What's Your 2009 Resolution?

Each year we all resolve to do something new or better for the coming year -- eat better, exercise, get out of debt, look for a new job, etc. Last year, one of my "resolutions" (for as much as I had control of it) was to focus on getting pregnant and do whatever was necessary to make that happen. Well, with one day of 2008 left, that's one thing I couldn't resolve to do. I tried, but came up short. I don't really have anything major in mind when it comes to 2009. My mind is swimming with all sorts of dreams and wishes and "wouldn't it be nice if's" for the new year, but it's hard to set goals when there's only so much control you have over making it happen.
Whether trying-to-conceive-related or not, what's your resolution or goal for '09?

All Went Well

Thanks to everyone for their prayers. My grandpa came through Saturday's surgery just fine. He was transferred to a rehab/nursing facility today where they'll get him moving again. Hopefully he'll be there for only a week or so. He already hates it and wants to get home.
We'll see him tomorrow when we visit for Christmas.
I hope everyone has a wonderful Christmas and holiday season!

Prayer Request

Tonight I'm asking for everyone's prayers, and this time they're not for Mike (although those are still always needed and welcome). Tonight, my 88-year-old grandpa fell and fractured his hip. He's at the hospital now and will have surgery tomorrow after 4:00 PM to have a screw put in his femur/hip. It sounds like he will be in the hospital for about four days, then spend a couple weeks at a rehab center before being able to come home. So, someone I love will be in the hospital for Christmas.
Please pray for a smooth, successful surgery tomorrow, and please pray that his recovery goes well and that he's back on his feet and functional very soon. I love my grandpa so much and worry about him and my grandmother constantly. We need your prayers. Thank you.

A New Chest for Christmas

No, not that kind of chest. I'm perfectly happy with what God gave me.
Last Friday, Mike surprised with a dresser for our bedroom. I came home from work, walked into the bedroom and there it was! He even dressed it up with garland and a big red bow.
Since we got married, we've lived like bachelors in some respect when it comes to bedroom furniture. We had his parents' hand-me-down bed and frame, a small and cheap chest of drawers, and Rubbermaid containers for any clothes we didn't hang in the closet. We got a new bed a year and a half ago, and hoped to someday get the other pieces of the set. Now I have a dresser all my own! He really got me with that surprise.

Pardoned

Well, we were all set. Ready as we thought we could be. Mike was scheduled to be admitted to the hospital tomorrow morning, around 7:30 AM. They were going to put a port in his chest, by his collarbone, into which they'd administer the chemo and draw blood to spare his veins. Then, hours later at midnight, they'd begin the heavy chemo which would be given every four hours. Several days of this intense treatment would reduce his immune system to nothing, leaving him highly vulnerable to the most seemingly benign germs. He would feel weak and sick and develop painful mouth sores. December 10 would have been the day he was given stem cells from his anonymous donor, and he would be watched for any kind of reaction. From then on, the next few weeks would have consisted of constant monitoring to see if his body was accepting these new cells, and we would wait anxiously for his blood counts to rise enough to allow him to go home. All told, Mike would have spent the entire month of December in the hospital.
Several hours ago, Mike got a call from one of the doctors on his team. Mike's donor has an infection and will be on antibiotics for several weeks, which puts the transplant on hold until after the holidays. We don't quite know what to make of this news. It's a weird mix of happiness and trying to turn off the adrenaline rush of a prize fighter. We were ready to go, or so we thought. But, it looks like we're getting what we wanted most -- Mike will be home for Christmas. We're getting our wish, in a way that's different from what we expected, and we'll take it.
The doctors may want to give him a little more chemo in the interim, which bothers me a bit, but at least we get to enjoy the holidays as we normally would. Just before he got the call tonight, Mike was getting ready to pick me up at work so we could go buy a Christmas wreath for the front of the house. That was as much decorating as we were going to do -- no tree, no lights, no Christmas knick-knacks. Really, what would be the point? Mike wouldn't be here, and I'd only be home to sleep at night. Now, we will go shopping for a tree as well as a wreath.
I guess the cancer grinch can't steal our Christmas after all.

Getting Harder

For a while I've felt the need to get more in touch with my faith. So, for the past month I've been going to a women's bible study at a church we found in the spring. Mike and I have also been making more of an effort to get to Sunday services. We have really been looking for a contemporary home church with a diverse group of people, and especially a lot of young couples. Unfortunately, with young couples come children and babies. At today's service, we were treated to a baby dedication. This couple brought up their adorable boy/girl twins and the pastor did the little introduction and brief prayer ceremony. I don't know what came over me, but I just got welled up with tears and they started streaming down my face. Normally, there wouldn't really be anything about such an event that would set me off, but today it just affected me in a way I never expected. I looked at the beautiful family and felt so shut out. I wondered if that would ever be us up there, and I just felt so hopeless and empty. Seeing people with their children is just getting harder and harder. I know right now my 100% focus should be Mike's impending hospitalization and transplant, but I still manage to keep getting poked in the ribs with this baby business.

Four Years

Long time, no post. Yeah, I've just been lazy lately.

The short update is that things are pretty good right now -- basically, the calm before the storm. Mike completed two rounds of chemo and we're now just waiting for him to be admitted for his bone-marrow transplant. As of now, it looks like he'll be admitted to the hospital either the Sunday or Monday right after Thanksgiving to begin the intense chemo that will eliminate his immune system, and then a week later he'll be given donor stem cells to replace his current immunity. From start to finish, Mike will be in the hospital for about five weeks. He'll be in the hospital for Christmas, and maybe New Year's. It's not the timing we wanted, but we're ready to get the show on the road and get this over with.

Today is our fourth wedding anniversary. Throughout the day today I'd be looking at the clock saying to myself, "Around this time four years ago, I was getting my hair done, or I was having my pictures taken, etc." Four years have flown by. This morning, Mike had a dental appointment near our place of work, so he dropped by around noon with a beautiful arrangement of roses (see picture). Everyone in the office was commenting on it all day long.

Mike also did a lot of stuff around the house like making the bed, washing the dishes (which were sitting for a couple of days while we seemed to have a battle of wills) and doing the laundry (which is a darn good thing because I was basically down to only Christmas socks and sports bras).

Yeah, Mike is a pretty good husband. I think I'll keep him.

Search for the Perfect Pants

I officially hate shopping for pants. And now, I'm getting close to loathing shopping altogether.

I need new work/casual pants, and I've needed them for a while now. I tried in vain to find pants several months ago, but after failing miserably, I realized I could just buy some capris and I'd be all set until the fall.

Enter fall. Now I'm back on the hunt and I hate it. Why are well-fitting pants so difficult to find? Maybe it's the 30,000 styles there are to choose from. There are short, tall, regular, slim fit, relaxed fit, easy fit, classic fit, comfort fit, tapered leg, straight leg, wide leg, boot leg, flare. If I'm lucky enough to find something I like (and that fits right), the pants are too long (I'm 5'3"). Men can go into a store, pick up a color and size that suits them, pay for the pants and go home. I don't think I've ever seen Mike try on clothing at a store before buying. He can't understand why women can't do the same. Men just don't get it.

Any favorite store suggestions? (Oh, and I could also use some new shoes.....)

The "Blockage" Approach....

As I wait for tonight's ALCS game to begin, I thought I'd share a really good resource with all my blogger buddies and anyone else who might stumble across this site.
Last year, Mike and I learned about an integrated energy healing system called Tong Ren. It was developed by a Chinese-American acupuncturist who combined Eastern and Western healing modalities in order to treat and heal countless ailments. Tam's theory says that diseases and conditions occur when proper electrical currents in the body are interrupted by blockages -- often found in the spine, neck and brain. When you release those blockages, the body's cells, muscles, organs, etc., get the signals needed to once again function normally. We came to this system due to Mike's cancer, and we have been working with therapists who are helping us address Mike's blockages and open them up so his body won't keep producing cancer cells. Cancer is probably the biggest thing the practitioners treat, and they heal so many, many people. Some patients do Western therapies along with Tong Ren, others do only Tong Ren (some along with acupuncture and Tui Na massage). Tong Ren practitioners have treated and healed people with everything from acne to cancer and multiple sclerosis.
The most amazing thing is that Ton Ren is often practiced as a distance healing, and no physical contact is involved. Many therapists treat people over the phone, and have the same results as those treated in Tong Ren classes.
So, by now you probably think this is all really weird and that I've gone "to the dark side" as one friend told Mike. I assure you, I haven't. Tong Ren has absolutely nothing to do with anything mystical, and it has nothing to do with religion of any kind. It's not a cult and it's not voo-doo. It simply has to do with sourcing out people's blockage points and correcting the condition of the body so it can function properly. As a Christian, I would never take part in something that compromised my beliefs.
Why am I sharing this? Well, blogger buddies, many of us know that the roller coaster ride of infertility makes us do some silly things. Some of you may find Tong Ren silly, but Tong Ren also works. Will it work for you? I don't know. But, I'm offering this up as something that may be able to help you in your plight. I don't believe we came upon Tong Ren simply to help us. I believe we were meant to share it with others.
I recently took a Tong Ren seminar, and I'm hoping to use my expanding knowledge to help others. Maybe this will help you. At this seminar, I made a new friend named Kelly. Coincidentally, she also battles infertility issues. She is 40 years old, has a two-year old son, and has been trying for a second. After a miscarriage several months ago, she was mulling over what to do next -- more IUIs, injectables, IVF, etc. She met with one of the acupuncturists/Tong Ren practitioners, who said, "Give me two months." At the second day of the seminar, seven weeks after meeting with the practitioner, she revealed to me that she just got a positive HPT. What her beta and future tests have shown, I don't yet know, but her story wow'd me....
If you'd like more information, you can check Tam's website at: http://www.tomtam.com/
There you will find all the basic information on Tong Ren. You can view TV news clips which will explain things better, read articles, see if there are classes in your area (they're called "guinea pig classes" but don't be scared by the name!), or even check their schedule of free conference calls (this is a great way to get treated right in the comfort of your own home). One note on the classes, be sure to click on "Guinea Pig Class Directory" on the main page to get the full class listing.
I could go on and on (I've already blabbered more than I planned to), but all I really want to do is provide a resource and allow people to investigate and pursue it if they so desire. Let me know if you have any success with it. Whatever brings you to your dreams, I wish you all the best. You deserve it.

Two Years

I've never been good at math, but I did some calculations last week and came to a sad realization: It will be at least two years until we have a child in our arms. The next year will be devoted to Mike's recovery from the impending bone-marrow transplant (of course), and then a year from now -- whether we find a way to do another IVF, or pursue adoption -- our efforts would take a minimum of 10 months to bring us to parenthood. When I really let that time frame sink in, it felt overwhelming.
Two years.
Two years until I'm a mom.
How can that be?
When I hesitantly mentioned this to Mike, he admitted he'd done the same calculations. We're trying not to dwell on it, but it's a bitter pill to swallow.
Meanwhile at work, I heard my manager telling some co-workers that his wife is expecting in February. When I first heard him talking about it to someone, my heart sank and I felt myself getting all hot and sweaty. My eyes welled up with tears and I tried to hide it (not an easy feat in our cozy work area). In April, a few days after our BFN, we were talking and he mentioned to me that he and his wife were having similar trouble conceiving and were beginning to undergo tests. He didn't share the details, so I don't know if the pregnancy happened naturally or as a result of treatments, but it just felt like another one bit the dust. I'm happy for him on one hand, while I'm fighting off the jealousy beast with the other.

My Happy Places

I love to take pictures. I especially love photographing things like sunsets and beaches -- they are my "happy places." For the moment, I'll take a break from writing and share some shots I've taken over the last few years. When I need a break from things, I'll just look at the pictures and click my heels three times....

There’s No Place Like Home

I guess I spoke a little too soon. Mike’s blood counts did in fact drop late last week, and it made it harder for him to fight off the head cold he picked up around the time he began chemo. Two of Mike’s sisters had taken me out to dinner Friday night, and Mike called me around 10:00 to tell me he was running a small fever. I came home and we spent the next few hours on temperature watch (a temperature of 100.5 or greater means we have to call the doctor and then go into the hospital). Over the next several hours, the temp fluctuated between normal and 100.3. At around 2:30 AM we finally decided to get some sleep, but when Mike took him temperature at 7:00 AM, it was over 101. So, in to the hospital we went. They admitted him and started and antibiotic IV, along with doing a CT scan of the head and a chest X-ray to see if anything else was going on. Both tests were clear. His blood work showed that his counts did dip, and due to the low white blood cells counts, he was considered “neutropenic.” That means he had a very low immune defense, and had to wear a mask if he left his room, and everyone coming in and out had to wash their hands. He also couldn’t have any raw fruits or veggies – only cooked foods.

Fortunately, he had a private room up on the oncology “overflow” floor, which is a lot nicer and is generally used by the more well-to-do patients. Of course, as Mike will tell you, the better floor doesn’t translate to better food. It still tests your gag reflex. I was able to stay with him all weekend, save for one trip home Saturday afternoon to get changes of clothes and some miscellaneous items. Gradually, Mike’s counts began to improve, and his fever eventually broke. He was released yesterday afternoon and we were able to come home.

I swear, when something like this happens (and it is common for patients undergoing chemo), you almost forget about the cancer because you’re so concerned with clearing up the immediate fever/infection threat and re-building the body’s defenses. Is it any wonder these treatments often scare me more than does the cancer?

Pleasant Surprise

I'm learning to be thankful for the little things in life. Right now, I'm thankful that Mike's blood counts are all within normal range. His counts were expected to drop by this past Monday's appointment, and the nurse was even all ready to start an IV and order him a bag of blood for a transfusion. But, when his labs came back, his counts were within normal range! His whites didn't drop as expected, so he's not at risk for infection, and his reds were fine, too. What a blessing. He doesn't have to go back for a checkup until October 2.
Mike picked up a mild head cold somewhere, but he's fighting it off like he normally would. His energy and appetite are normal as well.
I guess our prayers were answered in one way or another.....

We're In It Now

Last Monday, at 11:41 AM, we entered into a roughly 365-day relationship with chemo/transplant/recovery. That's the time at which Mike's first chemo drug began making its way through his IV and into his body. Mike handled it like a trooper. I wasn't quite as accepting.

First of all, we want to express our deepest thanks to those of you who joined us about a week ago in prayer for Mike's healing. Between the requests through our blogs, and via e-mail, we must have had hundreds of people praying all over the world. It was an amazing moment, though I spent most of our prayer time with God sobbing at what I still feel is His lack of direction and "blessing" on these treatments. I suppose I still want to believe that God didn't really want Mike to do chemo, and that through some intimate request for guidance and intercession, He'd reveal His true will for this situation. Unfortunately, I'm still left to wonder if we're doing the right thing. I don't want to keep second-guessing ourselves, or pouting, because it isn't fair to Mike. I need to be there for him and just be the supportive wife I truly want to be. But at other times I feel like I'm six years old again, not getting what I want from my heavenly father and I'm lashing back by sticking out my lower lip, crossing my arms, and stomping off to my room. That's really what I want to do sometimes, but I can't -- Mike and I grabbed hands, nodded to each other and jumped off this imaginary cliff together. We're in this now....

Anyway, back to the treatments, Mike tolerated them well. I went in with him for day one, by far the longest of the three days of treatment. We were at the hospital for 11 hours. It was so long that when the out-patient clinic closed at 5 PM, they had to send him up to the in-patient, 14th floor of the hospital (where the transplant would take place) to finish his last couple IVs. The irony of the 14th floor is that its shared with another meaningful department -- labor and delivery. When the elevator doors open, one way takes you to oncology, the other to L&D. When we turned to head towards the oncology ward, I kept thinking what a cruel irony this was. Shouldn't we be going to the other side of the floor? Was this just some colossal mistake?

Tuesday and Wednesday were much shorter, and Mike's dad dropped him off each morning and picked him up at the end of the day. Mike had a few moments of nausea, but mostly battled a lot of fatigue. This stuff just totally wipes you out. Since then, each day he's gotten a little more energetic, and his appetite is back to normal. Today he really seemed like himself, and we enjoyed a full Sunday of watching football and eating nachos and buffalo fingers.

Tomorrow Mike heads back to the hospital for a brief checkup and blood draw. It's about this time that his blood counts are expected to drop quite a bit. Hopefully, they won't be too low and the risk of infection and fevers won't be too great. We have several weeks of freedom before either another three-day round of treatment, or the transplant -- we don't need to spend any of this free time in the hospital.

We've been dealing with the "C" word for so long now that it's hard to remember what life was like before it was an integral part of our beings. All we want is to be able to look back at things 40 years from now and say, "Oh, yeah -- remember those few years we had with the cancer? Seems like ancient history." For now at least, life has become something that we do between cancer occurrences. But soon, we will make it ancient history.

This post has gotten a lot longer than planned, but I wanted to share one more story I promised to tell a few posts ago. I mentioned we went to a friend's charity benefit last month, and something strange happened involving the pregnant friend of a friend....

Allow me to set the scene: I have a friend named Robin (she's the one whose family was hosting the benefit). Robin has a friend named Roni. Mike and I have gotten to know Roni through Robin. Roni and I keep in touch every once in a while through e-mail, and I consider her a casual friend, but not someone I'm very close with. Just a really sweet girl. Roni has a little boy, around two years old. In my mind, I figured I'd see her at the benefit, but never said anything or gave it more than a passing thought.When I saw her at the benefit, I was shocked -- she had a very noticeable baby bump. Yeah, it stung. Like I said, I'm not really close with her, but she's still another person I know who is having babies. I hadn't really heard from her over e-mail for many months, and hadn't seen her since her first pregnancy. I had no idea she was expecting. Later that night, Mike asked me if I knew Roni was pregnant, and if I might have mentioned it to him at some point. I told him I had no idea about the pregnancy. Then he got this strange look on his face, and relayed the following story.....

Mike said that earlier that day, on our long car ride down to the benefit, he was having some quiet prayer time as I drove along. He said that he was praying for the usual stuff -- health and safety for family and friends, and that Robin's family had a successful benefit and that the weather held out, etc. While doing his prayer, he also started asking the Lord for guidance with the cancer issue. Mike asked God to please let him know that He was hearing him through all this, to show him somehow that He is with us as we deal with this trial. Then, all of a sudden, Mike had this impression upon him -- not an audible voice of God, but a strong "impression" as Mike describes it. The impression was "You will see Roni is having her second baby." He said it was such a strange, random thought. He even wondered if what he was getting at that point was real or not. Like I said, I don't have too much contact with Roni, and Mike has none. But just a few hours later at the benefit, as Mike was chatting with a friend of ours, across the way he saw Roni -- and her belly. He saw it, just like he was told he would. He said he was in disbelief when he caught a glimpse of Roni, was so startled, and was trying not to react or confuse the friend he was with. Was all this real? Did he subconsciously know about Roni's pregnancy and just forgot, or was God speaking to him, just as he asked Him to do? The magnitude of this was confirmed later that day, when I told Mike this news was as fresh to me as it was to him. We both were in total awe. It gave us chills. God spoke to us that day. He told us He hears us. He used something so obscure and so random that even our momentary skepticism and logical mentalities can't deny. He even used something that is quite a symbolic attention-grabber for us, considering its absence from our lives thus far. But it gave us another little bit of comfort and reassurance that God is there with us through this, and that we "see" that He will not leave us.

Asking for Prayers of Healing on Sunday, Sept. 14 at 9 PM Eastern Time

I am asking anyone who reads this blog to set aside a few minutes tomorrow evening (Sunday, Sept. 14) at 9 PM Eastern time and pray for Mike's physical healing from cancer. Mike is set to begin chemo Monday morning, and this will begin his journey towards a second bone-marrow transplant in about a month or two.
It doesn't matter what your spiritual affiliation is, or even whether or not you consider yourself "religious." What matters is that we have as many people as possible focusing at the same time on Mike's healing. The more specific you can be, the better. Mike's lymphoma (ALL) is presenting in his skin, specifically both his shins. Please pray that his cancer cells return to normal cells, and that his skin returns to normal and that any remaining cancer cells in his body heal as well.
Please ask friends and family, prayer groups, or anyone around you to join in this prayer as well.
For those of you who are comfortable doing so, please also praise God for his blessings and give thanks for the things we already do have.
Many friends and family have asked what they can do to help, and right now, this is what we need the most. Thank you in advance.

Left Behind

I just found out that one of the friends I grew up with is 11 weeks pregnant. She and her husband having been trying for the past few years, and her second IVF attempt finally worked. She’s got premature ovarian failure, and had been considering using donor eggs. I learned this via e-mail, as she called me and left me a message last week but I hadn’t yet returned her call.
I’m very happy for her, as I know how crushed she’s been about having this trouble, and seeing all her friends and family have babies. But, in my selfish moments (one of them being right now), it was nice to have a friend who was going through something similar to me. We did our first IVF cycles at the same time, and we’ve been supportive of each other throughout our trials. Now, she’s moved on and I’m no further ahead than I was 17 months ago. In fact, I feel further behind than ever before.

Mocking

On Wednesday, we found out that Mike's sister is pregnant with her third child. We're happy for her, of course (especially since she had an early miscarriage this past spring), but, well, you know. When she sent us and their other siblings an e-mail to let us know, I kind of sat there in disbelief for a little bit.
Then, today at work, our department had a little "congratulations" party for one of the guys whose wife is days away from giving birth. I didn't feel much like celebrating, but at least I got some cake and ice cream out of it.
Do you ever feel like other people are living the life you're supposed to be living?
Mike and I have adopted the term "mocking" to describe friends and family who announce they're expecting a baby. Now, we're not evil, bitter people. It's more of a joke between us when we hear of people's fertile exploits. One of these days, we hope to mock as well. For now, we'll just grit our teeth at the sight of other people's mocking.
In the midst of it all, I'm trying to keep perspective. When I was a kid, there was an ever-changing clique made up of me and the other two girls in our cul-de-sac. One week two of us were B.F.F. (best friends forever), and the next it was another two. When we'd play Chinese jump rope or some other game, the other two would always shout out "I'm first!" before me. I'd get annoyed, and I remember one time in particular I told my dad how angry it made me that I would always end up getting the last turn in our games. I'll never forget his advice. He said, "So, let them go first. If you go last, you have the advantage of trying to do better than them." That advice always stuck with me. I seem to be the "last" of my friends to do various things: the last to have a steady boyfriend, the last to get engaged, the last to be married, and, as it is turning out, the last to have kids. Now, I'm not implying that, following my dad's logic, I will have "better" kids than any of my friends, but perhaps in being the last to have a family, God is saving the best in my life for last. Maybe in making me wait, I will truly appreciate the blessing of children more than I ever could if they came easily. At least, that's what I hope....
On the health front, Mike is still doing well. We met with his oncologist this week, and while they don't have an absolute treatment plan in mind, they're going to recommend more chemo and either a full bone-marrow transplant or a "mini" transplant. We meet with a dermatologist/trained oncologist next week to get his take on things. If Mike were to do chemo, that would begin the following week. We're still working with the energy healers to try to make headway before having to go the chemo route.
I'm still trying to reconcile God's plan for us with all that's swirling about in our lives. The other day, a co-worker shared an interesting anecdote, and I found it fitting. She was telling me a story of a few years back, when her mother was very sick. She said she called her aunt, and broke down crying due to all that her mother was going through. Her aunt (who lived to be 105 years old, I believe) stopped her right away, and said, "You've picked a terrible time to lose your faith." This kind of woke me up, and as much as I hate to admit it, it's true. At some moments, I feel like my world is crashing in. I feel like Murphy -- and his law -- have taken up permanent residence in our living room. But even while I'm feeling sorry for myself, I realize that I need my faith now more than ever. Yes, I may get angry at God. Yes, I may not understand His ways. Yes, I may want to shout and throw things and just sit around and pout all day. But this is truly when I need my faith the most.
I've picked exactly the right time to embrace my faith.

Facing Our Giants

"Facing the Giants" became one of my favorite movies within the past year. I had never even heard of the film until Mike's friend loaned us the DVD. The movie is about facing the challenges in our lives, whatever they may be, and learning to give them up to God when we realize we can't handle it all on our own. The film also has a special meaning for me, since the sub-plot deals with infertility.
This scene always inspires me, and it makes me cry every time I watch it. What I take from it is this: NEVER write your situation off as a loss. KEEP GOING even when it hurts, and even when it seems too hard. We are always stronger than we think we are. Sometimes, it just takes someone else to point that out.

So Much to Say

(That title, by the way, is in tribute to Dave Matthews Band saxophonist, LeRoi Moore, who passed away suddenly yesterday. Once again, you never know when your time is up. Today, tell someone you love them.)

In our end of the world, not much has changed. Mike's spots are the same, but no new ones have appeared, so far as we can tell. He will have an MRI tomorrow night to get a better look at a questionable little area in his left femur, and we will meet again with his doctors next Tuesday. By then, we expect them to have their "official" recommendation about a treatment plan. In the meantime, we're also trying to get an appointment with a skin specialist recommended by Mike's dermatologist. We've also been doing our homework, and while the doctors say they've never seen acute lymphoblastic lymphoma (ALL) manifest in the skin this way, Mike (through the power of Google) found a 31-year-old girl in California with the same exact symptoms! They've been corresponding by e-mail and we will bring this up to the docs next week. If a team of five doctors with a combined medical education of about 40 years can't locate another case, turn to a tough S.O.B of a patient who won't take "we don't know" for an answer.

Over the weekend we attended a benefit hosted by a friend of ours. The money raised went to Alzheimer's research -- another worthy case. At the benefit, I saw a friend of this friend, whom I hadn't seen in two or three years, and found she was noticeably with child (number two). I have to admit my heart sank a bit when I saw her precious bump, but later that day I learned the significance of seeing her -- and her bump. But I'll blog about that in another post.... Later in the day, I also found out that one of my best friends (one of my matrons of honor), also in attendance at the benefit, is expecting number two as well! That one was tough, but I put on my happy face and did my best "Oh, my God! Wow! Congratulations!" What exactly is in the water back home? If I can find out, I'm renting a tanker truck and shipping it up to us for future use.

Now, if you ever want the "have you even thought this through" approach to life, ask a guy. Sorry, but it's true. Last week, Mike was talking to his best friend from college, Pete. Pete's a nice guy, but sometimes he just doesn't get it. Mike was telling him how we found out Leo got us another try at IVF right as we were finding out about the cancer recurrence. Mike was joking around saying, "What timing, eh?" Pete's response? "I think you should go ahead and do it anyway." Um, yeah. Chemo, fatigue, compromised immunity, perhaps a year of disability, one income and a pregnant Lauren. Let the good times roll.

Mike's other best friend from home tells him today that it's a great time to buy a house (we're renting one now) and we should really look into it. Um, yeah -- see above.

Other than all that, we've been continuing to pray and ask for guidance. There are too many choices ahead to make without God's help. I just hope He's listening.

Back Down to Earth

Mike and I have had some time to digest the news, and the shock has worn off. In fact, lately we've been functioning and acting pretty normally. We can't explain fully how we know, but he will be OK.
Since the biopsy results came in, we've done it all. We've shaken our heads, cried, said nothing at all, prayed, researched. His doctors can't explain it (never could) and we can't make sense of it. The docs sent him for another PET/CT scan last Tuesday (even though he had one only a month ago) and also did a bone-marrow biopsy. Both came back perfect. No trace of anything. Even the spots on his legs didn't light up on the scan, but the spots are still there. He feels fine and is healthy and fit in every way. If he never noticed the spots as he was stretching out at the track that morning, we'd never know anything was wrong.
The oncology team will meet and give us their best recommendation for treatment, but their suggestion will include some type of transplant, likely what they call a "MUD" -- matched, unrelated donor. Mike's sister was his donor for his first transplant in 2003.
In the meantime, we haven't been sitting on our hands. We've sunk ourselves heavily into an energy healing system we happened upon last summer. They've had tons of success with cancer patients, and now we've really gotten serious with it. One of the practitioners worked with Mike last weekend and helped fix some blockages he found. On Tuesday, Mike will meet with the "top dog" of the healers, the man who developed this healing system.
Also on Tuesday, we have a meeting with a lymphoma "expert" at the big cancer hospital in the city. This time, we're not rushing into any treatments out of fear. We will not let them scare us into starting anything without good concrete evidence for doing so. Mike keeps repeating a line from one of our favorite movies, "Apollo 13," saying, "Let's work the problem, people. Let's not make things worse by guessing." This whole situation has felt like a five-year guess.
Our employer has been great, with both our managers telling us not to worry about any time off we might need. It's nice at least to have that off our minds.
I've started talking to God a bit again. I guess I do need Him after all. But my stubbornness isn't totally gone, and I have to work on that. A friend and co-worker, Lisa, is a wonderful woman of God and has spoken prophetically to us before about the path of our lives. She's been really getting some wonderful things in prayer lately and it's helped hold us up during this ordeal. There is a plan for us -- a grand one. We can't see it yet, but it's coming. This situation will not end us. For too long, our lives have been so cancer-centric, and we must begin to shift our thinking to where He wants our focus. Last week, we watched "Larry King Live," as it featured one of our favorite Christian performers, Steven Curtis Chapman. Chapman and his wife lost their 5-year-old adopted daughter in May, as she was accidentally hit by a car driven by their son. The strength and faith that family exhibited through a horrific event really touched us. They've asked "why" just as we have, but they haven't let it destroy their faith. In fact, their faith has deepened. I'm trying to learn from that.
Oh, and our latest blip wouldn't be complete without some good ol' fashioned irony. Last Wednesday, our IVF "angel," Leo, e-mailed Mike to say that a fertility clinic in his state (several hours from us) will give us a slot for a free IVF cycle.
God really must have a sense of humor.

It's Official

The biopsy came back positive for cancer. I guess they'll have to do the usual final pathology to see if it's the same cancer Mike has had before, but we don't even need the confirmation. We know it's true.
I think I'm numb right now. Part of me is just relieved to finally have the news, the other part of me is terrified. This is one BFP we never ever wanted.
I don't know where we go from here. I know Mike's airhead of an oncologist will meet with the team and they'll probably suggest another bone-marrow transplant. I'm having none of that. I will not let him be their guinea pig. I will not let them put him through hell -- again -- because it might work. Screw that.
There is a better way and we will find it. We're tired of this roller-coaster ride and we want to get off.

Dear God

Dear God,
I haven't spoken to you in almost a week. You know why. You were there when Mike called me last Thursday to say he found a spot on his right shin. Do you remember those spots? The ones that sent us into a tizzy last June? The ones that led us to get another suspicious spot on his back biopsied, which led to a summer full of chemotherapy?
You were there when we drove into the hospital just a few short days ago to have his doctor check out his legs. You heard the doctor and several nurses say they weren't overly concerned and to just "watch and wait" and come in for this Friday's regular checkup. You watched as we breathed a slight sigh of relief, all the while knowing that these spots still looked all too familiar. You saw us go to our "healing class" on Saturday and pour our fearful hearts out to one of our TCM practitioners, who also didn't seem to think the spots were of concern. You heard the healer say he wasn't sensing any "chi" blockages in Mike.
You saw Mike e-mail his dermatologist over the weekend because this was all we could think of hour after hour. You were there when we decided we'd had enough of the mental torture, and went to the dermatologist yesterday morning for a biopsy. And now, I assume, you see us as we agonize in wait for the results.
I assume I have to remind you of all we've been through -- not just in the past five days, but in the past five years. I assume I have to remind you because I don't feel you have your hand in any of this. Where are you, God? We've been faithful. We've prayed, been prayed for, been annointed with oils. We've trusted, we've questioned, we've cried out to you and begged for your help. We've asked for you to lead us to the people/things that will bring about healing, and we've asked outright for a miracle. What more can we do? What do you want from us? Don't you know our frustration? Have you noticed that since this latest incident began I haven't even said a single prayer? What good has it done us so far?
We've had "signs" and we've had friends and others speak prophetically to us about our situation. Where is this new direction in which we're supposed to be led? Where is this new beginning?
Ask and it will be given to you? I’ve asked.
Seek and you will find? I’ve sought, and I thought I’ve found, but I've been wrong.
Knock and the door will be opened to you? If I knock any harder, the door will come down. Where are you, God?
Why do you continue to let us suffer time after time? How long do we have to fight this battle? When will you finally let us live our lives and enjoy this existence? And a baby? We can't even think about starting a family when we're fighting a new scare -- or worse -- every few months.
Are you angry with us? Are you upset that we've sought out alternatives and TCM practitioners? Didn't you bring them into our lives for a reason?
We've asked you for answers, God. We've asked for guidance time and time again, but it falls on deaf ears. I don't see how a loving father would allow His children to keep suffering like this -- physically and mentally.
Forgive me if I don’t feel like talking to you again for a while. Forgive me if I just don’t see the use.
Amen.

Please Pray for Us

We've had a scare this morning. Mike found a faint little cluster of spots on his right shin, and they bear a resemblance to the spots he found last June -- which turned out to be his lymphoma again. We're heading to the hospital later this afternoon to see his doctor. Please pray that it's nothing.....

Quick Update

I have so much to do, so I'll make this quick. The short version is that we saw our "angel relatives" over the weekend -- the ones who worked behind the scenes to get us our two IVF attempts for virtually nothing. We got to thank them, which we've been waiting a long time to do.
We found out that Leo is still trying to work a deal with an IVF clinic -- he's met with a few, but so far none are interested in doing any pro bono work. Even the hospital where Mike's gotten cancer treatments over the past few years didn't bite. Don't we get frequent patient miles or something?
When she first saw me Thursday night, Leo's wife, Karen (the actual blood cousin -- Leo is the cousin-in-law) got the saddest look on her face, and motioned to me like she wanted to take my face in her hands and squeeze my cheeks. She kept asking how I was doing, and later kept saying to me in her best near-tears voice, "We have to get you a baby...." as she hugged me. Oh, did I mention she was already three sheets to the wind when I arrived? Drunk honesty is the best.
So, much as I wish I could, I can't say the weekend brought any real news about moving closer to more IVF (though we had a great, relaxing weekend with family). To add insult to injury, Mike got a rejection letter in the mail yesterday from a state job he applied for last month. For those who don't know, state jobs have amazing benefits and we would have been sitting pretty if he got the job. The search continues.

The Lone Embie

Not that it makes a huge difference at this point (the plan is still to move on to a fresh cycle), but the one embryo we have left in storage is in pretty good shape. The head doc for the lab returned my call today to give me the details about our lone embie. It's a six-celler, has good morphology and has an overall grading of fair (which, she said, is pretty good even though it sounds sub-par). I don't think we'd have the guts to do a frozen cycle with just one embie, but it's kind of nice to know it's there waiting for us.

On another note, this weekend we're going to see Mike's dad's cousin, Leo -- the man who helped make our two IVF attempts possible. He works in the industry (selling lab equipment to clinics), and through a series of events helped us get our two cycles for nearly nothing. We saw it as an answer to our prayers. We found out later that he had reached out to family members on our behalf, and a well-to-do relative stepped up and fronted the money for our IVF. Over the next couple days, we will see both relatives at a charity golf outing, and we can finally thank them in person. We're also hoping Leo has some news for us. He has taken it upon himself to continue to seek financial backing for our efforts. He's been a true blessing. Wish us luck....

Faking It

Yeah, I fake it. I fake it all the time. I wouldn't want to hurt someone's feelings, after all. Why should they feel badly just because I'm not getting the good stuff?

OK, now get your mind out of the gutter. I don't fake that. I fake acting like "it's just a matter of time" and the whole pregnancy thing is "gonna happen for us." I fake that it doesn't bother me and that it's not a big deal. (I do believe it will happen for us, by the way, but I hit a bad mood in the last hour, so I'm gonna ride the pity wave a bit and see where it takes me.)

Yesterday was our niece's fourth birthday party. She was so sweet and cute opening her gifts (then fighting over them with her two-year-old sister) and playing in her pool with the cousins. But that darn feeling began to gnaw at me again. How much longer until it's our turn? My sister-in-law (the kids' mother) and I talked a bit about the whole thing. She's always checking in on our progress and she sincerely hopes for our success. She shared stories of friends who have gone through this, one even ending up with triplet boys. It gives me hope, yet I still have to bury that "well that's fine for them but it'll never be me" feeling. Overall, the day was enjoyable and I don't have a problem hanging out with the kids. They're family, and it's not difficult for me to be around them. I just wish I could add another cousin/niece/nephew/grandchild to that kiddie pool.

When I got home from work a couple hours ago, something put me into my "I hate the world and everybody in it" mood. It was nothing specific that set it in motion, but it got me going good. Just to torture myself even more, I listened to the Kellie Coffey song on my playlist. Maybe I figured it would force out of me whatever was nagging. I think it made things worse. Luckily Playlist.com went down before I could hear "Baby Mine."

I wanted my second blog post to be uplifting, funny or light, but that's not where I'm at right now. In the interests of "keepin' it real," I'm decided to keep on my pouty face and write what was on my mind. That's what a blog is for, isn't it?

Overall, I'm an optimist by nature. I always think anything good can and will happen. When I hear on the news about missing hikers, I'm sure they'll be found alive and well by sundown. If someone's sick, I'm sure either some medicine -- or some miracle -- will come to save them. When my Mets are down by four runs and are down to their last strike, I still think they're just a few dramatic base hits away from victory. And I'm sure that even though we've tried twice for a baby and failed, our miracle is out there somewhere, someday.

But, on this day, I just don't feel it.

This Is My Story

So, I woke up yesterday with a terrible headache. Maybe it was because of the heat, maybe I ate dinner too late the night before, or maybe subconsciously I knew I had to be up early for my appointment with "the bad doctor." Yup, I had my annual exam. No big deal -- been going for about 15 years now, but it's nobody's favorite way to start the day. So, I went in, and of course there are two preggo girls in the waiting room. I'm sure they were there for ultrasounds and "baby talk" with the doctor. What I wouldn't have given to get to talk about how much I'm puking every morning or why my new pants don't fit anymore.
Anyway, I made it through, and by the time I got to work, my head was splitting so badly it made me nauseous. When I told the guy next to me how awful I was feeling, he whispered, "Maybe you're pregnant." Dude, if you only knew.
I haven't totally given up on it, but I don't really expect us to conceive on our own. My husband, Mike, is a cancer survivor and his past cancer treatments have left him infertile. Fortunately, five years ago when he was first diagnosed, he was advised to bank his sperm for future use. Thank God we listened. Two "deposits" yielded 13 vials of sperm -- not enough for IUIs, but plenty for IVF. So, in the spring of 2007, we finally gave IVF a try. No luck. Just as we were getting ready for our first frozen embryo transfer, Mike was diagnosed with a recurrence of his cancer. That became our big battle last summer. Once Mike was finished with treatments and doing very well, we went ahead with our FET this past spring. We really thought this would be it, but it failed again. Now, we're in limbo as we wait for Mike to get a new job that has insurance coverage for IVF. There's no way we could ever afford to do it on our own.
This is where we stand -- one frozen embie and 12 vials of sperm just waiting for us. The storage bills are already coming in. Mike jokes that the kids aren't even here yet and they're already costing us money. He thinks for all the money we're paying, we should at least get visitation. We could just drop by the clinic on weekends and holidays and tell them we'd like to see our stuff. They'd lock us up for sure....
Even if nobody but me reads this blog, it's important for me to write about my experiences. Mike and I have another blog that we keep for family and friends to let them know what's going on in our lives, but I'm careful to keep this part of my life separate. I don't think anyone's interested in when I ovulate. So, this blog is for me. I'm going to keep it as honest and real as possible. That's the best kind of writing.
I've watched my friends and family members get pregnant with ease, and I try to hide my envy. Yes, I'm happy for them, but I only wish I could share their joy. I wonder what it must be like to make love to your spouse knowing you might be creating life. How wonderful that must be. Don't misunderstand -- I'm so very grateful. I know that we are where we are because saving Mike's life was a priority over anything else. I know I'd rather be married and barren than be a widowed mother. Mike is my whole life, and I know he wants a family as much as I do. I do believe God has a plan for us. I sometimes get angry that His ways don't always make sense to me, but I know that doesn't mean He isn't with us. That's something I struggle with, but I'm doing my best.