exceptional parents whom I know I could not have survived without during this last part of my life. We will have to all celebrate during my birthday in July. I have realized that any graduation is worth celebrating, any victory is worth celebrating because life is short and we should be trying to build each other up rather than the doldrums of every day. That is the other bit of good news. I am going to have another birthday this year. And as much as I would rather be turning 26 than 36, I am glad that my Heavenly Father gave me another year in this mortal existence and I am excited to have my family including my cute husband around me while I blow out my candles. Thank heavens there is a bright side to every dark cloud.

A Great Weekend and Some Weird Thoughts

This past weekend was such a good one for Sebastian and I. My cute husband went for a job interview a few weeks ago for a part-time job. He thought the interview went very well and was excited he had a chance to try and sharpen his interview skills. After 10 days or so, Sebastian commented to me that he was certain he had done well in this interview and was excited for the 2nd job, but since he had not heard from them he did not think he got the job. Friday, he received an email extending the position to him. He was thrilled that this had turned out well and laughed that he quickly gave up when I told him that he may still have the job. Monday he signed the offer and was pleased to find that he would be compensated well at this part-time job. It was great news for us as I have been out of work for 16 months with the internship and the cancer.
Saturday morning was the beginning of General Conference. Due to my sleeping problems, I did not fall asleep until almost 4 AM the night before and did not wake up until 11. I turned on conference and watched the last hour and resolved to watch it on KBYU to catch up. No sooner had "Amen" been said to the closing prayer, when my phone began to ring. It was my Grandma and she was asking if I had watched conference. I felt a little embarassed because of my sleeping late and quickly explained myself. Sweet Grandma had called to ask if I had heard the news. The news that had caused her to burst into tears was that they were building a temple in Winnipeg Canada. I began to weep as she told me this marvelous news and felt stirred that these 2 happenings may be a sign to me. I know the worth of a born-and-raised-Utah Mormon in the "mission field" who is also a returned missionary. It benefits the ward they land in greatly and I know Sebastian's ward in Winnipeg was thrilled at the thought of me joining their numbers. Well, I called my sweetheart to tell him and he was shocked that his little stake had finally got the temple they prayed so ferverently for. We listened to the anouncement together. It was such a faith building moment for me. The temple is such a great blessing and a responsibility. It reaffirmed my commitment to go and be sealed to Sebastian soon.
So the strange thoughts. Originally, we had planned that I would move to Canada and build our life there. I then had some bad experiences in Winnipeg and then found out that my work in Canada would be as a case manager and not a therapist because I do not have my doctorate, yet. That had us back at the drawing board for a new plan. we decided that economically and emotionally it would be more beneficial to make our life in the US, wherever I got a job. This was the plan and then cancer happened. So I have been at a stalemate for the past 9 months. So I began to think, maybe these things were a "sign" that we should make life in Canada. This thought totally feels foreign. It is also very difficult for me because my Dad is ill and I worry. I have been his caretaker for the past few years and the thought of not doing that (He has stated that he will NOT move) worries me immensely. Now, I am not packing yet, I just put the option back on the table for my husband. I listened through conference and was moved to hear about enduring trials and being charitable and the sanctity of families. I felt spiritually fed but confused about the next few months and our future. Thank heavens for modern day revelation. And now I need to go forward with faith and find out what life has in store for us in the next few months as I graduate and finish my internship and begin to look for employment.

Waiting for the leg to heal

This past week, I had a bit of a set back. Perhaps I should give some background to why all this has hit me so oddly. I have sensitive skin and it has made this whole cancer thing more difficult. I burned like a Crisco-covered banana from the radiation. And when wound specialists tell you this is one of the most remarkable burns they have ever seen, it is not a compliment. Then we discovered my massive allergy to tape and how the thing that was keeping my wound covered was basically eating my skin. Next, I had problems with sutures in my leg and having those wonderful wound specialists state that my leg looks "angry" and inflamed. I did not know that a limb could have such emotions. Perhaps I can also state that my arm fat looks sad and my cheeks feel proud. Anyway, I think at least 1 round of my antibiotics can be attributed to my "angry" leg and not infection. And it does cause me to have moments, please forgive me for my weakness, when I wonder why I didn't just give up and tell them to go ahead and cut it off. I did tell them (My surgeons) once that I was ready to cut my leg off and get on with my life. And I felt peaceful about the decision and was able to see the benefit of not going through all this wound healing and having a cancerous limb removed, but I could not accept an amputation very close to my hip. I also wondered what they would do with the leg and envisioned (although I am certain this is not what would happen to it) a landfill with limbs and my big ole fat leg laying on top. I even thought of those New Testament verses that spoke about if we have a part of our being that offends us, to pluck it out and rid ourselves of it. Well right leg, as good as you have been to me for awhile, you have offended me now for about a year. Yes it was a year ago this month that I noticed this lump and hardness in my leg. But then I go to Wal-Mart and run into people I haven't seen since this all began and notice how they stare at my leg or check to see if I still have 2 legs, yes, I have had people count my limbs cuz they thought I had plucked my offensive part from me. And even when I notice how weak my leg is, or how much my stupid knee hurts, and even when I feel how deformed the back of my leg is, I realize that I am a fighter! I didn't give up! And I continue to fight until the fight is won. So, I guess I choose this path and accept the road this choice puts me on.
So, the set back. On Monday I went on to the wound clinic for my normal visit. (Another digression: The people at the wound clinic here in St George are phenomenal!!! I always get a good laugh with the techs, I am treated with love and respect, and have individuals who care for me like a family member with genuine concern and compassion, There, that is my plug.) As Deidre, my Nurse Practioner was cleaning up my wound, she realized that as she rinsed my wound with saline it was coming out of a hole from my stitches 3 inches up my leg. This indicates that I have yet another tunnel. And my leg was looking uber "angry" and I still had stitches in my leg from my surgery 5 weeks ago. I returned to the wound clinic on Tuesday and had these very ingrown stitches removed. One of the doctors was certain that as soon as I bore weight, my leg would split open. He even said he would have bet a $100. Man I could have used that money! So, I have been confined to my bed and limited walking, sitting, and standing since Tuesday. As of today, Friday, my leg is still together and I am fighting to have it stay together. I would rather not experience the tearing of a wound opening up yet again. I did that last July and it scared the crud out of me. so, my organized mess of a house is not so organized and the mess is becoming quite bad, but my leg isn't open. On the dim side, I was told that even if it does stay together but does not heal properly or quickly, they will open up the leg anyway. It makes me think I am fighting for the losing side. So I talk to my leg and tell it to heal correctly, to think healing thoughts-if it can have emotions, I am sure it can think- and to behave himself. Don't ask me why, but my naughty leg is a he.
So, like watching paint dry and the grass grow, I wait for my leg to heal and hope I can get back to my life soon.