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hunterswearingplaid · 6 years

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Summer of 1998 (Dean x Reader)

Summary: The reader finds someone trying to break into her house, only to find it’s someone she knows.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word count: 1.2K

Warnings: One little F bomb

Author’s Note: Dean is adorable! <3

“The jig is up, the news is out, they finally found me…”

You hummed the Styx song playing in the background as you danced around your house. You rarely had days like this. Days where you could simply let your hair loose and have some fun. Work was tough, but that just made your days off seem even sweeter.

You heard the sound of a door being unlocked. You thought it was Sam, so you stopped dancing and stood in front of the door, getting your breathing back to normal. He let himself inside your house very often, so you just waited in front of the door till he came in.

He was taking a lot of time. “He has to jimmy the lock. He knows,” you thought to yourself. But this was taking too long. Sam never took this long.

Someone was trying to break in.

You quickly grabbed the keys hanging next to the door and held them in your hand so that the sharp end could easily take someone’s eye out.

When the rattling continued (what a weak-ass burglar, you thought), you opened the door by yourself. You let out a shout and were about to stab whoever it was in the eye, before you heard the voice of someone familiar.

“Y/N, Y/N!” Sam came running towards your house, “Don’t!”

You looked at Sam, confused, and dropped the hand holding the keys.

Once he had caught up with the person standing in front of your door, Sam said, “Dean, what do you think you’re doing?” He was looking at this stranger, hands on his hips.

“I was trying to get into your house! I didn’t see a girlfriend when I first came.” The man said.

“This is not my house, dummy!” Sam shook his head. “That is my house! And that’s not my girlfriend.” He said, raising his voice a little, showing the man the house next to your’s.

A look of realisation crossed the man’s face, before he came over to you and took your hands in his. “I’m so sorry, miss…?” He cocked his head.

“Dean, this is my best friend, Y/N.” Sam interjected. “Y/N/N, this is my brother Dean. You’ve met before. Y/N was our neighbour.”

“This is Dean?” You said, the first words to leave your mouth during the entire ordeal. “I remember him a little differently.”

Your high school crush. You had gotten over it, you kept telling yourself. Now, he was standing right in front of you, looking ten times more beautiful.

“Yeah, it’s not my fault Sammy is the human replica of Gigantor.” Dean said. “Y/N, nice to see you after so long. You’ve changed, too.” His hands were still holding yours.

“Yeah, please let go of my hands.” You said, your voice just slightly threatening.

Dean dropped your hands at once.

“Y/N/N, we’re still on for Sushi Night?” Sam asked, his hands shoved into his pockets behind Dean. “You don’t mind if Dean’s there, do you?”

“No, not at all!” You said. “Have we missed Sushi Night, ever, Sammy?” You asked.

Sam gave you a wide smile. “Well, then we’ll see you around eight.” He said, pulling Dean by the arm.

As you closed the door, you heard the faint voice of Dean asking Sam, “You let her call you Sammy?”

“Hey, I dare you to eat this ball of wasabi.” You whispered in Dean’s ear.

Dean laughed nervously. “Sam told me you would do that. So, no, thank you. I’ll pass.”

You frowned slightly. “You’re no fun. Eating a wasabi ball is our sacred ritual to welcome anyone into the Sushi Night Team.” You said, throwing your hands up in the air.

“Wait, so you mean there are more than two dorks who do this every Friday?” Dean mocked.

Sam smacked Dean up the head. “Hey! No.”

“Wow, nice comeback, Sammy.” You sniggered.

“Wait, you’re on my team!” Sam said, the alcohol starting to get to him.

Dean held up his hand for a high-five, which you returned.

You looked at your empty glass of Chardonnay, deciding to go into the kitchen to refill your glass. Again, work was tough, and Friday nights were for you and Sam to blow off some steam. You heard the patter of footsteps behind you. You assumed it was Dean, since you could hear Sam singing Wanted Dead Or Alive on the couch.

“Is this every Friday night for the both of you?” Dean asked, leaning against the counter right next to you.

“Yup. Being a lawyer is tough work. Sometimes things get a little out of hand, and this is mine and Sam’s way of coping with it.”

“Hey, you don’t need to get defensive, I think it’s cute.”

No. No. You are not doing this today. Uh-uh.

“What’s cute about getting drunk and having cheap sushi takeout?” You asked.

“No, I didn’t mean that was cute. It’s just… cute.” Dean shrugged.

Now that shrug, that was cute.

You covered up your silly school girl crush with a laugh and a shake of the head as you walked into the living room, Dean following close behind.

Sam was watching Dr. Sexy MD on TV, the singing having stopped some time back. It looked like he was going to fall asleep any minute. So you turned off the tv, slowly laid him down on the couch which doubled as a bed, and laid a blanket over him.

Dean stood there, watching you. “Now it’s just you and me.”

“Yeah. You sleepy? You could always sleep in my guest room. It doesn’t look like Sam is waking up any time soon, so might as well switch off for the night.”

“Sure,” Dean said. He looked slightly disappointed. You shook it off.

After saying goodnight to Dean, you went outside your house. You sat leaning on the doorframe, planning to stay for a while.

He’s back, you thought. It’s happening once again.

You wrapped your blanket tighter around your body, saying out loud, “Dean Winchester. Master of causing sexual and romantic frustration since the summer of 1998.”

“What?” You heard someone laugh behind you. “Were you talking about me?”

Shit. Crap. Fuck. No. This is only supposed to happen in books.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Great. Just great.

Dean sat down next to you. “It’s fine, you don’t have to say anything.”

Your shoulders sagged just slightly, out of what seemed like a mix of relief and disappointment.

“1998… I was nineteen. You were fifteen.”

You said nothing,.

“You know, I gotta say, I was a little more than just surprised to see you today.”

“What? What do you mean by that?” You asked.

“Butterflies were felt.” Dean said slowly.

You laughed at his choice of words. “Butterflies were felt?”

“Hey, come on, cut me some slack, I’m trying.” Dean said, shoving your shoulder with his.

After a few moments of silence, you asked, “Really, Dean? You felt butterflies?”

Dean said nothing.

“Dean.” You urged.

“You know what? I’m getting sleepy,” he said, getting up, holding out a hand to you.

Before you could say anything to protest, Dean went on, “How about we talk about this tomorrow night? Drinks and pie. On me.”

You had to agree. “Tomorrow night sounds good.” You said.

“Well, then. It’s a date.” He smiled his signature smile.

Date.

You had just been asked on a date by Dean Winchester.

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sisterbestill · 6 years

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I write this on my iPhone, sitting next to my dad, who is currently getting his 4th Chemo Therapy Treatment of Carboplatin and Taxol. The drugs are chemical bombs and each week the accumulative damage grows. They pre-treat him with histamine blocking meds so he doesn’t have reactions, but he has reactions during the infusion, like he can’t breath. The nurses are well aware and calmly manage the reactions with more meds. These meds cause him to become very drowsy, so the remainder of the day becomes about keeping him from falling.

I still am trying to process all that has occurred since early August 2018. I look back on these pictures of our last outing at Lake Jocassee and never would have guessed how things would change just a week later. I’ve often wondered how cancer strikes people so quickly, now I know. I am writing this so I will never forget each minute that will forever live with me. I am also using this as a way to cope and understand something that is unfamiliar and terrifying.

My parents have always taken care of themselves and one another. They have been very lucky to have good health and I have been lucky to have them as energetic as they are in their eighties. When they moved up here from Florida, I was delighted I was going to finally be able to spend more time with them - like daily and weekly vs. just twice a year. They moved 15 minutes away or a lovely 60 min bike ride through rolling countryside and mountains. I was giddy and felt the universe shift a bit. I felt pulled to them. They are in fact two of the coolest, funniest, and open-minded people I know.

Shortly after this kayak trip (photos above) they decided to make a pact to live to 100 and created a “bucket list”. They were thankful for their health and never took it for granted. Perhaps the bucket list idea was a way to for them to celebrate how young they felt or perhaps they recognized they were chronologically getting up there.

Paddling on Jocassee was relaxing, calm, and beautiful; Certainly an experience they would have loved to have recreated again and I am hopeful they will. It may look different in the future, but I suspect the beauty and calmness of the lake will bath their brains in peace.

A week after snapping these pics, I got a call from my mom, she was on her way to the ER with my Dad. I was working one floor up and met them in the ER. While we waited, I learned my Dad had been feeling fatigued for several months and had developed shortness of breath over last few weeks. It wasn’t evident on the kayak trip that he was struggling, but it was obvious in the ER. My mom said they had been to their primary care several times and their primary care doc reassured him it was natural aging, as tests did not reveal anything to be concerned about.

As we sat for 6 hours in the waiting area, I was certain it was nothing serious. Afterall, my dad had no other health issues other than a little hypertension. His meds consisted of an 81 mg baby aspirin and amlodipine 2.5 mg each day - what a lucky guy. I was thinking maybe he had pleurisy or walking pneumonia.

We finally were shown to a room and labs were drawn. We were relieved to finally get things moving. By this time my sister, Lori, and I were getting silly from the fatigue of waiting. We were thoroughly entertained by a belligerent drunk guy on a stretcher in the halllway who seemed to draw all the attention of the medical staff while we well-behaved folks waited for answers.

I noticed my dad’s HR would easily jump to a sinus tach in the 130s with just a little bit of movement. Something didn’t seem right, but I was not going to speculate or think the worst. I was just his daughter, at his side, keeping the mood light.

We were informed by the physician assistant caring for us that his left diaphragm was elevated and was probably the cause of his shortness of breath. I was a little taken back as this was an unusual finding that left me with a knot in my stomach. Not too long after this finding he was whisked away for a CT of his chest.

He returned to the room and we waited for results. The PA came in with a sticky note and said she read off it: “You have a very large anterior mediastinal mass...No one here will operate because of your age...We are discharging you and you will need to see an oncologist.”

Our mouths dropped. My stomach bottomed-out as she said “mass” and my face flushed. We all just blankly looked at one another. Go home?

I spoke to a good nurse friend in recovery and she called the thoracic resident. I spoke to the PA who delivered the news and said, “We can’t go home. He is short of breath. He and my mom live alone. His Heart rate is bouncing up to 130s. He is weak. Please admit him and consult thoracic surgery.” My dad chimes in, “I’m not a throw away!” Meaning he doesn’t want to be dismissed because of his chronological age. He was far healthier than most half his age and this deserved a second look. The radiologist who read the report never actually saw my dad, but he did see a birthdate.

The next day, the interventional radiologist who read his CT and gave us the crappy news also did a needle biopsy of this baseball size mass.

We went home on a Wednesday after 2 days and waited. We were waiting for results and waiting for an appointment with a thoracic surgeon. Waiting is tough and if you are sick you will learn the meaning of patience.

We made it to Sunday when I thought something wasn’t right with my dad. He continued to have episodes of shortness of breath, but something was still off. I knew he had anxiety, but this was different. He said he felt fine and I almost left it at that. As a nurse you learn to listen to your 6th sense.

My parents live in a remote part of the county where everything is 30 min away. I left there house and an hour later returned with a pulse oximeter that I purchased from a CVS drug store. His oxygenation was 95% not bad for a guy now breathing 40 times a minute with 1.25 lung capacity. However, his pulse read 155 and I was baffled. No way?! I palpated his radial artery and it was a match. Off we went to the ER...

ER visit number II was faster as we went to a smaller satellite hospital 30 min from their home. The rhythm was too fast on the monitor to establish what it was so the ER MD attempted to chemically cardiovert him with adenosine. Adenosine is pushed quickly through an IV. It stops and restarts the heart. I can not lie, I was nervous. It’s so diffferent when this is your own family member. My mom tearfully excused herself and I stayed by his bedside. The ER doc informed my dad it would suck, and we proceeded. It sucked. He felt his heart stop and I watched his eyes bulge and panic come across his face for 3 of the longest seconds of my life. We were able to see he had an underlying atrial flutter. We were started on a verapamil drip and were transported to the main hospital for management by a cardiologist. His heart converted back to a normal rhythm on the verapamil drip before we left the ER in transport to Main hospital at 1 am. We were under the impression it was stress related to the new shitty diagnosis and having to wait on results.

The next day he had an echocardiogram to look at the structure and function of his heart. He was started on a Metoprolol a drug that blocks adrenaline and keeps heart rate lower and it was doing its’ job.

He spent 2 nights in hospital and outside of naps, lacked solid hours of good sleep. We finally got word that his ECHO results were good. No one said a word about metastatic disease to his pericardium. We were told he had a small ring of fluid within the pericardial sack, but it wasn’t a lot and certainly not something they felt needed draining. The atrial flutter responded well to the metoprolol and we were discharged home to once again wait for our thoracic surgery appointment.

We finally made it to the thoracic surgeon to learn of what was growing in my dad’s mediastinum. I was hoping for a thymoma, but instead we drew the really short stick with a highly aggressive, highly invasive cancer called: Squamos Cell Thymic Carcinoma.

WTF? Come on! Can we not catch a break here?

I had never heard of this type of cancer and neither have many in the medical field cause in addition to being aggressive and invasive, it is also a rare tumor. A rare tumor that hasn’t impacted enough lives that researchers devote a lot of time, money and effort into understanding it. Not only that, but sadly, most people die before any data can be collected. Once you get short of breath, dry cough and fatigue it is usually advanced.

PET Scan had some questionable lymph nodes light up, but no other disease was noted distal to the mediastinal cavity.

We hoped it could be removed. Excising the tumor was first choice in the management of this cancer and had the best outcomes, but to do this the surgeon would need to get clean margins. The thoracic surgeon wanted a cardiac MRI to examine if this tumor had invaded any of his great vessels. CT scans had only shown that the tumor was abutting the ascending aorta, but we needed to be certain cause the surgery involved opening his sternum with a saw and recovery would be 5-6 weeks. The surgeon emphasized that he didn’t want to operate and create trauma without being able to get the entire tumor. He didn’t want to delay care in a time-is-of-the-essence scenario.

It was 6pm on a Monday evening just days out from last hospitalization, when I returned to their house to check on him. Earlier that morning, my mom and I took his mini Pomeranian back to the vet and learned it was dying. The vet apologized and said it was time. We put my dad’s 18 y/o Pom, Ben, to sleep at 10:30. My mom held him and he passed. We were a mess. We told my dad and his response seemed flat. Distant.Something else was on his mind.

I stayed close and felt something was amiss, something was unfolding, progressing. I was thinking is he getting an infection? His temp was 100.2, slightly more SOB, and his pulse was 95-110 at rest, on a beta blocker. Nowhere near his norm and I could not ignore this or excuse it. My dad is precious to me. I looked at my mom and dad, apologized as I informed them we needed to go back to the ER. They were agreeable. I think he was relieved I recognized something was wrong.

Shortly after arrival at the satellite ER labs were drawn and ultrasound of his heart was done by ER doc. He said there appeared to be a large fluid collection around my dad’s heart. We were again admitted to ICU for a condition called Cardiac Tamponade. Early the next morning he had the fluid drained 600 ml from around his heart. The fluid build up which is inside the pericardial sac squeezes the heart. The heart can be stunned and go into failure. The fluid that was drawn off was sent for cytology. It was suspicious. It was likely metastatic disease.

In fact after annoying the cardiologist with repeated questions in the hallway, he motioned me over to his computer screen. He showed me the ECHO and pointed out the thickening of the pericardium and showed me a mass dangling from his ventricle. I didn’t need to wait for cytology. This was confirmation for me that we were very far into a disease process. My face flushed, my heart sank, and my stomach dropped as I comprehended the situation. I thanked the MD and my mom asked what he was showing me. I told her. I saw the color leave her face.

The thoracic surgeon was still hoping to remove the mass as the CT didn’t show it had invaded the great vessels, but he did want a Cardiac MRI which was on the back burner. We were still in ICU cause the Cardiac Tamponade and procedure to drain the fluid triggered a lot of Atrial Flutter and Atrial Fibrillation. We waited for the Cardiac MRI for 3 days. There is only one machine and his was repeated twice before they got quality images. The thoracic surgeon finally met with us and after consulting his partners, radiologist, and oncologist, it was decided surgery was just too risky and he wasn’t certain he could get clear margins. He stressed how he didn’t want to create more problems or delay my dad in getting treatment if there were complications. We very much appreciated the thoughtfulness of his answer. We really didn’t have a minute to spare. The surgeon decided to cut a window in my dad’s heart so the cancer did not build up more fluid and compress this vital organ again. The cancer cells would drain into his belly instead of filling the pericardial sack.

We were discharged home in a questionable state: weak. At first we were told he would stay until he was walking well, but the hospital was full and we were off-loaded unexpectedly. Home is a place with stairs. Stairs to to get in and stairs to get out and the most movement he had done in a week was walking 25 ft with a walker and that was exhausting for him. I was concerned about falls. How were me and my mom going to get 170 lb man up 5 steps safely? He was too weak. He hadn’t eaten, he had not slept in 10 days. We were behind the eight ball and chemo had not even started.

Chemo is rough. To survive chemo, one needs some level of fitness, meaning able to perform ADLs independently and move often. We were overwhelmed. The next week was labor intensive and emotionally draining. Here we were home and we were struggling. He still wasn’t eating, still not sleeping, and my radar was on constant alert. I spent my days observing and looking for subtle changes. Oh and there were changes that needed immediate attention as he flipped in and out of rapid atrial fibrillation and got urinary tract infection.

I was scared and my dad was terrified. In times when we were alone, he would ask me: “How did this happen?” He would shake his head as if disappointed in his body. Disbelief. He was unable to comprehend it and he too was terrified.

To be continued...

#thymiccancer #cancer #chemo #raretumor #cancersucks #thymiccarcinoma #thisislife

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jacensolodjo · 7 years

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Maybe You Didn’t Want to Die, But You Didn’t Care If You Lived

Pairing: Fi Skirata x Sheres Fett Characters: Fi Skirata, Sheres Warning: …obligatory cloneship warning? Also general melancholy and discussion of depression and suicidal idealation/thoughts. Not explicit, but it could be triggering so the read more serves a dual purpose for this one. Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort Summary: Fi and Sher discuss pain and loss and the aftermath, including the depression. Notes: still no definite timeline~ Also yes the title is a House MD quote

If someone were to ask Sheres how he was feeling, he could be close to tears and end up saying ‘fine’. It was not an uncommon thing. No one really needed to know you weren’t ‘fine’ anyways, right? What was the use in worrying people?

“I could remember, for the longest time, wondering why I had survived if I was just going to be rendered WIA and no longer able to be with my brothers.”

Everything had started spilling out before either knew it. All because of the fact that the anniversary of the deaths of the other half of T’ad squad had finally come back around and Fi had wound up waking to a bed missing an occupant, but clothes were still scattered around the room and beyond that Sheres wouldn't have left without waking Fi, after all that time apart he wouldn't have minded being woken up. Sheres hadn’t needed to voice it, Fi just knew. Fi knew in that way that Fi always picked up on things and even though his usual first instinct was to joke about the serious stuff, that didn’t mean he was cheapening it or pretending it wasn’t that big of a deal. It was how he coped.

Others might think it was a competition, a one-up-manship of who had it worse. But rather it was equal commiseration, acknowledgement of a shared pain unlike any other in the galaxy.

“For a long time, I thought about ‘fixing’ it.”

Sheres could immediately feel his heartstrings tighten, and then was wondering what all would have happened if Fi had gone through with it. No platitudes left his tongue, though. Instead he offered a slight smile before reaching out to grasp one of Fi’s hands in his own. Fi didn’t need platitudes or reassurance. The gentle squeeze from Fi helped calm Sheres’s heart.

Slowly, Sheres bowed his head until his forehead touched Fi’s lightly. They sat together like that for a while, Sheres carefully putting the words he wanted to say together in his mind so they wouldn’t come out wrong.

“I was the medic and the scout. If I had taken point instead of Cyclo… Or disagreed that we should move in midday instead of closer to dusk… Nas and Cyclo would still be alive. I thought about joining them for a while after I was healing from that mission with Hyran. And I kept wondering if I could have done more to save them. Maybe I got it wrong where they had been hit.“ Autopsies were not something done to clones who died in the line of duty as it was generally assumed the cause of death was the battle, and 99% of the time it was. It would be a great cover-up story. But autopsies could have shown if it was an artery that had been hit. As it was, Sheres would have to hope he had done everything right but still lost them.

Fi, a fellow medic, found it unlikely any of it was Sheres’s fault. Sometimes luck was simply against them. He squeezed Sheres’s hand again in reasurance then lifted his head to plant a kiss on Sheres’s temple. He knew nothing he said would change Sheres’s belief that his ‘older’ brothers wouldn’t have died if he had done something different or been ‘better’ at being a medic.

Sheres didn’t want to admit that one of the few things keeping him going anymore was knowing other people needed him around, like Hyran. And he wanted to say Fi helped him to live his life again, to actually live up to the translation of his name. A name that, especially on the anniversary of his brothers’ deaths, did not seem like the thing to do. And yet he did not break the silence. He simply listened to Fi’s breathing, watched his chest rise and fall with each inhale and exhale.

Neither was looking for platitudes, for reassurance it was just what happened in war. And so the silence was not awkward, but welcome.

“I’m glad you’re here,” they ended up saying at the same time. And for the first time that day, Sheres smiled. His free hand then played with Fi’s hair that was doing a great job in defying the law of gravity for the planet they were on. Fi made a face before playfully swatting the hand away.

“C'mon, ner vod. Let’s get something to eat. No sense wasting the day cooped up in this haran hole.” Sheres was wearing a playful grin on his face, a nice change from the dour expression he had had.

The room they were in had only accommodated them for about ten hours in total, it was merely a pre-arranged meet up place after Sheres had completed his most recent mission. A place that was not too close to the Mandalore system but close enough it had not taken Fi too long to get there, especially solo.

“Definitely. Bet you I can down ten omelettes in one sitting,” Fi declared as he started pulling his pants on.

“You sure you want to make that bet? I don’t think you can eat that much even with your metabolism.”

Sheres merely got a laugh and confident grin in reply before Fi was going out the door, Fi barely having finished getting his boots on. Sheres followed once he had found his shirt hiding in the gap between the bed and the bedside table.

“Such a shame,” Fi said once Sheres caught up with him.

“What is?” The question came from the earnestly naive sniper.

“You, having to put a shirt on.”

Sheres turned red before picking up the pace to get to the attached diner quicker. Fi’s teasing laughter boomed behind him.

This was exactly what Fi had been yearning for, a normal life. For a few more hours it would be normal, an experience to tide him over until the war ended and he wouldn’t have to sit and wait for news to reach him, to constantly worry that when it did it would be carrying a casualty list that included someone he loved. He would take what he could get.

#star wars #republic commando #sheres #fi skirata #RC8015 #fi skirata x oc #r: a different application of skill #my writing #it was fi's turn to get the obligatory angst fic that crawl and mereel got w/ sher lmao #depression cw tag #suicidal idealation cw tag #i almost didn't post this cause i'm in another of my moods regarding my writing so lol #suicide cw tag #ask to tag i may have forgotten one

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girleyzoom · 6 years

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Life always has complications. This has been something I’ve grown up with and understand. You always have down moments, but those down moments just help us see the good moments even more.

My sister came and visited with me Monday night. Not just my sister. She brought the whole crew, one husband, one teen, one child. To my messy house. It didn’t matter because she was just here. Jokes were made, comments to hubby about how we met and married in one month (it was six by the way) and he said he would never change a thing. 16 years of ups and downs and he admits it’s not enough. By the way, we’re still waiting for our payout as we beat everyones bets of how many months it would be before we were divorced!

Near the end of our conversation my sister asked me how it felt to be terminal. Hubby stepped in and said, aren’t we all terminal? He’s right. There are so many people younger than myself that have passed away, and not from sickness. Life is a blessing. To be lived every day, yes, but to also plan for the future. Sometimes I have to try and remind myself of that, even when I feel like it is the darkest day. The comment right then was devastating. Something I don’t want to even think about.

Monday July 30th, 2018 was a dark day. It has made the past few days a little rougher. I’ve had to hide a little and try not to talk a lot because the anxiety has been overwhelming. After my second thoracentesis, where they pulled 1.5 L from around my lung, I was zoomed right over to see my oncologist. We all sat down and I was informed that my insurance did not authorize the CT to my brain. Dr Zon forced it to happen. Thanks to my mom insisting on one, I know I have one, maybe two small tumors on the lower portion of my brain. Because almost everything that has happened cancer to me has happened in pairs, I’m going to assume that both are cancer. I have two tumors in my right lung and pleural effusion (cancer in the fluid in the lining of the lung) and the lymph nodes in the center of my chest. All breast cancer. None of the cells….. are in my breast. I’m stage 4 and as my sister said, terminal.

This does not mean I am going to lay down and stop fighting.

I’m sick. This time around is harder because I feel sick. The lung cancer portion is causing a lot of distress with breathing and chest pain. I didn’t have this with the two tumors in my breast. It was the treatments that were making me sick and angry. This time it’s the cancer.

I had an MRI of my head done yesterday afternoon. So we can pinpoint the exact locations of the two tumors in hopes of using radiation to kill them. Because I still have fluid building up in my lungs, it looks like Monday I will be making the decision to have a permanent pleural vac put into the side of my lung so it can be drained every other day at home. With the hopes that the new chemo will reduce the cancer in my lung and the fluid will stop building up. Then I can have the catheter removed. Dr. Zon wants a second opinion and it took us a few tries to decide where.

I started with MD Anderson Cancer Center. My sister said they have this new proton therapy type radiation that doesn’t destroy all the healthy tissue around the area they are radiating. If I only knew about that with the original cancer in my left breast! After making the call yesterday morning I found out that they will not use the therapy on a metastatic cancer that has moved. It has to be an original cancer. When I spoke to their Advance Breast Cancer clinic I learned they only do clinical trials for patients who no longer have other treatments available. So, I have a place to start if treatments stop working.

Hubby had suggested University of Chicago Cancer Center. They called after my doctor sent over a lot of information, I’m pretty sure they are not covered by insurance, and they cannot see me till August 27th. Before that though, I had decided, after talking with my Mom and Hubby that I would like to go to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota. I’m now waiting for all of my info to be faxed to them and that they will call me with a date and time next week to come meet with them.

I’m not sure how much work Hubby is going to miss in the next couple of weeks if we will be doing a lot of traveling. I know I don’t want to use the same radiation doctor at my current office. I am considering asking the Mayo Clinic doctors how they would proceed with the brain tumors. Dr Zon has been very hopeful that between a radiation doctor and neurosurgeons we could do pin point radiation and not my full brain. I know the Mayo Clinic also has a radiation office and perhaps I’ll be able to do my radiation there.

I’m trying to also avoid any appointments being scheduled next Tuesday morning. I’m going to be meeting with an oncologist therapist. That way I can get everything off my chest, have a good cry, maybe try to sort out my mind and get mentally healthy.

Here’s something that I want to impart though. I have a lot of questions as to why the first round of treatments didn’t work. My tumors were on the inside of my breast. I understand that with the lymph system that most bad stuff flows to a sentinel node first. I am going to guess that mine did not. When my pathology report from the lumpectomy came back with viable cancer cells I want to know why it’s not in the “book” for a scan to be done to see if the cancer has moved. Why did the Herceptin not work.? My type of breast cancer, HER2 +, is a receptor in my bodies cells that is over replicating, causing the cells to become a cancer cell. Normally your body would say, hey that cell is wrong, and attack it, kill it, digest it, get rid of it. My body didn’t and hasn’t. Herceptin is a lab made antibody that attaches to the receptor and is suppose to tell the immune system, hey come take care of this cell. It didn’t. Now I don’t know if the Herceptin just didn’t grab onto the cell, or if it’s my immune system. I also would like to know if they can put my cancer cells in a petri dish and add the medicine to it and see if the medicine attaches to the cells. If it doesn’t, then we would know the new form of chemo isn’t going to work and we need to move onto something different sooner than later.

I will be trying some other methods of helping my body fight this cancer. There has been a lot of research done that HER2+ does react well to CBD oil. Not cannabis oil. If I was ER+ (estrogen) then cannabis oil would work because it grabs the THC (gag) and spreads it through the body toward all the bad cells. The hard part is deciding what to buy and what to go with, I don’t want something that is going to harm my body because it’s not pure or has contaminants in it.

I’ve also struggled knowingly the last couple of years with vitamin D deficiency. We will be pushing harder than ever before to try and get my counts up higher. Perhaps this is part of the reason my immune system is not helping in this fight. I do love my berries, but I do not eat them enough, and a little more research shows that berries and even bitter almonds are good for your cells also. So with Hubby’s help we are going to try and get more of that into my diet. I’ve also always loved fresh vegetables but have struggled after having my gallbladder removed 8 years ago with digesting those foods. I’m just going to have to deal with the digestion portion and go from there.

We’re looking into combining alternative therapies with textbook therapies. It just takes time as it feels like we are on a whirlwind ride of test after test. Trying not to get thrown off or throw up.

I haven’t been very loud on social media the past couple days as I’m learning to cope with this new prognosis. My mind is over taken with everything and on the go miles a minute at a time. It was nice when Hubby asked me if I wanted to take a ride to the fair grounds for barn set up. That was an hours worth of listening to these people who have become my family and bicker just like family and laugh. Just taking that hour off from cancer lifted my spirits.

I went Tuesday and watched my 15 year olds baseball little league team play in their championship game. Raining off and on. I sat under an awning that wasn’t on our side of the field. It didn’t matter. Those boys played their hearts out. Hubby coached them to the final inning winning by one point! It was amazing. I was tired, sore, had the two younger boys wrapped all around me all wet but getting to see that win made my heart sore.

The outpouring support from friends and family and my community. I’m just, blessed. By everyone. I log into fb and I’m seeing all sorts of little things popping up. Even when I am not feeling strong, you lift me up. I am thankful I can be honest and tell you that I don’t feel so strong and I get a 40 minute phone call. I am thankful that you are thinking about me and about my kids and you created a hashtag. I am thankful for the appointments I haven’t had to go alone to because you took my little guys twice. The messages we have sent back and forth and you telling me to make sure to take care of my mental health. The laugh I had when you offered to bring me a bag of weed, might be bad for my lungs, but may help with the anxiety, though I realize your main goal was support in helping us to try and take some needed time for ourselves. Or your message that said writing things out helps you also, even if you don’t publish it, I enjoy writing and it really does help me. Thank you for your message also. Each one of you. For the things you do on the sidelines that you don’t always maybe want me to know about. I love you all for it.

When it becomes worse before it can get better Life always has complications. This has been something I've grown up with and understand. You always have down moments, but those down moments just help us see the good moments even more.

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