Catchin' Up

Hello dear friends,

The title of this post was originally meant to convey something like, "Hey, haven't seen you in awhile.  Let's catch up!"  However, I've realized that this may be my life's motto for the next nine months or so.

No, I'm not pregnant.  It will be nine months before the end of this school year, and by that time I think I will be ready to cut the cord from my little 9th and 10th grade darlings.  If you had not heard, via the FB or me screaming it from the mountain tops, I got a job.  A really fantastic job too, despite all the whining you will inevitably read hereafter.  I am teaching 9th and 10th grade English in Draper, and enjoying myself immensely.

While living in Hawaii this summer (it's a rough life) I got a text from the principal of Corner Canyon High School in Draper that read, "Kelly, if you are still interested in the job, it's yours."  I literally, and I mean literally, could not believe it.  I had been turned down TWICE for this job.  My ego was shot to crap.  I had packed my bags for Hawaii, absolutely sure my dreams of teaching would have to wait another year.  All the while I was strolling along of beach and marveling at the beauty Oahu and the Big Island have to share, in the back of my mind I kept thinking, "Another failure.  Another road block.  Another hurdle to deal with, another door slammed in my face."  Very optimistic, I know.  However, if you will remember, the past several years have not been the best.  Shattered heart after a broken relationship.  Eleven temp jobs in the seven years since I graduated college.  A mission that was not what I expected in any regard.  Very expensive attempt at graduate school that blew up within six weeks.  Cancer.  Twice.  Wah wah wah.  I'm not saying I've had it harder than anyone else; I'm just saying things have not gone smoothly since I received my diploma in 2006.

This is why, on that muggy July morning, I simply could NOT believe something wonderful had actually happened.  I thought maybe the text was a mistake.  Perhaps she meant to send it to someone else?  Or maybe it was a horrible joke, as I could not stop thinking that NO principal sends a job offer via text!  But nay, it was a very real job offer.  I quickly accepted, got on a plane about a week later, and tried to figure out what in the world I was going to teach my 200 minions.  Now here I am, four weeks later, and still standing.  The first few days of work-school, I would come home, collapse on the couch, and not move for at least two hours.  Now, I come home, collapse on the couch for a few minutes, but then am ready to take Milo for a run or figure out lesson plans for the next day.

Oh, and yes, I have started running again.  Not every day, and not quickly at all, but I am jogging again and enjoying it.  I feel like my body finally has begun to heal.  It's taken quite awhile, but I'm starting to feel a little bit like myself again.  For the past three, four years, my body has been a stranger to me.  It got tired from very little to no exertion.  It wanted nothing more than to lay on the couch for hours at a time.  It wanted carbs and chocolate exclusively, and ferociously guarded its fat stores.  It kept gaining weight, feeling sick, and despairing that it couldn't change anything.  My joints would ache, my head was foggy, and the pit of my stomach churned 24 hours a day.  My poor body was in a sad state of affairs, to say the least.

The good - no - GREAT news, is that things are looking up.  Lately, I've attempted to feed my body with more than cold cereal and french fries.  For some reason, I could not stomach many things during the cancer years.  Red meats made me want to die.  Vegetables tasted like dirt.  Even fruit didn't taste delicious like they had.  Now I am drinking green juice, eating vegetable soups, and even getting a piece of steak down once in a while.

I still have lots of work to do, weight to lose, lessons to plan, and optimism to reestablish.  I am not the same bright-eyed girl who left Provo full of hope, sure everything in the future would be fabulous.  Now I am much more grounded, much more realistic, and a little scarred from my learning experiences.

But I am still hopeful.  I love my students, my co-workers, my family and friends.  I am surrounded with supportive people who have never let me think for a second that I can't be happy and successful.
There is still so much to improve, time to be made up, hence the name "Catchin' Up." But I can only do things a day at a time, and I feel like I'm doing a pretty ok job at it.

The Promised Gross Pictures

Right before being wheeled in for surgery - let's do this.

Still passed out cold.

Do IVs hurt anyone else? I hate them.

Close up of the drain with bandages

Close up of drain withOUT bandages - ewwwwwww

Me and my little friend - yeah, that's my blood.

Best moment of my life - getting that drain out

Close up of the bandages with two weeks of my funk under 'em

Felt so great to finally get those bandages off

This outlined area is numb - I HATE feeling numb

Gold's Gym Rant

I know I promised gory photos of my surgery and such, but as those pictures are on my dad's camera and I keep forgetting to ask him for copies, you are gonna have to wait.

In the meantime, I would like to share a terrible experience I had with Gold's Gym.
"What does this have to do with thyroid cancer?" you may ask.  They are very much related, as you will soon read.

In July of last year, I was feeling that perhaps I was ready to hit the gym once again.  It had been almost a year since radiation, my classes weren't too terribly stressful, and I had some cancer-chub to lose.  Because of it's extremely convenient location of only a mile or so from my place, I chose to join Gold's Gym.  I had been a member before, and while there is nothing spectacular about Gold's, I figured the closer my gym was, the more likely I would actually drag my butt there.  I signed up with the perky blonde sales rep, who told me I would have a free personal training session.  Free, you say?  Hard to pass that up!

My session with Thomas was fun and a great workout, so when he asked if I would sign up for more sessions, I thought it might be a good idea.  After all, I had quite a bit of work to do on this battered body, and could use all the help I could get.  I was hesitant, however, because in the back of my mind I felt that my time with cancer wasn't over.  Thomas assured me, over and over, that if I did have a recurrence the gym would work with me and make sure everything was fine.  Because I am a gullible idiot, I took Thomas at his word and signed my name on the dotted line.

My sessions with my trainer, Andi, were all exhausting and fun, and so I felt satisfied with my purchase.  I could feel my arms and core getting stronger, so while I wasn't losing any pounds (thanks a lot, no-thyroid), I felt like it was a great start.  One of the most difficult parts of hearing that you have to undergo another serious surgery is that you have to begin at square one in the exercise department, yet again.  All my hard work flew right out the window when I saw the results of my CT scan.

Distressed, I told Andi my concerns.  She was very supportive and kind, and told me to get a note from my doctor explaining my condition, and how I wouldn't be able to work out for awhile.  Confident that Gold's Gym would help me out, I drove from Sandy (where I was staying with my folks in preparation for surgery) to the corporate offices in Orem.  I walked in the front door and asked one of the buff guys behind the desk where I should go, and with whom I should speak about my situation.  He directed me to go outside, take a right, and in the doors there.  He said he would love to help but, "If you try to do that here, we have to charge you a $25 to put a freeze on your account.  Upstairs they can waive that, they do it all the time."

I walked around, went in the doors, and told the receptionist my problem.  She directed me to some desks behind her, where one of the sales reps could help.  I told the girl behind the first desk my problem, that I had a recurrence of my cancer and would not be able to use my personal training sessions.  She asked if I would like to put a hold on my account.  I told her that would be great, for the time being.  In my mind, I though putting a hold on an account meant I would not be charged the monthly fee, and thus would not be able to use the services for a time.  The girl told me there would be a $25 charge for a freeze.  I told her what the guy in the gym had told me, and she gave me a look like I was some kind of moron.

"Uh, I don't know what he was talking about," she said, her left eyebrow raised in disbelief, "but we ALWAYS charge the $25.  It isn't an option.  That will be $25."

I was a little taken aback with her rude tone, but immediately decided not to argue with this chick.  She was muscley and tough-looking; a little mannish, if truth be told.  I was intimidated, so I handed over my credit card.

After I signed the receipt I asked, "So when do the payments stop?  Is it too late to stop them this month?"

Rambo-chick narrowed her eyes at me.

"The payments DON'T stop - you will still be charged every month," she said, acting as though I had just asked for a free Ferrari and a date with Ryan Gosling.

"Wait," I said, "so what you're telling me is, I just paid $25 for nothing at all?  If a 'hold' on my account doesn't stop payments, what am I paying for?"

She looked even more annoyed, and told me I was putting a hold on my account so that I wouldn't lose any of my months on my membership, or any of my sessions.  I tried to explain that I wasn't sure when I would be able to workout again, between major surgery and radiation.  Rambo-chick said sorry, but there was nothing she could do.

"I'm sorry," I said, "maybe I didn't explain properly.  I have CANCER.  CANCER.  Like, multiple tumors growing in the lymph nodes of my neck.  Are you telling me that Gold's Gym won't help me out?  That nobody cares that I will, tomorrow, be going into surgery to have my neck cut open?  There's NOTHING you can do?"

I'll admit, I was being a little dramatic.  But cut me some slack - I had just had an MRI (not fun, let me assure you), had a formidable surgery the next day, and would potentially be laid up for some time.  I was exhausted and scared, and this woman is telling me that, hey, sucks to be me.  As though I needed to be told.

Rambo-chick shrugged her shoulders.  "There is nothing in the contract you signed that gives allowances for health problems.  You can't get out of your contract because of a health concern."

At this point I was so angry and frustrated, I couldn't think straight.  I should have asked to speak to a manager, I know.  I should have done a lot of things, but because I was in no frame of mind to deal with one more stressful situation, I turned around and left. 

I stormed to my car, closer to tears than I had been ever since learning about my cancer recurrence.  Businesses get screwed all the time, I get that.  I understand that people try to worm their way out of paying for services all the time.  I even understand that the contract did not make allowances for my situation but COME ON.  There is nothing they can do to help me??  They can't stop payments for a month or two while I am trying to recuperate and pay back thousands of dollars in hospital bills?  How was cutting me a little slack, giving me just a little help, going to hurt them in any way?

Sigh.  Sorry for the rant.  It feels good to get that off my chest.  I also feel badly because I have really enjoyed working out with Andi, and was looking forward to getting back to it someday.  Now I know I will just be resentful and angry anytime I walk in that cursed gym.  I might have to lose the cancer-chub some other way because even thinking about going to Gold's makes me want to sit on the couch forever, simply out of spite.  

Because you were good enough to read this entire post, I will not reward you with a somewhat gross pictures I just remembered was on my phone:

No More Blood, PLEASE

Today has been very productive.  I was out of bed before 9:00.  I showered.  I washed my hair.  I took Milo to the dog park, despite the nasty air and frigid temperatures as of late.  Then I came home and promptly fell asleep.  Still, this is an incredible amount of activity compared to what I've done the past week.

I had a follow-up appointment with my surgeon, Dr. Riddle, on Monday.  He looked concerned as he told me what had happened during my surgery, and what to expect in the near future.  Dr. Riddle told me he removed 16 lymph nodes from my central neck, 11 of which were malignant.  He then removed 10 lymph nodes from the right side of my neck, only 2 of which turned out to be malignant.  This was surprising to everyone, as we had thought I only had perhaps 3 or 4 in all.  The ultrasound had shown the ones of the right side, but the CT scan only lit up with something in my central neck, not a distinct number of tumors. 

No one knows why I still had so much disease in my neck, but it could be that during my first surgery Dr. Kim did not venture as far down as the cancer had spread.  In any event, Dr. Riddle felt that he had gotten the remaining tumors out, but felt badly that he hadn't had time to revise my scar like he had hoped.  I tried to assure him that I did not care at all, that making my scar look pretty was the absolute last thing on my mind, but I think he still worried a bit.

There is about a 99.9% chance that I'll have to do the radiation again this summer.  I'm not excited, as you can imagine, but at least I have a few months to recover from getting cut up!   For now, I'm still fairly tired and my incision is sore and itchy, but I feel infinitely better.  I'm off the Loratab, the drain is out (thanks again Sharla!!), and I can stay awake for more than a few hours at a time.

I will say, if I have to see my own blood again in the next couple of weeks, I'm going to lose my mind.  While checking in with Dr. Riddle, he asked that I get some blood drawn to check my calcium levels, etc.  The nurse walked in with a couple of vials and a needle, and I felt like I was going to scream.  My inner arms are still covered with bruises from getting shots and blood taken in the hospital, and my left hand has a tender lump from the IV.  I've never been good with blood and guts, and after carrying around a drain with my own blood in it for several days, I never care to see it again.

As far as the future, I plan on recovering for the rest of the week, then I hope to begin my job search.  Here's the problem: most schools will begin interviewing for the 2013-2014 school year at the end of February, beginning of March.  I feel confident that I will be able to find something for the fall, but what should I do until then?  I have February though August to worry about, and what kind of job can I get for six or seven months?  I can't even begin to express how tired I am of job-searching.  I've had no less than EIGHT jobs since I graduated from college, and would love to find something that I can stay with for the next 5 - 10 years at least.  Whah whah whah.  I'm sure everything will turn out.  So for now I am content to watch Gilmore Girls reruns and eat more Ben & Jerry's Phish Food.

Thanks again to everyone for your prayers and well-wishes, your thoughts and texts.  I really appreciate all the love I've received, and feel much better for it.

P.S. Next post I'm going to add some photos - get ready for carnage! :)

Zombie Report

I feel like a zombie.  Of course, I don't really know what a zombie feels like, but I assume grogginess, mindlessness, and exhaustion is about the extent of what they experience. Even with my brainlessness, however, I wanted to give everyone an update with how the surgery went.  Please excuse spelling and grammar errors, as well as any non-nonsensical parts - I'm still on Loratab.

Surgery went well, as far as I can tell.  My parents and I got to Mountain View Hospital in Payson (yes, PAYSON) on Tuesday around 11:00.  We waited in the tiny waiting room for about an hour, then I finally got to go back and pay my million dollars.  After the hospital safely collected my money, I was taken back to a curtained room where I traded my sweatpants for one of those super cool gowns that allows you to moon others with ease, and sandpaper-feeling slippers.  I waited for another hour or so, watching Frasier reruns while Dad talked on his cell phone and Mom dozed.  A nurse finally came back with a rolling bed for me to climb into, and after some hugs and reassurance (from me to Mom, mostly), I was taken back to yet another room to wait.  Here, the nurse, who I believe was named Rhett, asked me about student teaching while he put an IV in my hand and gathered all my hair into a net.  Rhett was extremely nice, and told me about his experience in junior high with a student teacher.  All good things, he assured me.  After the IV was taped to my hand and I had waited just long enough to start feeling anxious again, the anesthesiologist came back to tell me they were about ready to start.  Another nurse, Laura, told me they were going to start the drugs that would make me loopy.  I remember being wheeled into the surgery room, starting to feel goofy and happy about everything.  Pretty sure I would make a cheerful drunk. 

The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a recovery room.  My throat hurt, my neck hurt, and I could hardly get my eyes to open.  I've never been very good with drugs.  Every time I've had to have anaesthsia, I have the hardest time waking up.  After my first thyroid surgery, in 2011, it took me a good week to be able to keep my eyes open for longer than 20 minutes.  This time has been much better, but I've still managed to sleep most of the day ever since the surgery.  It was difficult to get much quality sleep while in the hospital, as the nurse came in every half hour to take my temperature, check my vitals, etc. and the stupid blood pressure cuff kept waking me up in between her visits.  Though I do not like being in the hospital, I can't say enough nice things about the nurses there.  I've never met such kind, helpful people, and I'm so thankful for their good attitudes.  There's nothing so bad as a grumpy nurse, and nothing so wonderful as a happy one. 

My surgeon, Dr. Riddle, came by Wednesday morning to talk to me, and let me know I could go home.  He told me I had to keep my drain in (ugh) but there was no point in staying at the hospital with how well I was doing.  My dad quickly drove back down to the hospital to pick me up, though he had to wait about an hour while I had a calcium drip in my IV.  The parathyroids deal with the body's calcium, and since my thyroid bed had been messed with yet again, Dr. Riddle wanted to make sure my calcium levels stayed normal.  By the time the nurse shot some regular IV fluid into me to clear out any left over calcium, I was ready to punch him in the neck.  My IV hurt terribly, though not as bad as the last surgery.  Maybe I have wussy veins, but my hand STILL hurts from the stupid IV.  A heating pad wrapped around my hand and forearm has helped, but I still can't shake the feeling that I am being a baby about it. 

Today is Friday, which means I haven't showered in four days.  Yum.  I'm sure my hair looks like a greasy rat's nest, and though I've tried to do little sponge baths, who knows what I smell like.  I don't really see how I can shower or do anything with my hair while I have this drain in my chest.  It's just a small tube that runs from the right side of my chest into a plastic bulb I tuck in my shirt, but I grosses me out.  The fluid it collects is purplish and dark, which freaks me out.  I can't wait to get this thing out of my body, but I may have to wait until Monday. 

I'm not in much pain, and if my neck starts to hurt even a little, the Loratab takes care of it, no problem.  My body is sore, as though I've had the flu, and I wonder if it could be from sleeping all day.  The only movement I've had since climbing into my bed Wednesday afternoon is to go the bathroom.  My neck looks pretty good, all taped up and swollen, but not bloody or scary looking.  Dr. Riddle revised the entire scar so it will look thinner and lighter; I'm excited to see how it turns out. 

Well, I beginning to feel sleepy and lightheaded again, so I will close for now.  I can't even begin to thank all of you enough, for your prayers, well-wishes, texts, phone calls, and visits.  I feel incredibly spoiled - if every I feel lonely, that I don't have many friends, all I have to do is have cancer surgery and there you all are!!  I am one lucky girl, that is certain. 

It's BAAAaaaaaaaack

It's true, the "C" word is back.  What's funny is that it wasn't a surprise to me.  After my radiation treatment was finished in August 2011, I went in for a check-up with Dr. Kim.

"Your scan results came back clean - how does it feel to be cancer-free??" he asked.

I answered that it felt great, but in truth, I didn't feel cancer-free.  I couldn't even tell you why.  I figured it was just me worrying that the cancer wasn't truly gone, but deep down I felt like this wasn't the last I would be dealing with scans and surgeons.

For those of you who don't know my story, I'll give you an overview.

In January of 2011, I had just begun my newest adventure, this time in Bloomington, Indiana.  I dropped my dad off at the airport, then began driving the hour back to my 1-bedroom apartment.  As I walked into my little living room, I expected to feel excited about beginning graduate school and my job at the book preservation facility (nerd alert!).  Instead, I felt sick inside.  I told myself that I was just scared of what was to come, that maybe I was experiencing some homesickness.  Though I had never been one to get homesick, especially this quickly, that had to be the source of my uneasiness.

Fast-forward six weeks, and I am on a plane heading back to Utah.  I am trembling and freezing cold, though everyone else on the plane complains of the heat.  My mind races incessantly, and I'm so dizzy I'm afraid I may pass out.  I bite my bottom lip as hard as I can without breaking the skin so that I won't begin crying again.  Because I have not slept in over 48 hours, I feel as though my head may burst at any moment, and my stomach flips over and over as though I'm on a roller coaster.  I've lost 20 lbs. in six weeks, and while this would normally be great news for someone struggling with weight, it's due to my not being able to eat anything.

After I reach Salt Lake City, the horror doesn't stop.  I still can't sleep, food is appalling, and my anxiety continues to spiral out of control.  My mind races with terrifying thoughts every moment of every day until I'm convinced I've lost my mind.  Doctors, counselors, psychiatrists, everyone is concerned, but unsure of what has happened.  Everyone tells me I seem fine on the outside, while on the inside I am dying.  I try medication after medication, some making me feel seriously drugged, others intensifying my panic.  Agoraphobia?  Vitamin deficiency?  Chronic exhaustion?  Perhaps a problem with two of my medications interacting?  No one seems to know what the hell is wrong with me.  Then one day, I wake up feeling sick and bonkers as usual, but with a sore throat as well.  I also remember the large lump that has been on the right side of my neck for the past month or two, maybe even three.  Maybe it could be mono, I think.  I had mono in high school, and it made me feel terrible, exhausted and just blech.  I call my doctor and make an appointment.

Dr. Lewis doesn't seem concerned at all as he feels my neck and looks down my throat.

"This lymph node is pretty tender, huh?" he asks, vigorously rubbing the right side of my neck.

"Well, no," I answer.  "Actually it doesn't hurt at all."

He stops rubbing and looks at me.

"Not at all?  How about the other side?"  he asks, kneading the left side of my neck.

"Nope, feels fine," I answer. 

I've seen that concerned look on doctors' faces for a while now, and it never bodes well for me.  Dr. Lewis orders an ultrasound for the next day.

After the ultrasound, a CT scan, and a needle biopsy, the results are confirmed: papillary thyroid cancer.  Maybe in another post I will write more about what that was like, receiving the news that I have cancer.  This post is already ridiculously long, so I'll have to come back to it.

I'm incredibly lucky.  Cancer usually means chemo, loss of all one's hair, and other terrible complications.  Other cancers can mean imminent death.  Mine wasn't so bad, though I did have a fairly intense surgery that resulted in a 9-inch hockey-stick scar along my neck, with nerve damage to my tongue and right shoulder, and radiation that fried my salivary glands.  However, thyroid cancer is extremely treatable, and my doctors were fantastic.  I'll write another post about my treatments as well, but again, this post is turning into a book.

It's been about a year and a half since all my cancer fun, and I feel like a bit of a thyroid cancer expert.  So the day before Thanksgiving, when I saw the small circle on the ultrasound that Dr. Ahmad was measuring, I knew what was coming.  I have two more lymph nodes that are cancerous, and have to come out.  I'll tell you the truth: when my wonderful friend, who is also my Nurse Practitioner, called to tell me the nodes were cancerous, I said the F-word under my breath.  Judge me all you like. 

My new surgeon, Dr. Riddle, assures me that this surgery won't be nearly as awful as the last one, and that he will be extra careful with my vocal chords, tongue nerves, etc.  I do trust him, but I still worry.  Going into this surgery is somehow more frightening than the last time.  Perhaps it's because I now know what to expect, and how many things can go wrong.  The last surgery, at one point, left me sobbing from the pain, and unable to speak properly because part of my tongue was paralyzed.  While I still stand by my opinion that I am one lucky kid, cancer-treatment-wise, I'm still not excited about this surgery. 

Surgery is Tuesday, January 8th.  I'm not sure what time yet, as the hospital hasn't called me with the schedule, but I'm hoping for early morning.  I hate not eating all day!  Also, I might even be able to come home that same day, if the surgery goes smoothly and I don't have to have a drain in my incision like last time.  I'm hoping for that, mostly because I hate being in the hospital and it costs a million dollars, but my mom hopes they keep me overnight because she's scared to bring me home all cut up.

I will post again as soon as I am able, and let ya'll know how I am doing.  I'm sure everything will be just fine, and hopefully my neck won't look any worse!  Thanks for all the thoughts and prayers, I can definitely use them.

Last time - looks like I was shanked!