Time to Celebrate
Happy 6 months to meeeee! It’s been 6 months since I went in for surgery to remove a benign salivary gland tumor and received path results just 6 days later that it was cancer they took out.
Since then I’ve endured surgery recovery, 4 billion appointments, and 6 full weeks of daily radiation to my head and neck…alllll to make it to this point. The point where I can look back and be completely overwhelmed by the way that the Lord has healed me, provided for me, and carried me and my K.T. through this journey together. There’s simply no other explanation.
It has truly been the longest and shortest 6 months of my life. And it has admittedly taken me quite a long time to come to terms with why I’ve gone through what I have and to find some sort of peace in the fact that I’m 100% healed from Glanda’s wrath. Because for a while I didn’t believe that I was actually going to be ok.
But the Lord has rescued me again and has gradually impressed on my heart and mind that I was going to be ok and that the bible does, in fact, say over 200 times “do not fear” for good reason.
So, as I sit in the desk chair that has cradled me nearly every. single. day. of this journey, I can’t help but reflect on the weight of God’s sovereignty in it’s entirety. It is nothing short of a miracle what has happened: the steps that got me here, the people I’ve met along the way, and the way my body responded so well to treatment. Not to mention I get to sit in the department that treated me as an employee and have the opportunity to someday bless other patients with documentation from a patient perspective on what to expect. Thank you, Jesus!
Onward and upward, friends! Time to conquer the world!
5 Radiation Misconceptions
1) Radiation skin damage is just a sunburn
While radiation skin toxicity looks like a sunburn and can often feel like a sunburn, the skin itself is not actually burned as if from a heat source. Radiation treatment is used to destroy the bad cells in our bodies, but in the process some of our good cells also get killed off. Since most of the time, radiation is targeted to the inside of the body and has to pass through the skin to reach the target area, the skin gets compromised to an extent.
The more times and the higher the dose of radiation passes through the skin the more good healthy skin cells die, leaving the burn-like effect. What you saw in most of my pictures was actually raw skin rather than burned skin. The skin starts to slough off after a while leaving new, very tender layers of fresh skin exposed to the elements. This new skin also dries out very quickly since it is normally covered in a thicker barrier that is used to outside exposure so its very important to keep it moisturized until the new skin has time to grow.
It’s also important to point out that skin toxicity from radiation doesn’t emit heat and can’t simply be healed or helped in the way sunburns can. It’s more of a sit, wait, stay moisturized, and protect it game. It’s fragile, painful, and it’s nearly inevitable, but it’s also manageable.
2) Radiation is the easier option to chemo
It’s probably not fair for me to say that and call it a fact since I didn’t go through chemo, but so many people have minimized radiation as a cancer treatment in comparison to chemotherapy or others. The fact is that radiation comes with its own set of side effects and misery that take physical and emotional strength to endure.
I am not by any means minimizing chemo treatment and the toll it takes on your body and mind as you get a front row seat to your hair falling out among other things, but more so that ANY kind of cancer diagnosis and/or treatment is hard. It’s hard during and it’s hard afterwards. The two are just very different.
3) Healing begins as soon as treatment ends
Radiation is cumulative. It builds up in your system, so while you’re treatments may have ceased, the radiation itself is still going to be taking effect in your body for a bit longer. You aren’t considered radioactive so you are free to move about as normal and hold babies, however you typically won’t start seeing true healing starting to take place for around a week or two after treatment.
4) Radiation is simply a physical journey
It seems that since radiation doesn’t involve anything intravenous, oral, or anything else that is put directly into your body, that it would be more of a physical journey, but in my experience (as you know if any of you have been following along) this journey is far more than just physical. It’s the emotional and spiritual that have seemed to take me down on more occasions than what has held me back physically.
Of course, radiation is hard on your body physically. It better be if it’s going to kill those feisty little cancer cells, but I wouldn’t mind if they worked on killing off some of the doubt and fear that comes with it too.
5) Once it’s over…it’s over
I’m not referring to treatment here. Of course, when treatment is over then treatment is over. I’m talking about the fear, the worry, and the overall anxiety that tends to creep in after you undergo cancer treatment. I remember when I first began this journey after my diagnosis and people told me more than anything that cancer has a way of affecting you long after it’s gone. And I didn’t understand what they meant. But boy, do I understand now more than ever.
Unfortunately until cancer has a cure, the journey doesn’t end after diagnosis and treatment. However, so much advancement has been made in medicine and cancer research in the last 5-10 years that survival rates as well as funding is at an all time high. More and more patients are seeing longer survival rates than our families did in the past, and cancer is no longer an inevitable death sentence every time. Sadly it is sometimes, but I have no doubt that even those patients and families will see the same advancements in the years to come. The good news is there are brilliant, brilliant minds working on our health. And while they take care of the physical, it’s up to us to care for and nurture the mental, emotional, and spiritual for the most part.
Work hard to find your happy, surround yourself with the people you love and find interesting, be diligent about squashing negative thoughts immediately, and take one day at a time. That’s not a fix all…but I would sure argue that it’s a darn good start.
Auld Lang Syne
I fail to find the right words for this year so often (if there is such a thing) but here I am again writing stuff and throwing it out into the public like it’s different from all the stuff i’ve already said. The timing of little blessings like happening upon the words above on the last day of a hard year remind me of the Lord’s sovereignty and that on my darkest days, He is the best comforter, the God of peace, protection, promise, and perfection. And yesterday is not who I am. I get a fresh start and a clean slate every, single day because of His grace and mercy.
So as we officially send 2017 off and welcome 2018 today, I have a few things on my heart that I want to share with you:
Cling to faith
Since I rededicated my life to the Lord around this time in 2012, I can’t say I’ve had a bigger faith struggle than the last 6 months have been. I’ve tried to rationalize with things that are very clear in scripture, and I’ve let the devil get a hold of my thoughts and wrestle me to the ground more times than I can count. I’ve questioned God’s protection over my life and His purpose I’m certain He has for me. I’ve let fear totally overwhelm and own my days to where I’m paralyzed to carry out my purpose if I could even see past the fog to find my purpose that day.
It’s been hard. But I know I let it get to these circumstances at times instead of standing firm in scripture, dressing myself for (spiritual) battle daily, and reminding myself of the truth constantly. My heart loves the Lord just as much as always and I truly feel like He will use the tiny of bit of cancer that grew in my body to stitch me closer to Him this year, but He’s already taken that step. It’s up to me now. And Lord knows I need it.
The point is faith is the only thing that saves us. And it saves us daily if we let it. No matter what, start each day seeking the Lord’s face, the truth in His word, and the good He promises to his children.
Look for the good
Find the good in a cancer journey? Yep. 100%. I can come up with hundreds of things, people, places, and experiences cancer has afforded me that I know I wouldn’t have experienced others as well as people I met and places I went well before diagnosis that have folded in perfectly into this journey. And I know there are more to come. It’s more than obvious that the Lord has had His hand in this and has been preparing me all along. That’s where hope lies. Between the dr’s appointments, the scans, the memories, and the occasional tears, there are lives that need to be touched, stories that need to be told, and blessings that need to be given. And Lord willing, He will open my eyes to those things, point me towards those people, and show me His good in every moment.
Let the Lord change your definition of good this year also. Good isn’t what you want or what you think you need. Not even close. Good is what the Lord sees as the best for you in that moment from His sovereign perspective. Just let that seep in for a minute.
Accept change and pruning
This year is starting off much different than the last. Our plans have changed for what we hope the year will bring, our dreams are different, our people are different, and our goals are different. While I know that every year starts off differently regardless, it seems we have less constants this year than many others.
Some changes this year have been harder than others. Plans we had were forced to be rescheduled teaching us (again) that the Lord is sovereign. People were pruned from our lives, some intentionally and some unintentionally, that we know have enriched other friendships we have, including the one we have with each other. And of course the obvious changes in health have given us a run for our money.
So learn to go with the flow a bit more. Accept when things fall apart…better things are most likely coming. Shift your focus. Take a step back and gain a different perspective, and willingly take the road you thought you wouldn’t every now and then. You might be surprised the peace and happiness you’ll find.
Love Hard
Everything changed July 6th this year. There’s no denying that. And actually the real change happened when I married my K.T.. God knew I would need a helpmate for more than just every day life. He knew what we would face and that K.T. was the best to face it with me. And he has lived up to that and more. He’s lifted my chin, carried me on his back, taught me how to laugh again, and hugged me tight when my heart got overwhelmed and I couldn’t do anything but cry. When I say I couldn’t have made it without him I mean it and when I tell you he’s still helping me through each and every day post-treatment, I mean it.
There were unfortunately days that went by that I was exhausted to the point that my precious K.T. didn’t get his needs met, but the way I’ve seen him rise up as a man, a leader, a caretaker, a husband, and as my glimmering angel on earth has deepened my love to depths I didn’t know were possible.
I will spend the rest of my life loving that man as unapologetically hard as I can. And same goes for my friends and family. More hugs, more time spent together, and more sappy love notes to come. People are our purpose, yall. Make yourself a little more vulnerable and love them with all you have. It will make all the difference in the world.
So for 2018, it’s onward and upward as usual. Lots of faith, goodness, change, and love to come. Continued health, clear scans, and abundant blessings!
Happy New Year, friends!
All the Gross Things
WARNING: Gross pictures included
Many of you have heard my stories about radiation and others actually watched it happen, but what you may not have seen unless you work with me or live with me is all the disgusting things that happened to my body, in my mouth, and just in general over the course of my 6 weeks of treatment and healing up. So for fun, of course, I thought I would (over) share and tell you about some of those gross things and include some pictures of course. Here goes…
1) Nose bleeds
Around week 3, I had a nasty cold on top of being most emotional crazy mess I’ve probably ever been in my life, so that meant I was using A LOT of tissues. At some point during that time my nose starting bleeding at any and every nose blow, which created quite the situation given the circumstances. It also meant I was left with a two options: blow my nose less or stop crying so much. I’ll let you try and decide which one I ended up going with…
Thankfully the nose bleeds stopped once my cold cleared up and my emotions stopped owning me, and we no longer had to worry about me bleeding out every time I cried. Jk. It always stopped bleeding pretty quick, but that didn’t help me not freak out every time it happened. To spare you of blood, the pile of tissues (or snot balls as my father so lovingly calls them) from a meltdown gets shared instead. It. Was. Atrocious. And embarrassing.
2) Washing sheets/changing pillowcases
Each night that I went to bed from about week 4 on, I had to slather my cheek, chin, and neck with Glucan cream. At that time, my skin was just starting to turn pink which meant the radiation was starting to affect the more superficial layers of my skin. As mentioned before, the Glucan is designed to help slough off any dead skin that had formed on the surface so as you can imagine, I woke up with an interesting assortment of things on my neck (see next point). But because I couldnt cover the cream with anything, sleeping became super strategic meaning I had to try to stay on my right side or my back all night. I sleep like a 4 year old and flop all over the place and generally prefer my left side so I cant say I was particularly successful.
So to add to the journey, I woke up most mornings in a weird pile of unknown goo, Glucan, and a little bit of blood from the places that had already gotten raw enough to bleed easily. And because that’s gross, we ended up washing our sheets and changing pillowcases daily. Anyone else think changing sheets is one of the more annoying chores? Cool. Me too. Thanks, Goneda!
3) Maggot skin
So to my previous point, Glucan sitting on radiated skin for 8+ hours each night makes for mornings where your skin literally looks like it was invaded by maggots overnight. I’m not even sure I should elaborate on that one, because it’s gross enough without saying anything further, but just know that I went straight to the sink every single morning to try and verryyyyy gently remove these pretend maggots. Now, yall see why K.T. is such a good man?…he still slept in the bed with me with maggot face every night and didn’t complain once. Sick.
4) Ear leakage/crust
Well week 5 brought an ear infection and while my skin on the outside was starting to get pretty torn up, that also meant the skin inside my ear canal was experiencing some of the same kind of torment. But since my ear wasn’t getting as much exposure to fresh air to dry out like my neck and such, the weepiness from my skin falling off just kind of hung out in there for a while. So that meant when I went to sleep, my ear leaked a little. It leaked goo. Sometimes it looked like water and sometimes it had a hint of yellow or brown. Who knows what was actually going on in there. All I know is it was gross. Not to mention itchy.
5) Ear booger
If you were around me enough soon after treatment, you’ve probably heard about this little guy. Considering my entire ear crusted up inside and out and the radiation caused the skin to slough off and basically die, it’s not inconceivable that the inside of my ear would grow a friend for me to find…and because I cant leave anything alone, I did in fact find it.
One fine morning after my shower, I went poking around inside my ear with a sterilized bobby pin determined to find some relief from the dryness, itchiness, and general uncomfortableness of my ear being destroyed. (This is not where you tell me it’s dumb to shove things in my ear. I’m aware. But I do stuff like that anyway because I’m stubborn). I had been having issues with my ear leaking as mentioned above so if I suctioned my finger to my ear hole, I could get some water out on my finger every time. And man, was I tired of not being able to hear out of that side and the constant whirring noise I heard because of my ear canal being swollen to the size of a coffee straw.
So after a few failed swipes in there, I tried one more time. A twist and a slow pull and I had a bobby pin with a ooey, gooey, slimy white skin booger looking thing on the end of it. I could finally hear. Praise the Lord.
6) Rope saliva
This is one I didn’t notice as much since I was constantly chugging water and trying to get the trash taste out of my mouth or determine what type of food I was trying to chew, but basically your saliva turns to syrup and it makes strings from your tongue to the top of your mouth anytime you open it. Think melted cheese….sticky, stringy, and hard to swallow. Thankfully this one subsided quite quickly since radiation ended, but my saliva is still thicker than I would like it to be. Small victories.
7) Tongue ulcers
And finally, my little tongue. Reminiscent of the middle school days of braces, the side of my tongue that the radiation was going through shredded itself into a million tiny ulcers that at some point warped into one giant ulcer. Most of them were along the side and back towards my molars which hurt super bad to chew but a few cropped up on a tonsil or down on my gums. My tongue clearly took the brunt of it though. Salt…was a no-no, but let’s be real…I couldn’t taste it anyways. It just burned like fiery hell. The taste buds may have been gone but the nerves weren’t.
A Dose of Reality
Life is way scarier these days than I remember it. I remember sitting on our swing just a few days after surgery back in July and wondering how I was ever going to trust my body with normal aches, pains, and sickness again. And now I’m 6 months out and I still don’t know. More times than I care to admit, I’ve caught myself thinking I have a secondary cancer or that Glanda has returned on simple days where I have a regular headache or days when I just don’t feel 100%. Is that totally irrational? Yes. Do I know that? Yes. Does it still happen? Sure does. And many people will tell you that’s the normal progression of being a cancer survivor.
Cancer touches your life once, and it instantly reminds of your mortality and it’s continual ability (not definitive ability) to take breath, life, and love from our earthly bodies. And if I’m honest, I haven’t totally figured out the balance of everything yet. I haven’t figured out how to be ok with the fact that IF cancer is what takes me from this earth, that heaven is far better than the things I think I would miss here. I haven’t figured out why cancer is so much scarier than getting in a car, when a car accident is far more likely to take my life than my diagnosis (especially with my particular prognosis) But first and foremost, I’m trying to be ok with the fact that I don’t have it all figured out.
I have a habit of being extra, super hard on myself. (I can probably blame my 13+ years of dance for that) So I’m struggling lately knowing I don’t have things together in my heart and mind like I want them. I’m struggling past the 2 appointments I’ve had where the physicians tell me I’m doing really great and I look wonderfully healed up to be only a month and a half out of treatment. In the quieter moments, those visits slip my mind and crippling fear sets in.
So why say all this? Why write a whole post that sounds like complaining when I’m a cancer survivor, a healed body, and a life saved. Because I’m human, and I need you all to know that it’s not all sunshine and roses after treatment is over as you hope it might be. It’s still a fight to survive and stay healed…and that fight is more than just physical.
But please hear me when I say that I’m thankful. I would never go back to July and choose to do anything differently. I know with everything in me that the Lord has given me this adventure as my purpose and I know parts of it are well beyond my understanding. And I do know that heaven is far better than we what know and love on this earth. I will continue to fight despite how the fight feels sometimes. I will continue to pray when I feel the fear seeping in, and I will continue to inform and encourage anyone else that finds themselves on this treacherous journey.
The Lord is good. Always. He is faithful, and He is merciful. He is sovereign. He is our shelter and our provision. And he is capable of doing abundantly more than we could ever ask or dream. And at the end of the day, I hope you hear that in my heartbeat. Struggle is a part of life, but that’s why we need Jesus more than ever in this fallen world.
Week Nine – The Lull
If it wasn’t enough when they found it in my own body (and mom’s), it seems cancer is showing up closer and closer to my heart. More and more families are experiencing that dreaded feeling of the blood leaving your face as news is delivered and the absolute dread that deafens the room after. It’s not fair, but I don’t think it’s supposed to be. But the good part of it all, is the sovereignty and protection of the Lord, even though “good” is hard to swallow through circumstances such as these.
Last week was my first week back in the office full time instead of splitting my 8 hours between home and there as I was through the end of treatment and there after. I had missed my coworkers and feeling a part of things, and I missed the feeling of having a productive day that wasn’t interrupted by getting ready and driving downtown. I’ve been so anxious to get back to normalcy that I ran full force at it and filled my days with everything they used to be filled with. I went to the gym, I danced, I went to bed late, and I just kept going. Even the weekend before was filled with company, football games, traveling, and bike rides through fall air, too.
But at some point during the week I started to experience “the lull” that was so accurately explained to me on Friday. It’s that period of time shortly after you finish treatment. The time past the days you’ve fought through while various agents worked to actively kill cancer cells in your body. The days that are filled with healing, naps, and catching up on all the things you might have missed out on. But this lull brings a sense of fear with it that somehow coincides with healing and understanding you’re healed. It’s a fear that it’s coming back, that it’s not all gone, and that something still isn’t right. And it’s a strange feeling after such joyous celebration just a few weeks prior.
As much as radiation sucked at times, there was a peace and comfort in knowing something was actively being done about your disease is gone, but the thoughts and emotions don’t stop when treatment does. It’s harder than I’m comfortable admitting to remember all the wonderful blessings and the great prognosis I have and the perfect health I have otherwise, not to mention, the fact that a tumor that took over 7 years to grow was only 10% cancerous. 90% healthy cells.
And as I visited my surgeon’s office this morning for a post-radiation checkup, we also talked through the lull. How no matter how much time passes, the fear still creeps in. I almost giggle at how my pulse is always just a smidge above normal at those visits, but no matter how many times I get scared, there is truly no high like the feeling of hearing you’re free and clear…one. more. time.
So while some days are still hard, some days wear me out, and some days I feel like I’m prancing around on clouds, the lull is just another season that I will one day look back on and be thankful to have experienced. It will grow me. It will strengthen my faith. And I will be a better woman, wife, friend, employee, sister, and daughter because of it. Praise the Lord for the lull, this life, and for the opportunity to love.
Onward and forever upward!
How It Healed (Radiation Edition)
WARNING: GRAPHIC IMAGES
Post-op you may have read How It Healed that chronicled the progress of my incision and drain removal as it healed up, so I thought that it was only fair if I created one for my skin toxicity and it’s recovery from radiation.
I was unbelievably spared by the grace of God that my skin didn’t get any worse than it did. Through radiation treatment, radiation is passing through your skin and is measured out so that it hits an intended area on and around where you cancer is or in my case, was. The below pictures make it quite easy to see the totality of where I was being treated as well. The area went from slightly above my ear on the cheek side, all the way down my cheek, across to my chin, over my ear, and down the majority of my neck to my collarbone.
Now while I was definitely blessed to not have it as badly as some patients, I’m not going to lie and tell you it didn’t get pretty nasty and didn’t hurt like fiery hell throughout the process, but I made it with LOTS of cream, carefulness, and strategic sleeping.
So now as of today, I’m two weeks out from my last treatment and I’m almost completely healed up. My skin is soft as a little baby and slightly pink like one too. And I’m going to enjoy that as long as I possibly can. It’s kind of magical and has me wishing my whole face was like that, but you couldn’t pay me to have my whole face radiated. Nope, we’re done with radiation FOREVER.
Here goes…a whole lot of healing and a whole lot of graphic pictures of the process.
Week Seven
Yes…there’s a week 7 update (and yes, it’s late) but thankfully it’s not an update on week 7 of treatment. It’s week 1 of healing after 6 wretched weeks of treatment (Woo!) but also the week where there is the highest dose of radiation in my body so we’re not totally out out of the quicksand just yet.
As you can imagine, I crashed and burned last Friday night after my last treatment and all the day’s excitement. And honestly I didn’t move much all weekend. Saturday consisted of lots of Hallmark movies and an afternoon nap and Sunday was about the same but I added roughly 10 minutes of yard work followed by extra nap because those 10 minutes was all it took to wear me out again.
The rest of the week seemed to be a continuation of the existing symptoms. The ulcers on my tongue soon joined forces and created one giant ulcer down the entire side of my tongue and left tonsil, my ear got crustier and juicier, and my skin was still raw, itchy, and slightly scabby. However, the Cuticerin gauze I wrap up with every night like a mummy has magical powers and has jump-started the healing process big time. Still a ways to go, but I looked less and less like a mutant each day last week and that’s a huge win for me feeling like myself again. There were so many times I would forget how gross my skin got until I looked in the mirror was very quickly reminded that I looked like Two-Face. Seriously. (Stay tuned for a post on all the gross things coming soon)
I could go on about all the physical symptoms, but let me just tell you how incredibly thankful I was last week to not spend every single second thinking about when I was going to be treated next and what else treatment was going to do to me physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I have told so many people throughout this that there is absolutely nothing that anyone can do to prepare a patient for the emotional toll that going through something like head and neck radiation (or I guess any kind of radiation) will have on you. I’m not even sure I was able to articulate it well enough here over the course of things, but it was brutal.
There was no physical pain that I experienced that even got close to comparing how many times I wanted to cry simply because of the lack of control I had over what was happening to me, the unknowns I was forced to face every day, or the fact that time seemed to creep by slower and slower the closer we got to the end. I was tired and needed to rest for sure, but so many times I wanted to go to sleep even when I wasn’t actually that tired just to make it all go away for a few hours. And that’s hard to admit. I never felt depressed or wanted to quit, but it took everything in me every single day to get going and keep going until it was time to do it all over again the next day.
But I made it. I made it by nothing but the grace of God and a trillion naps, gallons of water to stay hydrated, and guaifenesin to thin my saliva out. I’m on the other side now, and the view is way better over here. I’m healing from a very long marathon of the last 4 months. And an unexpected 4 months at that. I’m still feeling crispy, crunchy, and tired at times, but I’m slowly getting my groove back and feeling like the Valerie that pranced into UAB hospital July 6th with two thumbs up and a goofy grin.
So what now? Healing, healing, and more healing. Followed by gaining 5+ pounds back, eating all my old favorites once my tastebuds come back, and finally celebrating my birthday since everything still taste kind of wrong for now. I’m going to eat SO much cookie cake.
On a different, more responsible note, I also have big plans for creating some sort of take-home resource for head and neck patients that draws from my experience and also incorporates good clinical practice so that more and more patients have an increased chance at remarkable success through treatment. I get that there are definitely challenges with this since everyone handles things differently, but I’m determined to contribute something from my experience to help future patients power through this beast better, no matter how small my contribution ends up being. I understand everything so much better now and the Road to RadOnc continues to make even more sense as these layers unfold. Add my technical writing and document design experience to the cool things I get to do at work now. Finally. God just continues to be the coolest dude I know.
So for the last weekly post for a while I’ll say it one more time….onward and upward! Here’s to healing up and being good as new very, very soon. And thank you Jesus for giving me this opportunity to share my journey with you all.
Unconditional
Unconditional. In sickness and in health. For better or for worse.
March 28, 2015, I married Kevin Tyler Powell and celebrated the hope and assurance of all of these things as I said, “I do.” I had no idea what our lives would bring us but we were 400% sure of our love and devotion to one another. And still are.
July 12, 2015, Mom was diagnosed with Stage II breast cancer, and he wiped every tear, eased every fear, and stood by me in absolutely every rise and fall we faced through her healing.
July 12, 2017, I was diagnosed with Stage II Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma of the left parotid gland. And the same is even truer somehow.
Since July, I have faced days where I have felt absolutely helpless. The days following surgery I couldn’t even bathe myself, but K.T. carried me to the shower and told me how beautiful I was as he sponged me off, rinsed the shampoo from my head, and washed the fear away from my eyes. I have faced days where I didn’t know what tomorrow might bring and he has given me hope from the Lord, strength through his promise to always and forever be by my side, and comfort by his steadiness. I have faced days where I felt utterly miserable to the point of not knowing what else to do but cry, and he has kissed those tears off my face and shown me what all of those things he vowed to me 2.5 years ago truly mean. And I’ve face some days where there’s still joy in my eyes and we can share a few giggles and a good dance off in the kitchen like normal.
I’m not sure if I can say I knew what unconditional looked like or felt like when we stood face to face with this journey for the first time. Unconditional is something I’ve struggled with even in my faith, worrying whether I was praying enough or spending enough time reading my bible and if I wasn’t did that mean my blessings would be less or delayed because of it, but I know deep down that the Lord’s love wasn’t dependent on those things. And now I know more than ever that K.T.’s isn’t either.
As I’ve shared in several posts so far, I’ve felt like I’ve been absolutely rotten to deal with on many occasions. Nothing has stayed the same long enough for us to get used to it before something else takes over next. The tears are not my norm, my tone doesn’t always come across sweet and polite, I’ve definitely looked more like a halloween costume over the last 6 weeks than I’ve looked like my normal self, and Lord knows I haven’t done even half of my normal chores and responsibilities around the house leaving it all up to…you guessed it…K.T. And he hasn’t once complained that he had to take on more, or dry another tear, or observe his wife in a different state than she’s always been.
I don’t write all this to make anyone feel any certain way. But I refuse to go through all of this and tell you all about it and just let K.T. stand in the wings and not get any honor for literally keeping me going most days. So as you read these words, I hope you will help me honor the impeccable man of love, grace, and true character that the Lord led me to marry. He doesn’t like the fuss so this won’t be his favorite post of the journey, but he deserves so much more than he gives himself credit for.
There are many blessings in this life, but he’s forever my favorite.
The Finish Line
I’ve somewhat avoided this post for a few days, mostly because I was too tired to think and also because I didn’t know if I could do the specialness of this day justice.
October 20th was a day I had been anticipating for every single second since I began radiation treatments on September 11th. And it was no different when I woke up Friday morning. I started with my usual warm bowl of maple and brown sugar oatmeal and moved on to my list of morning tasks soon enough before I started getting ready for my final treatment.
In so many ways that morning felt the same as the rest. I had gotten into a routine over the last few weeks, but I felt nervous and honestly a bit torn. I knew I was about to move into a new phase of this journey and I had just finally gotten used to this one. I had finally understood what was happening in my body and accepted it for what it was. But on the other side of the moon, I knew that I would start the true healing phase and have to wait on my body to adjust to not being zapped every day and start to actually repair itself.
K.T. had taken off the afternoon to be able to come up to the office and see me after I finished which meant he was also at home to kiss my face and send me on my way. It goes without saying that he had been looking forward to this final day for as long as I had if not longer. I was planning to write him as soon as they called me to get ready for my treatment so he could leave the house and head down and make it there by the time I came out of my undertreat visit for the week. Mom instructed I wear something bright and cheery (eyeroll) and since I had insisted on wearing a black dress, this was the compromise. She also requested a picture before I left, so scorched face and two thumbs up…this is what she got.
Around 3:15, my phone rang and they were ready for me. My friends followed me out to make sure they captured every moment and share in my excitement. So for the LAST time, I changed into my gown and walked down this hallway into the 2nd door on the right and crawled up on the table, told them my birthdate, positioned my head on the neck rest, placed my mouth piece in, and watched as they lowered my mask to cover my face and snap into the table…one….last….time.
I listened for the usual sounds of the vault closing, the imaging starting, the table positioning me to line up with the treatment parameters, the 2nd round of imaging, and lastly I watched for the pistons in the TrueBeam to begin to narrow and calibrate into my dosage and treatment area.
And then it was over. I rolled off the table and gathered my bag of clothes like I would be back for more next week, but instead I had my mask in hand as well as that wretched mouth piece and I was never going to lie on that hard black table ever again, Lord willing.
Back in my “last day” dress, I headed around to the front and prepared for my last undertreat with Dr. Spencer and Dr. Nikolaev. Again, my friends followed me up there and took pictures of everything.
Vitals, skin check, ear check, instructions for skin for the weekend, and a whole goody bag of gauze, medical wrap, cuticerin dressing, and Lord knows what else and I was done with this monster forever. Time to ring the bell..but K.T. wasn’t there yet and I was NOT ringing that bell without him.
My friends walked back to our office with me to put down my things and drug me into the break room around the corner before heading back up to the front to meet K.T.. Except we never made it back up front. The door swung open and nearly the whole department was standing there in support of me and finishing 6 weeks of head and neck radiation to kiss Glanda goodbye, once and for all.
Now, I’ve said I’m not a crier (and that’s true aside from the last 3.5 months) and I honestly hadn’t felt emotional at any point in the day so far, but when I saw 50+ people crammed in our break room yell “congrats” at me, I lost it. People from every single department: physicians, residents, billing, check-in, dosimetry, therapy, social work, admin, and physics. They had all come…for me. And right in the middle was my precious K.T., my parents, and my brother.
Once I stopped crying into my dad’s hanky, I tried to take in every moment and every face that had come to celebrate me as I knew it was something to treasure. Never in my life have I had that kind of work support, and as promised, everyone in the room got a hug and a big thank you for being there. I couldn’t help it.
Last but not least, my superwoman cape from Emily was strapped to my back and the last hooray for finishing 30 fractions of radiation. I had earned my super powers! So we ate cake, opened presents, and celebrated as much as we could for a late Friday afternoon.
And as I begin to wrap up this post, it’s really important to me that I express as much gratitude as possible to the people that were in the trenches with me through this. The people that dried my tears, listened to my fears, saw first hand what the effects of radiation were doing to my body, how the treatments stole my energy (and my weight), and comforted me with hugs, back rubs, and whatever else to soothe the emotions I didn’t always know how to deal with. The same people that encouraged me, checked on me, got me out of bed, made sure I was fed (the best I could be), made sure I was hydrated, lubed up with cream, and made sure my heart had time to share, and most of all made sure I was getting enough rest so that my body could recover the best it could between treatments.
To my selfless angel of a husband, our two little kiddos Fox & Stella, my parents and brother, my co-workers, my doctors and nurses, and my therapy team, I will never be able to thank you enough or repay you for the way you cared for me during these days of struggle and days of healing. As much as I hate cliches, I truly couldn’t have made it through without you…
So Friday, October 20th finally came to a close. And while tired, beaten down, and emotionally drained, we made it one way or another. My parents came home with us and shared dinner in our home and helped us decompress from the day. But as I went to change into my Christmas pajamas (because Christmas is my favorite), I found this on my bathroom mirror…
Valerie Powell: Lovable, hopeful, joyful, loving, beautiful, resilient, positive, faithful, funny, inspiring, smart, selfless…and HEALED (which lined up right below my chin when I stood to read them all through tears) The perfect ending to a very long awaited day.
I will never, ever understand what I did to deserve this man, but thank you, Lord, you saw me fit to be his wife. Thank you for knowing my heart and his, and for blessing our lives with absolute abundance. I wrote this verse on my whiteboard in my office before radiation even started, and the Lord has been faithful. For Friday, October 20th…there is nothing more to say…
“Now glory be to God, who by his mighty power at work within us is able to do far more than we would ever dare to ask or even dream of—infinitely beyond our highest prayers, desires, thoughts, or hopes.” – Ephesians 3:20
Gone, Glanda, Gone 