Dear Family and Friends,
Thank you for your continued prayer support for Mom during this time. Mom began the oral form of chemo and found it to be very difficult on her. Due to its powerful strength, the side effects were difficult on her system…nausea, mouth sores, swollen tongue, and blotchy skin. The doctors decided to then take her off of the chemo for the weekend and decide on their next method. She will begin intravenous chemo once again next week. The doctors decided she was too weak to handle the oral chemo. They say she is tired due to a combination of the following: the cancer, the chemo, and dehydration. They had her on an IV at the doctor’s office for an hour yesterday. It has been a difficult time but Mom and Dad have been so blessed by prayer support, words of encouragement, cards, meals, etc.
We are grateful to be spending Thanksgiving at Tom and Margie’s. For those of you who do not know, Tom is my cousin, Mom and Dad’s nephew. It is a blessing that they live a little over a mile from Mom and Dad’s home. Mom has not ventured out more than to doctor appointments so it will be so nice to have this family gathering so close to her home as we can get her back home if and when she needs to.
Mom does not have much energy or a big appetite. She sleeps much of the time and eats soups, sometimes eggs, tapioca pudding, and drinking a lot of carrot juice. She misses being with people. She likes to lay down near wherever there is action so she can listen to conversations and hear fun and sometimes share in the conversations. For example, the other night, Dad wanted to go for a walk while we were at the home. He left for his walk, Dave and I played Mexican Train Dominoes while Mom lay on the couch listening to us play. It was just important to her to be there. The other day, Dave and Dad were in the kitchen discussing new kitchen appliances that are needed. Mom called from her bed, “Can I say something else about this too?” We all got a good chuckle… she doesn’t miss a beat J.
Mom continues to be Mom. She’ll ask how my work is going, what is heavy on my heart, how other family members are. She asks if I have any funny stories of things students I work with have said or done. She asks what the message was about at church and cries at the words of hope just shared from the main point of the message. She is very grateful for every little thing you do for her. She is so grateful for Dad and his endless servant heart toward her during this time.
Dad is amazing with her. He is very patient with her, loving and caring for her all the time. Dad is energized by being able to take walks. When we are over there, he usually takes the opportunity to take a quick walk. He is strong for both of them despite how difficult it has been. He is very humbled by how thoughtful people have been. It means so much to see others come along side during a difficult time.
Toby has been spending the night at Mom and Dads’ two nights a week to help out. Dave and I find weekends to be better for us schedule wise. It is neat how this has worked out, Mom has something to look forward to throughout the week and Dad has help on those days.
As we celebrate being thankful, please know we are ever so grateful for you all. We can’t imagine what it would be like to not have the support of family and friends. Thank you for your continued prayers, support, and care.
Love,
Heather Hofman
Friday, November 28, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Karla's Health Update - 11/11/08
Hi, dear family and friends –
As you may remember, I had a prophylactic (not medically necessary) mastectomy September 12 and was excitedly getting ready for Guerino and Elsie to arrive from Haiti – followed by 42 people from 18 countries—for two weeks. We had a wonderful time at our annual staff conference in the mountains of Arizona. I thanked my colleagues profusely for their prayers during this tough year with breast cancer and proclaimed it a thing of the past. I really did have a wonderful and FUN time with everyone, and it felt so good to be back to “normal”—including some normal responsibilities.
Unfortunately, “normal” was short-lived, if “normal” means cancer-free. (Apparently, it does not right now!) On Monday, October 27, we were home from the conference, but my right side was hurting badly. We went to Urgent Care and then to the ER. The initial diagnosis was gall stones or appendicitis. An ultra-sound did find gall stones, but it also found many lesions in my liver that looked like breast cancer that had metastized, or moved, to the liver. We made an appointment to see my surgeon the next day, and he was shocked. My breast cancer had been classified as Stage One, Lymph Node Negative only a few months earlier, and my blood work had been normal! He sent me for more blood work (which again showed elevated liver enzymes), a PT scan, and a liver biopsy. Ugh. I have now had 37 invasive/technical procedures since March 4. And, the cancer is now classified as Stage Four (moved to distant organ).
Today, November 11, we saw my oncologist to review the results and make a plan. She, too, was shocked—but has a plan and some good news and bad news. The good news is that the liver is the only organ that shows the metastatic disease. (I already knew that the biopsy showed metastatic diseasse in the liver, but I had not asked about the PT scan results, not wanting to know if it had spread to other organs before a long weekend.) I was quite relieved. I was also glad to see that, of the slice they took, the rate of multiplication was mild to moderate. That’s not the whole story, though, because my liver is really full of interconnected stuff (not necessarily all cancerous) that has almost “replaced the liver,” according to one report.
Further good and bad news: This is “incurable” but “very treatable.” I knew that people are reluctant to use the word “cured” for even Stage One cancer. It’s “smart,” the oncologist said. If we kill it successfully in one spot, we have to watch the other spots for recurrence (brain, lungs, bone). It’s “very treatable” because there is so much breast cancer research. If I don’t respond well, there are other chemo applications to try.
I will begin oral chemo on or about Thursday, November 13, if I can get a flu shot and get my teeth deep-cleaned before then. I can take this chemo at home—just swallowing pills. It will not involve or affect the liver. I take the meds for two weeks and then rest a week—and see the oncologist and get more blood work. About 40% of the patients on this drug respond positively to it. It shrinks and kills the tumors. (That’s my prayer. I am very aware that I have an enemy!)
How do I feel? Not too great, really. I asked the oncologist why I have been so tired. “It’s the cancer,” she said. I have also had quite a bit of pain, from my port (which I am glad I have), to the tissue expanders that will just have to wait, to the swollen liver, maybe to the gall bladder, and to the bowels. I am on a very boring diet to make sure that the gall bladder stays calm. I am also tired because almost all meds make me tired. I’m trying to learn how to space them just right.
How is Jack? He’s been wonderful to me. He’s been pretty upbeat, waiting for news. Today, he said he wanted to cry in the oncologist’s office. He didn’t realize until then that this is now part of our lives forever. Though our faith is strong, we can’t just decide that it is behind us. We will need to be very diligent. The oncologist is our friend for life. Jack also realized how much I’ve been hurting, and you know what that does to marshmallows!
How are the kids? They are champs! Of course, they are worried and hurting, but Heather and Dave drove 200 miles the first two days to help out and Toby brought me a dozen roses and came over, too. Heather and Dave have also offered to start up a blog. I’m low on energy, so that sounds fine. I didn’t want to do that at first because I know my colleagues in some other countries have a hard time accessing blogs, but I am going to ask our Harvest office team to copy that week’s info and put it in our weekly report to each other.
How is Harvest? Very encouraging and wanting to help. I am requesting to work at home. I need to keep my employer-related health coverage—and it does feel good to get my hands and head on work—but I don’t think I can drive and drag myself in when on chemo or painkillers. I didn’t see “chemobrain” listed as one of the side effects for this new drug, so maybe I can surprise myself with some good productivity.
How are my other family and friends? Amazing! I have some strong prayer warriors. I have lovely flowers from Joe and Dawn and sweet phone messages and visits from several. Chad came over with a state-of-the-art juicer and organic carrots and spent an afternoon making yummy juice to combat cancer. Some of you have been sending the most encouraging notes! How could I ever thank you? It’s funny, but I cry at messages of hope. If you make me cry, it’s good J.
Where is our faith in all this? I don’t know how anyone could go through this without the Lord. He is my comfort. I’m disappointed that this happened, but my enemy is cancer, not God. I covet your prayers! We always take the first day of our staff conference for a day of prayer and fasting. I came out with many thoughts, including these two:
(1) Reconstruction is more than physical. (I knew I was facing physical reconstruction, switching tissue expanders to implants.) I am undergoing “reconstruction” in a vast way.
(2) I see our situation in Isaiah 43 (which has been confirmed by others):
“Feat not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned…”
I love you all!
Karla
As you may remember, I had a prophylactic (not medically necessary) mastectomy September 12 and was excitedly getting ready for Guerino and Elsie to arrive from Haiti – followed by 42 people from 18 countries—for two weeks. We had a wonderful time at our annual staff conference in the mountains of Arizona. I thanked my colleagues profusely for their prayers during this tough year with breast cancer and proclaimed it a thing of the past. I really did have a wonderful and FUN time with everyone, and it felt so good to be back to “normal”—including some normal responsibilities.
Unfortunately, “normal” was short-lived, if “normal” means cancer-free. (Apparently, it does not right now!) On Monday, October 27, we were home from the conference, but my right side was hurting badly. We went to Urgent Care and then to the ER. The initial diagnosis was gall stones or appendicitis. An ultra-sound did find gall stones, but it also found many lesions in my liver that looked like breast cancer that had metastized, or moved, to the liver. We made an appointment to see my surgeon the next day, and he was shocked. My breast cancer had been classified as Stage One, Lymph Node Negative only a few months earlier, and my blood work had been normal! He sent me for more blood work (which again showed elevated liver enzymes), a PT scan, and a liver biopsy. Ugh. I have now had 37 invasive/technical procedures since March 4. And, the cancer is now classified as Stage Four (moved to distant organ).
Today, November 11, we saw my oncologist to review the results and make a plan. She, too, was shocked—but has a plan and some good news and bad news. The good news is that the liver is the only organ that shows the metastatic disease. (I already knew that the biopsy showed metastatic diseasse in the liver, but I had not asked about the PT scan results, not wanting to know if it had spread to other organs before a long weekend.) I was quite relieved. I was also glad to see that, of the slice they took, the rate of multiplication was mild to moderate. That’s not the whole story, though, because my liver is really full of interconnected stuff (not necessarily all cancerous) that has almost “replaced the liver,” according to one report.
Further good and bad news: This is “incurable” but “very treatable.” I knew that people are reluctant to use the word “cured” for even Stage One cancer. It’s “smart,” the oncologist said. If we kill it successfully in one spot, we have to watch the other spots for recurrence (brain, lungs, bone). It’s “very treatable” because there is so much breast cancer research. If I don’t respond well, there are other chemo applications to try.
I will begin oral chemo on or about Thursday, November 13, if I can get a flu shot and get my teeth deep-cleaned before then. I can take this chemo at home—just swallowing pills. It will not involve or affect the liver. I take the meds for two weeks and then rest a week—and see the oncologist and get more blood work. About 40% of the patients on this drug respond positively to it. It shrinks and kills the tumors. (That’s my prayer. I am very aware that I have an enemy!)
How do I feel? Not too great, really. I asked the oncologist why I have been so tired. “It’s the cancer,” she said. I have also had quite a bit of pain, from my port (which I am glad I have), to the tissue expanders that will just have to wait, to the swollen liver, maybe to the gall bladder, and to the bowels. I am on a very boring diet to make sure that the gall bladder stays calm. I am also tired because almost all meds make me tired. I’m trying to learn how to space them just right.
How is Jack? He’s been wonderful to me. He’s been pretty upbeat, waiting for news. Today, he said he wanted to cry in the oncologist’s office. He didn’t realize until then that this is now part of our lives forever. Though our faith is strong, we can’t just decide that it is behind us. We will need to be very diligent. The oncologist is our friend for life. Jack also realized how much I’ve been hurting, and you know what that does to marshmallows!
How are the kids? They are champs! Of course, they are worried and hurting, but Heather and Dave drove 200 miles the first two days to help out and Toby brought me a dozen roses and came over, too. Heather and Dave have also offered to start up a blog. I’m low on energy, so that sounds fine. I didn’t want to do that at first because I know my colleagues in some other countries have a hard time accessing blogs, but I am going to ask our Harvest office team to copy that week’s info and put it in our weekly report to each other.
How is Harvest? Very encouraging and wanting to help. I am requesting to work at home. I need to keep my employer-related health coverage—and it does feel good to get my hands and head on work—but I don’t think I can drive and drag myself in when on chemo or painkillers. I didn’t see “chemobrain” listed as one of the side effects for this new drug, so maybe I can surprise myself with some good productivity.
How are my other family and friends? Amazing! I have some strong prayer warriors. I have lovely flowers from Joe and Dawn and sweet phone messages and visits from several. Chad came over with a state-of-the-art juicer and organic carrots and spent an afternoon making yummy juice to combat cancer. Some of you have been sending the most encouraging notes! How could I ever thank you? It’s funny, but I cry at messages of hope. If you make me cry, it’s good J.
Where is our faith in all this? I don’t know how anyone could go through this without the Lord. He is my comfort. I’m disappointed that this happened, but my enemy is cancer, not God. I covet your prayers! We always take the first day of our staff conference for a day of prayer and fasting. I came out with many thoughts, including these two:
(1) Reconstruction is more than physical. (I knew I was facing physical reconstruction, switching tissue expanders to implants.) I am undergoing “reconstruction” in a vast way.
(2) I see our situation in Isaiah 43 (which has been confirmed by others):
“Feat not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned…”
I love you all!
Karla
Karla's Health Update - 10/05/08
Dear Family and Friends,
It’s been three weeks since my last update and my second mastectomy. I’m doing much better than I did after my first mastectomy, in April. The first time, I took narcotics for pain after surgery. I had a prescription, so I thought I was supposed to use it! What did I know? This time, over-the-counter pain meds have been adequate. I haven’t been as groggy, and I can drive. That’s been good, though that the seat belt is not my friend. Sometimes I have very definite pains, but generally it just feels like something a little warm and scratchy is wound around my chest too tightly.
I’ve wanted to celebrate the removal of the post-surgical drain, but it hasn’t happened yet. I’m still draining too much. Hopefully, it will come out tomorrow, October 6. When it’s out, I will be able to wear different clothes—outer and inner apparel.J More than that, getting it out represents to me that this surgery is in the past. I love the thought of being one step closer to the finish line. Sometimes I feel self-conscious about my new figure (or lack of same), but I do have lots of saline in my temporary tissue expanders and haven’t been called “Sir” yet. I will get 60ccs more saline injected on each side as soon as I get rid of the drain. (Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you, tomorrow, you’re only a day away…)
No cancer was found in the breast or lymph nodes—and there is no need for more chemo. We are thankful! The breast had so many microcalcifications that cancer detection was unreliable, so I’m not sorry I made the choice. Soon, the port through which the chemo was administered can be surgically removed, too.
The post-surgery pathology report was puzzling. (1) It began by saying that “the female patient” travels internationally. I have no idea what that has to do with breast microcalcifications, but I will be glad to travel again. (2) It mentioned that the radiologist recommended this course of action, which is true, but his role was not to make that determination, his recommendations were oblique, and his written reports never said so. I was surprised to see it in the report. I think a more integrated and direct approach would be best for patients. (3) The pathology report never mentioned that donor (cadaver) tissue had been used. You may remember that I was shocked by the recovery room nursing giving me a paper to thank the family of the deceased for my transplant.
Update on the “transplant”: I was shocked, but now I actually like the innovation. It is called acellular dermal matrix. They used a small patch of tissue (collagen) that will eventually dissolve. It provides structure to stretch the muscle wall and hold in the tissue expander. It won’t be able to be rejected by my body, and it isn’t tissue in which cancer can grow. Those were my concerns. The doctor agrees he should have told me about it. To adapt to the idea of wearing someone else in my chest, I thought of naming my Right side Ralph, but Char suggested Regina. If they use it on the Left, Susie suggested Leticia. Since it’s is going to dissolve, I will just skip the naming ceremony.
I’ve been working at home off and on since April, but on my own schedule, not commuting in the heat. Last week, I was able to go back to the office four days in a row. Thank You, God! I felt like Wonder Woman. I cleaned up my very neglected office to make room for a much-anticipated co-worker. It felt good to bring some order to chaos. Exciting times are beginning! Guerino and Elsie arrive from Haiti in two days. Guerino and I have worked together for nearly twenty years, and we both had “amputations” this year. He lost a leg to diabetes, so his adaptation has been much more challenging than mine. Jack, Guerino, Elsie, and I will join fifty people from fifteen countries October 12-23 for Harvest’s staff conference at a camp in the mountains. I still have to prepare some responsibilities for the conference. Your prayers are appreciated. I will need energy beyond my own resources.
Since the left side of my bra has been filled with pillow stuffing since April, I thought it would be funny to exchange the stuffing for a soft squeaky toy. I would then tell people (medical personnel) I was having some unusual symptoms and wanted them to listen! Well, a couple of days after my September surgery, Adrienne arrived with a meal, some homemade apple butter, and a Victoria’s Secret bag—with a secret even Victoria could not have imagined. The bag contained two squeaky doggie-toy cheeseburgers. My chest is still a little too sore to wear the cheeseburgers, but I have modeled them a couple of times. J
On a less squeaky note … Within a very short time period, Georgia called from Colorado to say that I had been the focus of the prayer time at her “Girlfriends” group. Jack came home from a meeting where people at his table prayed for my healing. I opened an e-mail from cousins in Wisconsin who said they pray for me every day. Every day! And I had a beautiful two-hour conversation with Henrietta in Canada, who called to say she has been praying for me since April. I can’t begin to list the prayer support I have had. I do not deserve it—and that’s the point. I could never deserve God’s goodness, but He has cared for me graciously and generously. He has walked through the storm with us. I could never deserve the support you have given me, and I would be weaker without it. Bottom line: We do not walk alone! In fact, I saw a license plate a couple of days ago that really touched me. Next to the pink breast cancer ribbon was the license plate number … IWLK4U.
Are there ways we can walk with you?
Blessings,
Karla
It’s been three weeks since my last update and my second mastectomy. I’m doing much better than I did after my first mastectomy, in April. The first time, I took narcotics for pain after surgery. I had a prescription, so I thought I was supposed to use it! What did I know? This time, over-the-counter pain meds have been adequate. I haven’t been as groggy, and I can drive. That’s been good, though that the seat belt is not my friend. Sometimes I have very definite pains, but generally it just feels like something a little warm and scratchy is wound around my chest too tightly.
I’ve wanted to celebrate the removal of the post-surgical drain, but it hasn’t happened yet. I’m still draining too much. Hopefully, it will come out tomorrow, October 6. When it’s out, I will be able to wear different clothes—outer and inner apparel.J More than that, getting it out represents to me that this surgery is in the past. I love the thought of being one step closer to the finish line. Sometimes I feel self-conscious about my new figure (or lack of same), but I do have lots of saline in my temporary tissue expanders and haven’t been called “Sir” yet. I will get 60ccs more saline injected on each side as soon as I get rid of the drain. (Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you, tomorrow, you’re only a day away…)
No cancer was found in the breast or lymph nodes—and there is no need for more chemo. We are thankful! The breast had so many microcalcifications that cancer detection was unreliable, so I’m not sorry I made the choice. Soon, the port through which the chemo was administered can be surgically removed, too.
The post-surgery pathology report was puzzling. (1) It began by saying that “the female patient” travels internationally. I have no idea what that has to do with breast microcalcifications, but I will be glad to travel again. (2) It mentioned that the radiologist recommended this course of action, which is true, but his role was not to make that determination, his recommendations were oblique, and his written reports never said so. I was surprised to see it in the report. I think a more integrated and direct approach would be best for patients. (3) The pathology report never mentioned that donor (cadaver) tissue had been used. You may remember that I was shocked by the recovery room nursing giving me a paper to thank the family of the deceased for my transplant.
Update on the “transplant”: I was shocked, but now I actually like the innovation. It is called acellular dermal matrix. They used a small patch of tissue (collagen) that will eventually dissolve. It provides structure to stretch the muscle wall and hold in the tissue expander. It won’t be able to be rejected by my body, and it isn’t tissue in which cancer can grow. Those were my concerns. The doctor agrees he should have told me about it. To adapt to the idea of wearing someone else in my chest, I thought of naming my Right side Ralph, but Char suggested Regina. If they use it on the Left, Susie suggested Leticia. Since it’s is going to dissolve, I will just skip the naming ceremony.
I’ve been working at home off and on since April, but on my own schedule, not commuting in the heat. Last week, I was able to go back to the office four days in a row. Thank You, God! I felt like Wonder Woman. I cleaned up my very neglected office to make room for a much-anticipated co-worker. It felt good to bring some order to chaos. Exciting times are beginning! Guerino and Elsie arrive from Haiti in two days. Guerino and I have worked together for nearly twenty years, and we both had “amputations” this year. He lost a leg to diabetes, so his adaptation has been much more challenging than mine. Jack, Guerino, Elsie, and I will join fifty people from fifteen countries October 12-23 for Harvest’s staff conference at a camp in the mountains. I still have to prepare some responsibilities for the conference. Your prayers are appreciated. I will need energy beyond my own resources.
Since the left side of my bra has been filled with pillow stuffing since April, I thought it would be funny to exchange the stuffing for a soft squeaky toy. I would then tell people (medical personnel) I was having some unusual symptoms and wanted them to listen! Well, a couple of days after my September surgery, Adrienne arrived with a meal, some homemade apple butter, and a Victoria’s Secret bag—with a secret even Victoria could not have imagined. The bag contained two squeaky doggie-toy cheeseburgers. My chest is still a little too sore to wear the cheeseburgers, but I have modeled them a couple of times. J
On a less squeaky note … Within a very short time period, Georgia called from Colorado to say that I had been the focus of the prayer time at her “Girlfriends” group. Jack came home from a meeting where people at his table prayed for my healing. I opened an e-mail from cousins in Wisconsin who said they pray for me every day. Every day! And I had a beautiful two-hour conversation with Henrietta in Canada, who called to say she has been praying for me since April. I can’t begin to list the prayer support I have had. I do not deserve it—and that’s the point. I could never deserve God’s goodness, but He has cared for me graciously and generously. He has walked through the storm with us. I could never deserve the support you have given me, and I would be weaker without it. Bottom line: We do not walk alone! In fact, I saw a license plate a couple of days ago that really touched me. Next to the pink breast cancer ribbon was the license plate number … IWLK4U.
Are there ways we can walk with you?
Blessings,
Karla
Karla's Health Update - 9/13/08
Dear Family and Friends:
Friday was my second modified radical mastectomy—5 months to the day after the first—with chemo sandwiched between. I’m relieved. I’m doing fine, as long as I can stand or sit. I sleep every few hours and haven’t figured out how to do that standing up!
The funny part of pre-op was the doctor having to write YES on my right breast. They couldn’t have found anything to remove on the left side, but it’s the law—to avoid wrong-side surgeries. The worst part of the pre-op was IVs. But I’m learning. I now tell them I need the SWAT team. There really is one—and they’re great.
They took the sentinel lymph node during surgery and checked it for cancer. It was cancer free (as was expected), so no other nodes were taken. Thank You, God! There will be further pathology on the breast to see if there were any malignancies. Again, the expectation is just that there were many precancerous conditions in the breast. If any invasive cancer is found that is more than 1 cm, we’re looking at more chemo, but we don’t expect that, either. I’ll find out on Thursday. I’m looking forward to good news.
Toby, Heather, and Dave came to the hospital the evening after surgery. At that point, a walk to the bathroom sounded like a BIG TRIP. By 4 am, though, my roommate Dawn and I took a walk outside (in slippers and hospital gown) and considered doing a wheelchair race to Jack in the Box. She’d been in for five days and was ready to escape. Now that I’ve been home, a few angels have arrived with yummy meals. We are blessed.
I am ready to put cancer behind me. I believe it is! I remember thinking in March that I’d just get that pesky lump out of the left breast and be done. Sure! … We ceremonially returned the last batch of cancer books to the library, dropping them in the book drop one by one. Thunk! Thunk Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! That was meaningful to me! What remains now is reconstruction and diligence. I’m trying to have reconstruction done by the end of 2008, and diligence continues for the rest of my life. I don’t fear cancer, but I do respect it. And I know I’m not invincible. Oh, yes—the hair report! My hair is about ¼ inch long. It’s black and white. I was glad they let me wear my wig all the time in the hospital. I would have frozen without it. Hospitals are ICY. I suppose that’s to avoid infection, but it might be to make the patients go home sooner.
We’re getting way too casual about this. Jack even wanted to leave during my surgery to have a mechanic look at a used-car he found the other day. He thought he would be useless during surgery. I asked him not to—well, really, I had a cow. J I wanted him there to pray and just wait. He’s been great. He did agree that I’m more important than the car deal of the century.
I do covet your prayers for a swift and manageable recovery. About five days before surgery, I finally felt really, really good again. I had energy and didn’t need to nap every afternoon. I started and completed a couple of large projects. I walked into rooms and remembered why I was there. I did my Annual Exercise. (I swim one length of the pool for every year of my age—that was extra-important to me this year.) Now, I’m in recovery mode again, but I don’t have much time before Staff Conference and before our guests arrive. I do have several projects, and I think they will be good for me. I was so spaced out for so long!
You can also pray for my attitude. Without consent, I was given donor tissue. I woke up to a paper that suggested I write the family of the deceased and thank them for donor tissue. What????? I wouldn’t have chosen donor tissue. It’s a new process that the plastic surgeon did – I’m his 8th. I chose a mastectomy because I didn’t want tissue (mine or anyone’s) where cancer could grow, and I wanted easy detection. I also don’t want anything that can be rejected or die if it doesn’t connect with my blood supply. Since it’s in one, he’ll need to use it in my other breast when he makes the switch to permanent implants, too. It may be a really great process that I’ll end up liking, but I’m not there yet. I do believe God will use everything. That’s my starting point.
On a less subjective scale, I know God will use our whole cancer experience for larger purposes than just getting me through it. We’ve been studying the book of Joshua. Chapter 1 tells me to be strong and courageous and never terrified! It also refers to vision. I’m aware that my vision and purpose is being restored—returned to me—and also enlarged. I can hardly wait to find out what that means. The giants are not that terrifying. There is a Promised Land! I am thankful.
May your vision be restored, your purposes enlarged, and your giants defeated! Grace and peace to you all.
Love,
Karla
Blessings,
Karla
Karla Tesch
Editor / U.S.-Haiti Coordinator
Harvest
www.harvestfoundation.org
602-258-1083
Friday was my second modified radical mastectomy—5 months to the day after the first—with chemo sandwiched between. I’m relieved. I’m doing fine, as long as I can stand or sit. I sleep every few hours and haven’t figured out how to do that standing up!
The funny part of pre-op was the doctor having to write YES on my right breast. They couldn’t have found anything to remove on the left side, but it’s the law—to avoid wrong-side surgeries. The worst part of the pre-op was IVs. But I’m learning. I now tell them I need the SWAT team. There really is one—and they’re great.
They took the sentinel lymph node during surgery and checked it for cancer. It was cancer free (as was expected), so no other nodes were taken. Thank You, God! There will be further pathology on the breast to see if there were any malignancies. Again, the expectation is just that there were many precancerous conditions in the breast. If any invasive cancer is found that is more than 1 cm, we’re looking at more chemo, but we don’t expect that, either. I’ll find out on Thursday. I’m looking forward to good news.
Toby, Heather, and Dave came to the hospital the evening after surgery. At that point, a walk to the bathroom sounded like a BIG TRIP. By 4 am, though, my roommate Dawn and I took a walk outside (in slippers and hospital gown) and considered doing a wheelchair race to Jack in the Box. She’d been in for five days and was ready to escape. Now that I’ve been home, a few angels have arrived with yummy meals. We are blessed.
I am ready to put cancer behind me. I believe it is! I remember thinking in March that I’d just get that pesky lump out of the left breast and be done. Sure! … We ceremonially returned the last batch of cancer books to the library, dropping them in the book drop one by one. Thunk! Thunk Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! That was meaningful to me! What remains now is reconstruction and diligence. I’m trying to have reconstruction done by the end of 2008, and diligence continues for the rest of my life. I don’t fear cancer, but I do respect it. And I know I’m not invincible. Oh, yes—the hair report! My hair is about ¼ inch long. It’s black and white. I was glad they let me wear my wig all the time in the hospital. I would have frozen without it. Hospitals are ICY. I suppose that’s to avoid infection, but it might be to make the patients go home sooner.
We’re getting way too casual about this. Jack even wanted to leave during my surgery to have a mechanic look at a used-car he found the other day. He thought he would be useless during surgery. I asked him not to—well, really, I had a cow. J I wanted him there to pray and just wait. He’s been great. He did agree that I’m more important than the car deal of the century.
I do covet your prayers for a swift and manageable recovery. About five days before surgery, I finally felt really, really good again. I had energy and didn’t need to nap every afternoon. I started and completed a couple of large projects. I walked into rooms and remembered why I was there. I did my Annual Exercise. (I swim one length of the pool for every year of my age—that was extra-important to me this year.) Now, I’m in recovery mode again, but I don’t have much time before Staff Conference and before our guests arrive. I do have several projects, and I think they will be good for me. I was so spaced out for so long!
You can also pray for my attitude. Without consent, I was given donor tissue. I woke up to a paper that suggested I write the family of the deceased and thank them for donor tissue. What????? I wouldn’t have chosen donor tissue. It’s a new process that the plastic surgeon did – I’m his 8th. I chose a mastectomy because I didn’t want tissue (mine or anyone’s) where cancer could grow, and I wanted easy detection. I also don’t want anything that can be rejected or die if it doesn’t connect with my blood supply. Since it’s in one, he’ll need to use it in my other breast when he makes the switch to permanent implants, too. It may be a really great process that I’ll end up liking, but I’m not there yet. I do believe God will use everything. That’s my starting point.
On a less subjective scale, I know God will use our whole cancer experience for larger purposes than just getting me through it. We’ve been studying the book of Joshua. Chapter 1 tells me to be strong and courageous and never terrified! It also refers to vision. I’m aware that my vision and purpose is being restored—returned to me—and also enlarged. I can hardly wait to find out what that means. The giants are not that terrifying. There is a Promised Land! I am thankful.
May your vision be restored, your purposes enlarged, and your giants defeated! Grace and peace to you all.
Love,
Karla
Blessings,
Karla
Karla Tesch
Editor / U.S.-Haiti Coordinator
Harvest
www.harvestfoundation.org
602-258-1083
Karla's Health Update - 8/27/08
Dear family and friends!
“The Lord your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.”
(Zephaniah 3:17) These are words of strength and beauty!
It’s been about a month since I last wrote an update. I have been taking occasional breaks from breast cancer and chemo. J J J J There are still reminders in my mirror, calendar, and energy level. My experience continues, but the finish line is in sight, maybe by the start of 2009. I will always have to be diligent, but I am ready for a break. Ahhhhh!
My CHEMO SIDE EFFECTS are less and less noticeable. My last session was July 22. I didn’t feel like celebrating until I had endured the last set of side effects. Then it was official! I felt almost teary-eyed at my final checkup August 19. I enthusiastically waved goodbye and told the staff I’d like to meet in social circumstances sometime in the future. As I walked out, I tried to click my heels together mid-air, but decided not to break my ankle. Instead, I leaned over the 6th-floor railing and yelled: “I’M DONE WITH CHEMO!” to whoever might have been on the terrace below. I’m sure they’ve heard it before. The oncologist told me it might be another month before the chemo and steroids leave my system, so I still have some symptoms—but this too shall pass!
THE HAIR REPORT: For now, the most noticeable side effect is still my hair. After chemo ended, my scalp started to resemble a baby bird. It feels like silk, but it looks like peach fuzz. If you pay me enough money, I will show you. I am thankful for the new wig I found that is cool, comfortable, and was available for a great price! I googled the peach-fuzz process and learned that I may have this stuff for a month and that “real hair” could come in the second month. I don’t know if the fuzz falls out or changes texture - or if they’re just trying to placate me. Now, I have growing white fuzz on the sides of my head and brown/black thicker hair in the middle of my scalp. I may have something worth calling “hair” by November, but it will be very, very short and maybe kinky-curly. I try not to look at it too many times a day - that does not help it grow any faster! Hair on my arms had thinned, but now all of it is growing, even the part that didn’t fall out. (Stop!) And my eyebrows, which had thinned, are also coming back. That is welcomed, except that some are showing up almost an inch lower than they should. My confused body is trying to repair itself. It will be fine—but I may want to wear long sleeves on my arms and a paper bag on my head. … I am a bit self-conscious. I was at a family event recently where my great-nieces asked me to come into the pool, but they didn’t know about my “hair.” I didn’t want to yank off the wig and shock them, so explained and then went inside and put on a swim cap. I remembered a story of a mom with cancer. She was sobbing out loud after she shaved her head. Her 4-year-old heard her cry and saw her new hairdo. He started to cry, too. He kept saying, “I’m sorry, Mommy!” She asked, “What did you do?” She thought he must have hurt his new puppy or baby sister. He said, “I don’t know, but it must have been bad. It made you tear all your hair out!”
ANOTHER MASTECTOMY – I chose to have another mastectomy on the “healthy” right breast, tentatively scheduled for September 12. Jack asked me: “Are you happy you will have another mastectomy?” I don’t think “happy” and “mastectomy” go in the same sentence, but I am relieved the decision is made, and I will be relieved to have less breast tissue that could hide future carcinoma! I confirmed it with another mammogram and consultation with the same radiologist I had in April. He still feels strongly that my breast tissue is a poor environment. I agree. I have done lots of reading and study and praying and have talked with other women who have made this choice. I generally do not want unnecessary surgeries, but I don’t think this is unnecessary. I have microcalcifications scattered throughout my breast. Microcalcifications are not cancerous unless they are atypical (odd-shaped, multiplying fast). Mine are not that, but any microcalcifications can mimic carcinoma, and they can hide it. Some of mine are beginning to cluster, which can be an early indicator of cancer. Maybe I could say they are pre-pre-cancerous. At this point, I don’t trust my breast tissue or detection methods. I looked at all my mammograms since 2004, and I can see developing microcalcifications in my left breast, the one that eventually had cancer. I can also see that mammograms and ultrasounds and physical checks completely missed the biggest tumor I had in my left breast in March, 2008. For detection in the right breast, I would need an annual MRI, and the MRI would need to be followed up with an annual needle biopsy, and there is no way that they could biopsy the whole breast! … I tried unsuccessfully to set the date a little sooner in order to be adequately recovered before Haiti guests stay in our home October 9 – and before we go with 60 people from 17 countries to a camp in northern Arizona October 12-23 – but I will just have to be ready. It should be easier than the first surgery. We are informed, and there are several things we know to avoid. I’m glad Jack is so well-versed and caring – and willing. (Pray for him. It’s easier to be me.) I have been touched by people’s response. A couple of you cried when I told you of the decision. Thank you for your compassion. Yes, there will be grief, loss, and pain—but it is the right thing. And, no, I should not need chemo this time. There is a small possibility, and I do appreciate prayer. Though there is no cancer confirmed in the mammogram, the surgeons will do a sentinel node biopsy during the mastectomy. They inject a radioactive isotope and blue dye the day before surgery and follow it with a Geiger counter during surgery to see which lymph node goes from the breast to the lymphatic system. They then take only that node and its neighbor and have the histology lab check it for any evidence of cancer while the surgery is still happening.
REGRETS? Some people ask me if I wish I had just done the prophylactic (preventative) mastectomy originally – if I should have just done both at the same time, though only one had cancer. Of course, I wish it were over, but there were unusual circumstances. I had less than 24 hours to decide since the plastic surgeon was going to Italy for three weeks. The general surgeon thought surgical complications could have slowed up chemo, and that was not a good idea. While I wish I had had more time to really consider it, I didn’t, and that is fine. I chose to treat the cancer I knew I had. I choose now to see that as God’s protection. I did get an infection in one drain, and two infections could have delayed chemo. There were several times I was very glad that I could sleep on one side, move firmly in one direction, push up from the floor with one arm, and so forth. I do want to say something to the team, eventually. The radiologist had to speak to me in “code” both times I saw him. He was not supposed to suggest a mastectomy if there is no sign of cancer or atypical cells. That is not his role. Similarly, surgeons are often careful not to pressure patients into doing something irreversible if it isn’t necessary. I see their different roles, but I want to say something in a final analysis as a patient who wants to be protected from a life-threatening illness. For now, I am letting this go. I don’t need to deal with it, and I need to work well with each member of the team. They have been wonderful instruments and skilled professionals, but I wish I didn’t have to read between the lines.
LOSSES AND GAINS: I will have more grief—more lost tears—for another body part that is somehow part of what it means to be female. I have a loss of innocence! I think, “Last year at this time, I didn’t know I had cancer, but I did …” I have lost some trust in my body to fight, defend, and repair itself. I have lost energy and productivity, but I have gained rest. The losses are minimal, in many ways. … I gained another year last Monday. This time, I didn’t want to celebrate a birthday—I wanted to celebrate LIFE! I have grown in my sense of security. God has held me securely in His arms through this ordeal. He has enveloped me. I have a get-well card at my desk. One drawing shows a contented, smiling lamb in the shepherd’s arms. In the other drawing, the contented lamb and the shepherd are looking each other in the eye, loving each other. I have grown in my love for (and by) family. My immediate family has been so supportive, and it was great to be with extended family last weekend. Thanks to my brother-in-law Joe who said, “Keep writing….it’s like Tuesdays with Karla, but you’re going to live.” My work colleagues have been amazing. I haven’t been very productive, but they continue to encourage me! I took on a few more projects with Staff Conference coming, and I trust it will be good for me and for those who will use what I prepare. Harvest set up a Tesch medical fund to defray expenses. (Write for info, or call Eli at 602-258-1083.) I have gained strength from friends who have stood with me with remarkable encouragement and prayer. I cannot believe what some of you do and say! You are amazing. I am humbled. Thanks for crying with me. Thanks for feeding us. Thanks for thinking of us. Thanks for making me exercise! Thanks for putting up with my chemo-fog! The list goes on and on and on …
I found the Olympics very inspiring—teamwork, determination, focus, hard work, practice, pain, discipline, and practice again. With that in mind, we are …
Going for the goal!
Karla
“The Lord your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.”
(Zephaniah 3:17) These are words of strength and beauty!
It’s been about a month since I last wrote an update. I have been taking occasional breaks from breast cancer and chemo. J J J J There are still reminders in my mirror, calendar, and energy level. My experience continues, but the finish line is in sight, maybe by the start of 2009. I will always have to be diligent, but I am ready for a break. Ahhhhh!
My CHEMO SIDE EFFECTS are less and less noticeable. My last session was July 22. I didn’t feel like celebrating until I had endured the last set of side effects. Then it was official! I felt almost teary-eyed at my final checkup August 19. I enthusiastically waved goodbye and told the staff I’d like to meet in social circumstances sometime in the future. As I walked out, I tried to click my heels together mid-air, but decided not to break my ankle. Instead, I leaned over the 6th-floor railing and yelled: “I’M DONE WITH CHEMO!” to whoever might have been on the terrace below. I’m sure they’ve heard it before. The oncologist told me it might be another month before the chemo and steroids leave my system, so I still have some symptoms—but this too shall pass!
THE HAIR REPORT: For now, the most noticeable side effect is still my hair. After chemo ended, my scalp started to resemble a baby bird. It feels like silk, but it looks like peach fuzz. If you pay me enough money, I will show you. I am thankful for the new wig I found that is cool, comfortable, and was available for a great price! I googled the peach-fuzz process and learned that I may have this stuff for a month and that “real hair” could come in the second month. I don’t know if the fuzz falls out or changes texture - or if they’re just trying to placate me. Now, I have growing white fuzz on the sides of my head and brown/black thicker hair in the middle of my scalp. I may have something worth calling “hair” by November, but it will be very, very short and maybe kinky-curly. I try not to look at it too many times a day - that does not help it grow any faster! Hair on my arms had thinned, but now all of it is growing, even the part that didn’t fall out. (Stop!) And my eyebrows, which had thinned, are also coming back. That is welcomed, except that some are showing up almost an inch lower than they should. My confused body is trying to repair itself. It will be fine—but I may want to wear long sleeves on my arms and a paper bag on my head. … I am a bit self-conscious. I was at a family event recently where my great-nieces asked me to come into the pool, but they didn’t know about my “hair.” I didn’t want to yank off the wig and shock them, so explained and then went inside and put on a swim cap. I remembered a story of a mom with cancer. She was sobbing out loud after she shaved her head. Her 4-year-old heard her cry and saw her new hairdo. He started to cry, too. He kept saying, “I’m sorry, Mommy!” She asked, “What did you do?” She thought he must have hurt his new puppy or baby sister. He said, “I don’t know, but it must have been bad. It made you tear all your hair out!”
ANOTHER MASTECTOMY – I chose to have another mastectomy on the “healthy” right breast, tentatively scheduled for September 12. Jack asked me: “Are you happy you will have another mastectomy?” I don’t think “happy” and “mastectomy” go in the same sentence, but I am relieved the decision is made, and I will be relieved to have less breast tissue that could hide future carcinoma! I confirmed it with another mammogram and consultation with the same radiologist I had in April. He still feels strongly that my breast tissue is a poor environment. I agree. I have done lots of reading and study and praying and have talked with other women who have made this choice. I generally do not want unnecessary surgeries, but I don’t think this is unnecessary. I have microcalcifications scattered throughout my breast. Microcalcifications are not cancerous unless they are atypical (odd-shaped, multiplying fast). Mine are not that, but any microcalcifications can mimic carcinoma, and they can hide it. Some of mine are beginning to cluster, which can be an early indicator of cancer. Maybe I could say they are pre-pre-cancerous. At this point, I don’t trust my breast tissue or detection methods. I looked at all my mammograms since 2004, and I can see developing microcalcifications in my left breast, the one that eventually had cancer. I can also see that mammograms and ultrasounds and physical checks completely missed the biggest tumor I had in my left breast in March, 2008. For detection in the right breast, I would need an annual MRI, and the MRI would need to be followed up with an annual needle biopsy, and there is no way that they could biopsy the whole breast! … I tried unsuccessfully to set the date a little sooner in order to be adequately recovered before Haiti guests stay in our home October 9 – and before we go with 60 people from 17 countries to a camp in northern Arizona October 12-23 – but I will just have to be ready. It should be easier than the first surgery. We are informed, and there are several things we know to avoid. I’m glad Jack is so well-versed and caring – and willing. (Pray for him. It’s easier to be me.) I have been touched by people’s response. A couple of you cried when I told you of the decision. Thank you for your compassion. Yes, there will be grief, loss, and pain—but it is the right thing. And, no, I should not need chemo this time. There is a small possibility, and I do appreciate prayer. Though there is no cancer confirmed in the mammogram, the surgeons will do a sentinel node biopsy during the mastectomy. They inject a radioactive isotope and blue dye the day before surgery and follow it with a Geiger counter during surgery to see which lymph node goes from the breast to the lymphatic system. They then take only that node and its neighbor and have the histology lab check it for any evidence of cancer while the surgery is still happening.
REGRETS? Some people ask me if I wish I had just done the prophylactic (preventative) mastectomy originally – if I should have just done both at the same time, though only one had cancer. Of course, I wish it were over, but there were unusual circumstances. I had less than 24 hours to decide since the plastic surgeon was going to Italy for three weeks. The general surgeon thought surgical complications could have slowed up chemo, and that was not a good idea. While I wish I had had more time to really consider it, I didn’t, and that is fine. I chose to treat the cancer I knew I had. I choose now to see that as God’s protection. I did get an infection in one drain, and two infections could have delayed chemo. There were several times I was very glad that I could sleep on one side, move firmly in one direction, push up from the floor with one arm, and so forth. I do want to say something to the team, eventually. The radiologist had to speak to me in “code” both times I saw him. He was not supposed to suggest a mastectomy if there is no sign of cancer or atypical cells. That is not his role. Similarly, surgeons are often careful not to pressure patients into doing something irreversible if it isn’t necessary. I see their different roles, but I want to say something in a final analysis as a patient who wants to be protected from a life-threatening illness. For now, I am letting this go. I don’t need to deal with it, and I need to work well with each member of the team. They have been wonderful instruments and skilled professionals, but I wish I didn’t have to read between the lines.
LOSSES AND GAINS: I will have more grief—more lost tears—for another body part that is somehow part of what it means to be female. I have a loss of innocence! I think, “Last year at this time, I didn’t know I had cancer, but I did …” I have lost some trust in my body to fight, defend, and repair itself. I have lost energy and productivity, but I have gained rest. The losses are minimal, in many ways. … I gained another year last Monday. This time, I didn’t want to celebrate a birthday—I wanted to celebrate LIFE! I have grown in my sense of security. God has held me securely in His arms through this ordeal. He has enveloped me. I have a get-well card at my desk. One drawing shows a contented, smiling lamb in the shepherd’s arms. In the other drawing, the contented lamb and the shepherd are looking each other in the eye, loving each other. I have grown in my love for (and by) family. My immediate family has been so supportive, and it was great to be with extended family last weekend. Thanks to my brother-in-law Joe who said, “Keep writing….it’s like Tuesdays with Karla, but you’re going to live.” My work colleagues have been amazing. I haven’t been very productive, but they continue to encourage me! I took on a few more projects with Staff Conference coming, and I trust it will be good for me and for those who will use what I prepare. Harvest set up a Tesch medical fund to defray expenses. (Write for info, or call Eli at 602-258-1083.) I have gained strength from friends who have stood with me with remarkable encouragement and prayer. I cannot believe what some of you do and say! You are amazing. I am humbled. Thanks for crying with me. Thanks for feeding us. Thanks for thinking of us. Thanks for making me exercise! Thanks for putting up with my chemo-fog! The list goes on and on and on …
I found the Olympics very inspiring—teamwork, determination, focus, hard work, practice, pain, discipline, and practice again. With that in mind, we are …
Going for the goal!
Karla
Karla's Health Update - 7/26/08
Hi, All –
My fourth and FINAL chemo was last Tuesday! Hooray, hooray, hooray, hooray, hooray! I will still have chemo side effects for a couple of weeks and then more surgery decisions, but this part is done!!! It wasn’t as severe for me as it is for some people, but it wasn’t exactly fun, either. (I do try to see this whole thing as an adventure. Secretly, didn’t you always wonder what you’d look like with a shaved head?)
I had a few of the same old side effects these last two times – fatigue, finger blisters, fatigue, funny toenails, fatigue, bald head, fatigue, one short but painful infection, insomnia, fatigue, a little indigestion, difficulty planning, agitation, fatigue. Did I mention fatigue? This week, I found a couple of stray eyelashes on my face, but the rest seem to be staying attached. I slept all day yesterday and woke up this morning with a swollen tongue the color of a sheet of paper. It’s my compromised immune system. The on-call oncologist thinks it’s mucositis (not thrush, my own “Google-diagnosis”) and that it will clear up without a prescription.
There has been some FUN, too. Small blessings are huge!
My friend Nancy brought me her wig and hat collection from her 2007 cancer experience. I so appreciated the TLC and the “this-too-shall-pass” message her act of kindness represented. Wearing her wig, I was blond for a few days! I loved the style and how cool it was to wear in our 112-degree AZ temperatures. I found the same style at a good price in “ginger brown.” It will still be a few months before I have hair that counts for much. The next adventure: What kind of hair will I get? Will it be kinky-curly chemo hair?
Heather and Toby camped out at our house for a few days after my 3rd chemo. We watched movies, among other things. It was fun to set the table for “the original four” again. Dave came over at the end of the time and blessed us with some good technical advice.
I’m still exercising to Richard Simmons’ “Broadway Sweat.” I think my friend and colleague Brian believes I’ve lost my soul or at least my marbles. The music makes it fun, and I’m trying to really learn the dances, so it challenges my chemo-brain, too.
We went to a wedding in Tucson and spent a day with MaryAnn, Jack’s sister. This was our big vacation, and it was a special time.
My friend Doris—who was first my parents’ friend 60 years ago—just had cancer surgery. Her surgery went well, and it has been good to reconnect with her. She lives in Northern AZ, many miles from Phoenix. She came to Phoenix for surgery and ended up (I think!) in the same hospital room I occupied in April!
We are anticipating fun visitors from Colorado—the Millers—who will be housesitting for our friends and neighbors, the Frosts.
I was honored for 25 years of service during our Harvest Board meeting. I tried to thank Harvest staff and board for supporting me in this time, but mostly I blubbered with gratitude. The plaque they gave me was encouraging. It captures spirit, not position—that’s Harvest. I loved it. Read all the way down …
For 25 years of Christ-honoring service to Our Lord, to His Body, and to the Harvest Family through her many gifts – including:
Editing and Writing; Historian, Haiti Field Coordinator; Social Coordinator; Health Insurance Coordinator; Secretary to the Board of Directors; General Encourager; Keeper of Tribal Knowledge; “Mother Confessor,” and “Holder of the Fort during Challenging Times”
If I have to write a NOT FUN paragraph, it will be about research for the next steps. Either way, I will be having several more reconstruction surgeries soon. Of bigger import is the decision whether to keep my right breast or have another mastectomy. Much depends on the adequacy of cancer-detection methods with my hard-to-read tissue—and what insurance will agree to do. Doctors did not agree before. Please pray for wisdom and clarity—and joy through the decision process. (This assignment is only for those who truly believe in miracles!)
Here are some other OBSERVATIONS:
I was struck to learn from my cousin Sue that her mom—my dad’s sister—discovered cancer in her left breast at age 61. That’s my story! Certainly, I thought, I can’t have been programmed that closely! Twenty-five years ago, discovery and treatment were not as good as they are today, and my dear aunt lived only a few years without chemo or radical surgery. I have a profound sense of gratitude to the generations who went before me—and to those who made medical advances that benefit me now.
One of my chemo IVs was originally charged at $2700, and the other $3600. That’s for one afternoon. There are plenty of other things in the same list- it’s a $7000-$8000 afternoon, I guess. PTL, my insurance company negotiates the costs and also appears to be covering all of my chemo!!!! But what would I do without insurance? What would anyone do? Here’s more … When I asked the nursing staff where they were all getting their great-looking lunches (I was hungry), they told me the drug reps feed them 3 out of 5 days every week. I don’t think there’s even any competition for the chemo drugs I take. The staff is nice and I’m glad they have job perks, and they even gave Jack a “free” pillow and a few pens with drug company names on them, but I think I’d like to see cheaper drugs.
On the way to Tucson and back, I took a CD of great hymns, a gift from my cousins Ken and Vicki. Jack and I discovered that it is impossible to sing “Great Is Thy Faithfulness” without crying. (“Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me.” Just too true!)
Thanks, friends and family, for your faithfulness unto me/us, too! Jack and I send our love!
Love,
Karla
Blessings,
Karla
Karla Tesch
Editor / U.S.-Haiti Coordinator
Harvest
www.harvestfoundation.org
602-258-1083
My fourth and FINAL chemo was last Tuesday! Hooray, hooray, hooray, hooray, hooray! I will still have chemo side effects for a couple of weeks and then more surgery decisions, but this part is done!!! It wasn’t as severe for me as it is for some people, but it wasn’t exactly fun, either. (I do try to see this whole thing as an adventure. Secretly, didn’t you always wonder what you’d look like with a shaved head?)
I had a few of the same old side effects these last two times – fatigue, finger blisters, fatigue, funny toenails, fatigue, bald head, fatigue, one short but painful infection, insomnia, fatigue, a little indigestion, difficulty planning, agitation, fatigue. Did I mention fatigue? This week, I found a couple of stray eyelashes on my face, but the rest seem to be staying attached. I slept all day yesterday and woke up this morning with a swollen tongue the color of a sheet of paper. It’s my compromised immune system. The on-call oncologist thinks it’s mucositis (not thrush, my own “Google-diagnosis”) and that it will clear up without a prescription.
There has been some FUN, too. Small blessings are huge!
My friend Nancy brought me her wig and hat collection from her 2007 cancer experience. I so appreciated the TLC and the “this-too-shall-pass” message her act of kindness represented. Wearing her wig, I was blond for a few days! I loved the style and how cool it was to wear in our 112-degree AZ temperatures. I found the same style at a good price in “ginger brown.” It will still be a few months before I have hair that counts for much. The next adventure: What kind of hair will I get? Will it be kinky-curly chemo hair?
Heather and Toby camped out at our house for a few days after my 3rd chemo. We watched movies, among other things. It was fun to set the table for “the original four” again. Dave came over at the end of the time and blessed us with some good technical advice.
I’m still exercising to Richard Simmons’ “Broadway Sweat.” I think my friend and colleague Brian believes I’ve lost my soul or at least my marbles. The music makes it fun, and I’m trying to really learn the dances, so it challenges my chemo-brain, too.
We went to a wedding in Tucson and spent a day with MaryAnn, Jack’s sister. This was our big vacation, and it was a special time.
My friend Doris—who was first my parents’ friend 60 years ago—just had cancer surgery. Her surgery went well, and it has been good to reconnect with her. She lives in Northern AZ, many miles from Phoenix. She came to Phoenix for surgery and ended up (I think!) in the same hospital room I occupied in April!
We are anticipating fun visitors from Colorado—the Millers—who will be housesitting for our friends and neighbors, the Frosts.
I was honored for 25 years of service during our Harvest Board meeting. I tried to thank Harvest staff and board for supporting me in this time, but mostly I blubbered with gratitude. The plaque they gave me was encouraging. It captures spirit, not position—that’s Harvest. I loved it. Read all the way down …
For 25 years of Christ-honoring service to Our Lord, to His Body, and to the Harvest Family through her many gifts – including:
Editing and Writing; Historian, Haiti Field Coordinator; Social Coordinator; Health Insurance Coordinator; Secretary to the Board of Directors; General Encourager; Keeper of Tribal Knowledge; “Mother Confessor,” and “Holder of the Fort during Challenging Times”
If I have to write a NOT FUN paragraph, it will be about research for the next steps. Either way, I will be having several more reconstruction surgeries soon. Of bigger import is the decision whether to keep my right breast or have another mastectomy. Much depends on the adequacy of cancer-detection methods with my hard-to-read tissue—and what insurance will agree to do. Doctors did not agree before. Please pray for wisdom and clarity—and joy through the decision process. (This assignment is only for those who truly believe in miracles!)
Here are some other OBSERVATIONS:
I was struck to learn from my cousin Sue that her mom—my dad’s sister—discovered cancer in her left breast at age 61. That’s my story! Certainly, I thought, I can’t have been programmed that closely! Twenty-five years ago, discovery and treatment were not as good as they are today, and my dear aunt lived only a few years without chemo or radical surgery. I have a profound sense of gratitude to the generations who went before me—and to those who made medical advances that benefit me now.
One of my chemo IVs was originally charged at $2700, and the other $3600. That’s for one afternoon. There are plenty of other things in the same list- it’s a $7000-$8000 afternoon, I guess. PTL, my insurance company negotiates the costs and also appears to be covering all of my chemo!!!! But what would I do without insurance? What would anyone do? Here’s more … When I asked the nursing staff where they were all getting their great-looking lunches (I was hungry), they told me the drug reps feed them 3 out of 5 days every week. I don’t think there’s even any competition for the chemo drugs I take. The staff is nice and I’m glad they have job perks, and they even gave Jack a “free” pillow and a few pens with drug company names on them, but I think I’d like to see cheaper drugs.
On the way to Tucson and back, I took a CD of great hymns, a gift from my cousins Ken and Vicki. Jack and I discovered that it is impossible to sing “Great Is Thy Faithfulness” without crying. (“Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me.” Just too true!)
Thanks, friends and family, for your faithfulness unto me/us, too! Jack and I send our love!
Love,
Karla
Blessings,
Karla
Karla Tesch
Editor / U.S.-Haiti Coordinator
Harvest
www.harvestfoundation.org
602-258-1083
Karla's Health Update - 6/14/08
Dear Encouraging Family and Friends:
“How the HEALTH are you?” asked my possible-shirttail cousin Molly. (Molly and I were friends in Arizona and Colorado for years and years before we discovered that our great-grandmas were friends and maybe distant cousins in southern Indiana, generations ago!) So, here is how the HEALTH I am … Basically, it has been a challenging but possible time …
Round One of chemo started on May 19. My initial energy boost was from steroids, which only lasted three days. I can see why people like to take steroids! Fatigue is supposed to be the #1 side effect of both parts of my “cocktail,” and that was so true for me on Round #1. I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t even figure out how to dust a couple of rooms in the house. I couldn’t finish projects, and starting them was mind-boggling. I felt drugged and poisoned, which was—literally—what had happened. I got discouraged by outside events and by just being tired, tired, tired. I was too tired to sleep. I felt exhausted, unstructured, like an amoeba. I had a few other side effects, but nothing came close to the utter exhaustion I felt for two weeks. Then, one day about a week before the second treatment, I woke up…
Despite extreme exhaustion for 2-plus weeks during the first round of chemo, my blood levels came back up to normal just before the second treatment, and I didn’t require a Neulasta injection to rebuild them. That was a gift! As I listen to other people, I think that most of them do get the shot and then hate its side effects, so I was pleasantly surprised I didn’t need it. I credit most of this to the supplements I’m taking—I sure didn’t feel energetic.
Between sessions, too, my hair fell out, and I am now bald. This was quite an experience. It started to fall out about 14-18 days after the first chemo treatment—so fast I ran out of stores to get home while I still had hair. I washed it another time and then Jack shaved it with #4 clippers, followed by #1, and finally Gilette and a razorblade. I then tried on my free wigs again and discovered I didn’t like them at all without my own hair underneath. (Since my own hair was so thick, I didn’t want to do any real wig shopping until I didn’t have my own hair.) The donated wigs looked very 1960s—the bubble, bouffant look. Think Lawrence Welk or Lennon Sisters or my prom picture from 1968. Yuck. Yesterday, I had them styled, and one of them looks good. It’s hot and tight, so I don’t wear it all the time, but I do wear it in public. That was another thing. People encouraged me to wear scarves in public instead, but I hated how they looked on me. I stood in front of the mirror the first two days and tried on all sorts of styles and combinations. Jack said I was being a junior-high girl and couldn’t understand my hesitancy to just greet the world with my new “reality.” That was not a fun time. I did not feel supported by him (though he has usually been a great support), and he thought I was being ridiculous. I knew I would adjust to it, but not instantly. It took a couple of days, and it did cause instant adolescence. Who am I? Do I care more about what other people think of me? Or do I care more what I think of me? It’s both. I didn’t like looking in the mirror and not recognizing that person! “She” was not the person who usually looks back at “me,” either with “her” 1960s-era wig or bare noggin. Yes, I know, I know. I’m more than my hair. I’m still the same person underneath. Etc. But, I gotta tell you, the mirror was a shock! After I got the wig fixed, “I” recognize “her” (when “she” wears hair), and “I” feel better. As I tried on scarves on Day 1, I had to answer another identity question. I don’t identify myself as a “cancer patient.” Scarves, to me, say “cancer patient.” I always say I “had” cancer and I “am having” chemo. I’m Karla, not “cancer patient.” I care about breast cancer awareness, but my message from this experience has to do with many life lessons. Everyone figures it out a little differently. On Day 2, I wondered why I so hesitated to leave the bedroom without a wig or hat. I finally realized that, having had hair for 60 years, I felt totally naked walking in front of open blinds without hair or a hat. Now, a week later, I’m more accustomed to it and do run around the house “naked” (cranially speaking—don’t rush over).
I just had my second round of chemo on June 10. We saw Richard and Jenny at the treatment, and they are doing very well. Thanks for your prayers for them, too! After this round of chemo, my fingertips are tender and hurting and uncooperative (peripheral neuropathy), my blood pressure spikes way high and then way low, and my skin is blistering on my fingers—but I am not nearly as fatigued at the present. I hope it lasts! I can put sentences together. I can plan. I still haven’t had any nausea! My fingernails may go next, I’m told, so I grease them up regularly, and I’m careful about crowds and infections. My eyebrows may also depart. People tell me, “If you lose your eyebrows, you can just draw them on!” I think: “Yeah, thanks! You have no idea how rigged together I am already!”
I’m trying to live on a schedule that takes better advantage of times when I have more energy. I am also exercising and hope that will defeat fatigue. I love to swim, but I’m supposed to be careful about chlorine and dry skin. It’s over 100 degrees outside, so walking isn’t fun. I pulled out our exercise videos, quickly eliminating the ones that featured skinny ladies with their own hair, firm abs, and no mastectomies. That left Richard Simmons’ “Sweatin’ to the Oldies” and a Country Western line dancing video! Last night, I caught a glimpse in the mirror of a bald lady, held together in places by stuffing and baling wire, who was indeed sweating. Ugh. “This too shall pass,” I say and pray.
About the stuffing and bailing wire … my tissue expander is in process. I have 360 cc’s (12 ounces) of saline pumped into my chest, with 140 more to go. It will eventually be replaced by a permanent saline implant. The tissue expander is under the chest muscle and is near my clavicle—freakish. The plastic surgeon promises me that the final implant will be in the normal position! A few ounces can be added every week, but I am not hurrying to finish the expansion. I need to know if the other breast is healthy. It originally showed lots of microcalcifications, but not atypical ones. There was disagreement among my doctors. It was confusing. We originally thought my lymph nodes were involved, so I opted to focus on quickly treating the cancer I knew I had, having only one mastectomy. Soon, I will need either another mastectomy (if atypical cells or too dense to read) or simpler plastic surgery (to “match” the implant). The plastic surgery is an easier recovery, but I would need annual MRIs and needle biopsies. There are better detection methods on the horizon, but insurance companies do not cover them routinely. I need to give some kind of answer to the plastic surgeon about my plans, but my surgeon doesn’t want to evaluate this until chemo (July or August). So, I’m left with what I’m calling stuffing and bailing wire—and chemo really is my current focus!
To borrow from Molly, how the HEALTH are each of you? Thanks for your great encouragement and prayers. I can’t sign off without saying again that God and the people He sends have been so good to me, to us. Remember—if you want to sweat to the oldies, you know where to come! (Bring a hat.)
Blessings,
Karla
“How the HEALTH are you?” asked my possible-shirttail cousin Molly. (Molly and I were friends in Arizona and Colorado for years and years before we discovered that our great-grandmas were friends and maybe distant cousins in southern Indiana, generations ago!) So, here is how the HEALTH I am … Basically, it has been a challenging but possible time …
Round One of chemo started on May 19. My initial energy boost was from steroids, which only lasted three days. I can see why people like to take steroids! Fatigue is supposed to be the #1 side effect of both parts of my “cocktail,” and that was so true for me on Round #1. I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t even figure out how to dust a couple of rooms in the house. I couldn’t finish projects, and starting them was mind-boggling. I felt drugged and poisoned, which was—literally—what had happened. I got discouraged by outside events and by just being tired, tired, tired. I was too tired to sleep. I felt exhausted, unstructured, like an amoeba. I had a few other side effects, but nothing came close to the utter exhaustion I felt for two weeks. Then, one day about a week before the second treatment, I woke up…
Despite extreme exhaustion for 2-plus weeks during the first round of chemo, my blood levels came back up to normal just before the second treatment, and I didn’t require a Neulasta injection to rebuild them. That was a gift! As I listen to other people, I think that most of them do get the shot and then hate its side effects, so I was pleasantly surprised I didn’t need it. I credit most of this to the supplements I’m taking—I sure didn’t feel energetic.
Between sessions, too, my hair fell out, and I am now bald. This was quite an experience. It started to fall out about 14-18 days after the first chemo treatment—so fast I ran out of stores to get home while I still had hair. I washed it another time and then Jack shaved it with #4 clippers, followed by #1, and finally Gilette and a razorblade. I then tried on my free wigs again and discovered I didn’t like them at all without my own hair underneath. (Since my own hair was so thick, I didn’t want to do any real wig shopping until I didn’t have my own hair.) The donated wigs looked very 1960s—the bubble, bouffant look. Think Lawrence Welk or Lennon Sisters or my prom picture from 1968. Yuck. Yesterday, I had them styled, and one of them looks good. It’s hot and tight, so I don’t wear it all the time, but I do wear it in public. That was another thing. People encouraged me to wear scarves in public instead, but I hated how they looked on me. I stood in front of the mirror the first two days and tried on all sorts of styles and combinations. Jack said I was being a junior-high girl and couldn’t understand my hesitancy to just greet the world with my new “reality.” That was not a fun time. I did not feel supported by him (though he has usually been a great support), and he thought I was being ridiculous. I knew I would adjust to it, but not instantly. It took a couple of days, and it did cause instant adolescence. Who am I? Do I care more about what other people think of me? Or do I care more what I think of me? It’s both. I didn’t like looking in the mirror and not recognizing that person! “She” was not the person who usually looks back at “me,” either with “her” 1960s-era wig or bare noggin. Yes, I know, I know. I’m more than my hair. I’m still the same person underneath. Etc. But, I gotta tell you, the mirror was a shock! After I got the wig fixed, “I” recognize “her” (when “she” wears hair), and “I” feel better. As I tried on scarves on Day 1, I had to answer another identity question. I don’t identify myself as a “cancer patient.” Scarves, to me, say “cancer patient.” I always say I “had” cancer and I “am having” chemo. I’m Karla, not “cancer patient.” I care about breast cancer awareness, but my message from this experience has to do with many life lessons. Everyone figures it out a little differently. On Day 2, I wondered why I so hesitated to leave the bedroom without a wig or hat. I finally realized that, having had hair for 60 years, I felt totally naked walking in front of open blinds without hair or a hat. Now, a week later, I’m more accustomed to it and do run around the house “naked” (cranially speaking—don’t rush over).
I just had my second round of chemo on June 10. We saw Richard and Jenny at the treatment, and they are doing very well. Thanks for your prayers for them, too! After this round of chemo, my fingertips are tender and hurting and uncooperative (peripheral neuropathy), my blood pressure spikes way high and then way low, and my skin is blistering on my fingers—but I am not nearly as fatigued at the present. I hope it lasts! I can put sentences together. I can plan. I still haven’t had any nausea! My fingernails may go next, I’m told, so I grease them up regularly, and I’m careful about crowds and infections. My eyebrows may also depart. People tell me, “If you lose your eyebrows, you can just draw them on!” I think: “Yeah, thanks! You have no idea how rigged together I am already!”
I’m trying to live on a schedule that takes better advantage of times when I have more energy. I am also exercising and hope that will defeat fatigue. I love to swim, but I’m supposed to be careful about chlorine and dry skin. It’s over 100 degrees outside, so walking isn’t fun. I pulled out our exercise videos, quickly eliminating the ones that featured skinny ladies with their own hair, firm abs, and no mastectomies. That left Richard Simmons’ “Sweatin’ to the Oldies” and a Country Western line dancing video! Last night, I caught a glimpse in the mirror of a bald lady, held together in places by stuffing and baling wire, who was indeed sweating. Ugh. “This too shall pass,” I say and pray.
About the stuffing and bailing wire … my tissue expander is in process. I have 360 cc’s (12 ounces) of saline pumped into my chest, with 140 more to go. It will eventually be replaced by a permanent saline implant. The tissue expander is under the chest muscle and is near my clavicle—freakish. The plastic surgeon promises me that the final implant will be in the normal position! A few ounces can be added every week, but I am not hurrying to finish the expansion. I need to know if the other breast is healthy. It originally showed lots of microcalcifications, but not atypical ones. There was disagreement among my doctors. It was confusing. We originally thought my lymph nodes were involved, so I opted to focus on quickly treating the cancer I knew I had, having only one mastectomy. Soon, I will need either another mastectomy (if atypical cells or too dense to read) or simpler plastic surgery (to “match” the implant). The plastic surgery is an easier recovery, but I would need annual MRIs and needle biopsies. There are better detection methods on the horizon, but insurance companies do not cover them routinely. I need to give some kind of answer to the plastic surgeon about my plans, but my surgeon doesn’t want to evaluate this until chemo (July or August). So, I’m left with what I’m calling stuffing and bailing wire—and chemo really is my current focus!
To borrow from Molly, how the HEALTH are each of you? Thanks for your great encouragement and prayers. I can’t sign off without saying again that God and the people He sends have been so good to me, to us. Remember—if you want to sweat to the oldies, you know where to come! (Bring a hat.)
Blessings,
Karla
Karla's Health Update - 5/20/08
Hi, dear people!
How are each of you? I am amazingly well, having had my first chemo treatment yesterday. In fact, the word I keep using for the whole experience yesterday is “amazing.” More about that in a minute!
When I discovered that I couldn’t explain my chemo choice when a friend asked me about it, I took an extra week to get more information. I wanted to make sure I was really on board and that I wasn’t choosing a lighter course just so it would be easier for me (a short-term benefit). I also wanted the week to build up my immune system with more vitamins—and to hold a two-day yard sale for Haiti in 95-degree temperature.J (It went well, and lots of people helped us.)
The treatment I had initially chosen (TC) is relatively new and is not as aggressive as the other option (TAC). The studies I found on TC were impressive, but it seemed that the women who had been treated successfully were in lower-risk categories and that the jury was still out among oncologists about using it for women with my risk factors. I prayed for guidance and then took my questions back to the oncologist. I knew what information I was hoping to find, and she was very helpful. She used a computerized program to compare risks and also gave me more studies in which TC and TAC were compared—unfortunately, not to each other, but to two different recipes—but it helped. I made my own little chart. A statistics teacher would flunk me, but I am comfortable with it. I can now explain the choice. I stuck with TC over TAC because—though it has 2% greater risk of cancer reoccurrence/death—it has 2% less risk of causing heart problems. I want to take care of my heart, too!
Another neat thing helped, too. I went to a Look Good…Feel Better class sponsored by the American Cancer Society. (They give makeup kits and advice to women going through chemo.) There, I met a lady in her 30s who had just had her second TC treatment. She has my exact same risk factors and was given the same two choices by her oncologist, who is mentored by a renowned oncologist. In fact, she went to three oncologists and compared them all. The free makeup was great, but finding someone in my shoes, making the same decision, was a greater gift! I learned that I wasn’t signing up for something so new that nobody else was choosing it for their patients with my risk factors. Marvelous!
Finally, I was ready. I shopped for bland food and gentle shampoo and packed a bag with soothing CDs. There is so much advice about what to take—I couldn’t fathom what this experience was going to be like. Would I feel out-of-body? Was it like having the flu? I knew that I could have side effects after the chemo treatment time (a total of 4 treatments, with 3 weeks in between), but I didn’t know what to expect during the actual time, sitting in a recliner in a glass-enclosed room with other patients, each with IVs. I was told my initial chemo time would take 2 or 3 hours. I asked the oncologist what it’s like in there. “It’s boring!” she replied, so I took my laptop to reorganize files in my hard drive—a task suited for boredom.
The time on Monday in the little glass room was actually rather wonderful! Let me go back another day and start with Sunday. After church, 80-year-old (?) Alice came up to me in the lobby. She took a bottle of oil out of purse, shooed her husband away (“Go away, George!”), anointed me, and prayed. She confirmed with great joy that God would be going with me every step of the way into the chemo room. I said, “Yes, God is good.” She said, “I like Him,” smiled, and trotted away in her walker. She made me smile inside and out. How reassuring! Early Monday morning, my friend Char called while driving and said the same thing. “Karla, it’s like someone’s telling me this from the back seat of my car!” I have felt safe and protected by God in this journey so it didn’t surprise me, but it was very special to have it declared.
They were right. God was there…but not only for me. The only other patient in there was Richard, who was also starting chemo that day. His wife, Jenny, was sitting next to him. They have a battle ahead of them. He and I started to discuss our cancer journeys, our families, and our lives. His wife left the room after awhile and returned with his brother Robert and sister-in-law Aurora, newly arrived from California. As the four of them chatted with each other, I moved around a few files on my hard drive and took a little trip to the ladies’ room, IV in tow. When I returned, one of them said something about prayer support, and I just couldn’t stay out of their conversation. I said that the prayer support I have received has been phenomenal and effective. Suddenly, life came in the room—and encouragement.
I quickly learned that Robert and Aurora are Salvation Army officers in California and had also served in Pueblo, Colorado for 7 years in the early 1990s. We lived in Pueblo for 12 years, leaving in 1983. Jack had been on the Salvation Army Advisory Board, and Robert and Aurora had replaced the replacements for the people we knew, Ernie and Mary. In fact, Ernie and Mary had lived just a few blocks from us in a home owned by the Salvation Army, and we babysat their kids, wrapped hundreds of Christmas gifts, rang bells at K-Mart, loaned them a car, preached and played music in their church, and benefited from their hospitality. Robert, Aurora, and I were soon talking about the neighborhood K-Mart, Wal-Mart, King Soopers, Safeway, and other neighborhood landmarks. At that point, Jack came back in to the room. He kept getting phone calls and was out of the room most of the first hour. I quickly caught him up, and he came alive. He really hadn’t wanted to be in the chemo room, but suddenly he was standing up, regaling us all with fond stories of our time in Pueblo—especially about God’s provision in some amazing ways. By the time the nurse came in to take away my IV, nobody wanted to quit talking. We didn’t even leave right away. I was getting sleepy, and I think Richard was, too, but it was a wonderful time. We circled together and prayed for one another, and Jack sang a quiet song. Richard said he had been distressed about starting chemo, but this was a time of great encouragement for him. I agreed. The whole experience was rich! I gave them our home phone number, and Jenny and I compared notes and realized we would be there together again in three weeks. We hugged and left our new friends. … God, indeed, had come to the chemo room.
What were my side effects? Not much, yet! The nurse gave me a dose of steroids to counteract side effects, so I can no longer play professional baseball. Times 2, 3, and 4 are expected to build in intensity. I’m not expecting the worst, but I’m trying to be ready, too. My younger cohort who is using the same TC recipe lost her hair and healthy blood count between her first and second treatments. Yesterday, I felt like an amoeba, or maybe like jello. I couldn’t sleep, but just flopped from one end of the couch to another. Amoeba is a great description—or perhaps a really flexible teenager. That’s not all bad. Although Jack made sure I had a good-sized bucket, I didn’t need it, but I did take a precautionary anti-nausea pill before turning in for the night. Today, Tuesday, I awoke at 6 AM, mopped the floors, and cleaned the baseboards in the entryway. I don’t think I have ever done that! Maybe this chemo stuff will be good for me. To be honest, I did run out of steam in a few hours, read, rested, did some Harvest work, and am now writing y’all.
Everyone has a unique way of caring. Some of you phone; some write; some cook; some pray quietly; some think of us from time to time; some cut out articles; some send gifts. I want you to know—whatever you do is appreciated and gratefully accepted. We sense your care and love you. (Please remember Richard and Jenny, too!)
Amazed and thankful,
Karla
How are each of you? I am amazingly well, having had my first chemo treatment yesterday. In fact, the word I keep using for the whole experience yesterday is “amazing.” More about that in a minute!
When I discovered that I couldn’t explain my chemo choice when a friend asked me about it, I took an extra week to get more information. I wanted to make sure I was really on board and that I wasn’t choosing a lighter course just so it would be easier for me (a short-term benefit). I also wanted the week to build up my immune system with more vitamins—and to hold a two-day yard sale for Haiti in 95-degree temperature.J (It went well, and lots of people helped us.)
The treatment I had initially chosen (TC) is relatively new and is not as aggressive as the other option (TAC). The studies I found on TC were impressive, but it seemed that the women who had been treated successfully were in lower-risk categories and that the jury was still out among oncologists about using it for women with my risk factors. I prayed for guidance and then took my questions back to the oncologist. I knew what information I was hoping to find, and she was very helpful. She used a computerized program to compare risks and also gave me more studies in which TC and TAC were compared—unfortunately, not to each other, but to two different recipes—but it helped. I made my own little chart. A statistics teacher would flunk me, but I am comfortable with it. I can now explain the choice. I stuck with TC over TAC because—though it has 2% greater risk of cancer reoccurrence/death—it has 2% less risk of causing heart problems. I want to take care of my heart, too!
Another neat thing helped, too. I went to a Look Good…Feel Better class sponsored by the American Cancer Society. (They give makeup kits and advice to women going through chemo.) There, I met a lady in her 30s who had just had her second TC treatment. She has my exact same risk factors and was given the same two choices by her oncologist, who is mentored by a renowned oncologist. In fact, she went to three oncologists and compared them all. The free makeup was great, but finding someone in my shoes, making the same decision, was a greater gift! I learned that I wasn’t signing up for something so new that nobody else was choosing it for their patients with my risk factors. Marvelous!
Finally, I was ready. I shopped for bland food and gentle shampoo and packed a bag with soothing CDs. There is so much advice about what to take—I couldn’t fathom what this experience was going to be like. Would I feel out-of-body? Was it like having the flu? I knew that I could have side effects after the chemo treatment time (a total of 4 treatments, with 3 weeks in between), but I didn’t know what to expect during the actual time, sitting in a recliner in a glass-enclosed room with other patients, each with IVs. I was told my initial chemo time would take 2 or 3 hours. I asked the oncologist what it’s like in there. “It’s boring!” she replied, so I took my laptop to reorganize files in my hard drive—a task suited for boredom.
The time on Monday in the little glass room was actually rather wonderful! Let me go back another day and start with Sunday. After church, 80-year-old (?) Alice came up to me in the lobby. She took a bottle of oil out of purse, shooed her husband away (“Go away, George!”), anointed me, and prayed. She confirmed with great joy that God would be going with me every step of the way into the chemo room. I said, “Yes, God is good.” She said, “I like Him,” smiled, and trotted away in her walker. She made me smile inside and out. How reassuring! Early Monday morning, my friend Char called while driving and said the same thing. “Karla, it’s like someone’s telling me this from the back seat of my car!” I have felt safe and protected by God in this journey so it didn’t surprise me, but it was very special to have it declared.
They were right. God was there…but not only for me. The only other patient in there was Richard, who was also starting chemo that day. His wife, Jenny, was sitting next to him. They have a battle ahead of them. He and I started to discuss our cancer journeys, our families, and our lives. His wife left the room after awhile and returned with his brother Robert and sister-in-law Aurora, newly arrived from California. As the four of them chatted with each other, I moved around a few files on my hard drive and took a little trip to the ladies’ room, IV in tow. When I returned, one of them said something about prayer support, and I just couldn’t stay out of their conversation. I said that the prayer support I have received has been phenomenal and effective. Suddenly, life came in the room—and encouragement.
I quickly learned that Robert and Aurora are Salvation Army officers in California and had also served in Pueblo, Colorado for 7 years in the early 1990s. We lived in Pueblo for 12 years, leaving in 1983. Jack had been on the Salvation Army Advisory Board, and Robert and Aurora had replaced the replacements for the people we knew, Ernie and Mary. In fact, Ernie and Mary had lived just a few blocks from us in a home owned by the Salvation Army, and we babysat their kids, wrapped hundreds of Christmas gifts, rang bells at K-Mart, loaned them a car, preached and played music in their church, and benefited from their hospitality. Robert, Aurora, and I were soon talking about the neighborhood K-Mart, Wal-Mart, King Soopers, Safeway, and other neighborhood landmarks. At that point, Jack came back in to the room. He kept getting phone calls and was out of the room most of the first hour. I quickly caught him up, and he came alive. He really hadn’t wanted to be in the chemo room, but suddenly he was standing up, regaling us all with fond stories of our time in Pueblo—especially about God’s provision in some amazing ways. By the time the nurse came in to take away my IV, nobody wanted to quit talking. We didn’t even leave right away. I was getting sleepy, and I think Richard was, too, but it was a wonderful time. We circled together and prayed for one another, and Jack sang a quiet song. Richard said he had been distressed about starting chemo, but this was a time of great encouragement for him. I agreed. The whole experience was rich! I gave them our home phone number, and Jenny and I compared notes and realized we would be there together again in three weeks. We hugged and left our new friends. … God, indeed, had come to the chemo room.
What were my side effects? Not much, yet! The nurse gave me a dose of steroids to counteract side effects, so I can no longer play professional baseball. Times 2, 3, and 4 are expected to build in intensity. I’m not expecting the worst, but I’m trying to be ready, too. My younger cohort who is using the same TC recipe lost her hair and healthy blood count between her first and second treatments. Yesterday, I felt like an amoeba, or maybe like jello. I couldn’t sleep, but just flopped from one end of the couch to another. Amoeba is a great description—or perhaps a really flexible teenager. That’s not all bad. Although Jack made sure I had a good-sized bucket, I didn’t need it, but I did take a precautionary anti-nausea pill before turning in for the night. Today, Tuesday, I awoke at 6 AM, mopped the floors, and cleaned the baseboards in the entryway. I don’t think I have ever done that! Maybe this chemo stuff will be good for me. To be honest, I did run out of steam in a few hours, read, rested, did some Harvest work, and am now writing y’all.
Everyone has a unique way of caring. Some of you phone; some write; some cook; some pray quietly; some think of us from time to time; some cut out articles; some send gifts. I want you to know—whatever you do is appreciated and gratefully accepted. We sense your care and love you. (Please remember Richard and Jenny, too!)
Amazed and thankful,
Karla
Karla's Health Update - 4/13/08
Hi, All!
Surgery was yesterday—tonight, I’m sitting at my desk. Thank you so much for your prayers and words of encouragement! We won—we all won! Thank you!
I had a left mastectomy, and I look and feel a little like I lost a fight with a big guy. But we are beating the big guy! They found NO lymph node involvement during surgery! An earlier MRI had shown 4 lymph nodes suspicious of malignancy, but the sentinel node biopsy performed during surgery showed ZERO, ZIP, NADA, ZILCH. (Lymph nodes are how cancer spreads from one place in the body to other organs.) The MRI had been right on other things, and we knew the tumors were large and aggressive, so it would have been reasonable to assume that the lymph nodes would be attacked. We specifically asked for prayer for clean lymph nodes. We were granted that request. I don’t feel worthy, but am so grateful.
Heather and Dave and Dave’s sister Margaret joined Jack during the morning surgery. I, however, joined the doctor and the anesthesiologist, who said he was taking me to some wonderful vacation place. Heather and Dave and Jack tended to me after I got into a room at the hospital. We were all so happy with the news. We laughed a lot, though I wasn’t very alert. I’m glad we didn’t get kicked out. Dave thinks he could have beaten me at Scrabble in that condition! After Heather and Dave left, Toby joined Jack and me for a quiet evening. Jack went home to get some sleep, while Toby and I watched a really good movie on the TV by my bed. The staff let him stay until midnight. Again, because of the news, it was just a really, really nice day for our family—mastectomy and all.
The doctor came and took off the bandages today before releasing me, and Jack decided to stay married to me, anyway. J The scars aren’t pretty, but they will improve, and I will eventually get my girlish figure back. A tissue expander was “installed” during surgery and be expanded gradually, starting in a couple of weeks. That’s about when chemo should start, too.
We will see a final pathology report on Thursday. That will tell us for sure what stage the cancer is in and will tell us what chemotherapy recipe will be needed. Please pray for an infection-free recovery, the ability to sleep comfortably and exercise as instructed, and a good path report on Thursday.
My dear hubby called almost everyone listed in our cell phone directories yesterday to give them the news about the lymph nodes. It reminds me of what he did at the hospital when the kids were born, and he went through a pocket of dimes (for pay phones). Yesterday was another momentous occasion in our lives. Thanks for being a part of it all.
The week of my diagnosis, I searched the Scriptures for comfort, especially Psalms and Isaiah. I needed comfort and protection! I then typed up a list of passages that jumped out at me. Some of you have added to that list, too, and I re-read it frequently. It isn’t just comfort—God has truly been merciful. I read the list again this morning and cried as I identified with the passages and their application to this part of my journey. Let me share the first two that hit me:
· Psalm 18:16 – He reached down from on high and took hold of me; he drew me out of deep waters.
· Isaiah 41:13 – For I am the LORD, your God, who takes hold of your right hand says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.
These mean so much that there isn’t even anything else to say…except…thank You, God, and thank you, friends and family!
Love,
Karla
Surgery was yesterday—tonight, I’m sitting at my desk. Thank you so much for your prayers and words of encouragement! We won—we all won! Thank you!
I had a left mastectomy, and I look and feel a little like I lost a fight with a big guy. But we are beating the big guy! They found NO lymph node involvement during surgery! An earlier MRI had shown 4 lymph nodes suspicious of malignancy, but the sentinel node biopsy performed during surgery showed ZERO, ZIP, NADA, ZILCH. (Lymph nodes are how cancer spreads from one place in the body to other organs.) The MRI had been right on other things, and we knew the tumors were large and aggressive, so it would have been reasonable to assume that the lymph nodes would be attacked. We specifically asked for prayer for clean lymph nodes. We were granted that request. I don’t feel worthy, but am so grateful.
Heather and Dave and Dave’s sister Margaret joined Jack during the morning surgery. I, however, joined the doctor and the anesthesiologist, who said he was taking me to some wonderful vacation place. Heather and Dave and Jack tended to me after I got into a room at the hospital. We were all so happy with the news. We laughed a lot, though I wasn’t very alert. I’m glad we didn’t get kicked out. Dave thinks he could have beaten me at Scrabble in that condition! After Heather and Dave left, Toby joined Jack and me for a quiet evening. Jack went home to get some sleep, while Toby and I watched a really good movie on the TV by my bed. The staff let him stay until midnight. Again, because of the news, it was just a really, really nice day for our family—mastectomy and all.
The doctor came and took off the bandages today before releasing me, and Jack decided to stay married to me, anyway. J The scars aren’t pretty, but they will improve, and I will eventually get my girlish figure back. A tissue expander was “installed” during surgery and be expanded gradually, starting in a couple of weeks. That’s about when chemo should start, too.
We will see a final pathology report on Thursday. That will tell us for sure what stage the cancer is in and will tell us what chemotherapy recipe will be needed. Please pray for an infection-free recovery, the ability to sleep comfortably and exercise as instructed, and a good path report on Thursday.
My dear hubby called almost everyone listed in our cell phone directories yesterday to give them the news about the lymph nodes. It reminds me of what he did at the hospital when the kids were born, and he went through a pocket of dimes (for pay phones). Yesterday was another momentous occasion in our lives. Thanks for being a part of it all.
The week of my diagnosis, I searched the Scriptures for comfort, especially Psalms and Isaiah. I needed comfort and protection! I then typed up a list of passages that jumped out at me. Some of you have added to that list, too, and I re-read it frequently. It isn’t just comfort—God has truly been merciful. I read the list again this morning and cried as I identified with the passages and their application to this part of my journey. Let me share the first two that hit me:
· Psalm 18:16 – He reached down from on high and took hold of me; he drew me out of deep waters.
· Isaiah 41:13 – For I am the LORD, your God, who takes hold of your right hand says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.
These mean so much that there isn’t even anything else to say…except…thank You, God, and thank you, friends and family!
Love,
Karla
Karla's Health Update - 4/11/08
Dear Family and Friends –
Saturday is the big day—surgery for (against!) breast cancer. I am looking forward to it. What do I know? My largest prior surgery was a tonsillectomy in 1950, so I’m happily naïve….
Here’s the scoop:
Surgery: 7:30 am - Saturday, April 12.
Place: Banner Good Samaritan Hospital, Phoenix
Duration: 3 hours
Hospital stay: 1 or 2 nights
Kind: Mastectomy (single), with insertion of tissue expander (for gradual reconstruction)
After surgery: Doctor will give Jack initial report on lymph nodes biopsy—4 are suspicious.
Pathology: Tumors and lymph nodes are sent for further study—results in a week or so.
Dr names: Dr Charles Castillo (general surgeon); Dr Govind Acharya (plastic surgeon)
Prayer Requests: Please pray for successful surgery, eradication of cancer, zero or negligible lymph node involvement, and an infection-free and fast recovery. Pray for peace before surgery, adjustment to my new look, management of pain and anesthesia, physical strength, and healing of wounds.
For you medical types:
· As you know, I had gotten differing medical advice from doctors about single-vs-double mastectomy. A double mastectomy was medically unnecessary for me, but many women choose it. Since extensive and sophisticated testing showed my healthy breast to be cancer free, I opted to have a single mastectomy in order to focus on fighting the cancer that I have now. There were many considerations, but that’s the simplest way to say it. I will be well monitored for any changes by MRIs and mammograms.
· The general surgeon and plastic surgeon work together. After the breast is removed, a tissue expander is put below the muscle wall. It is pumped up a little more each week after surgery for about 6 weeks, using a saline solution. At that point, a permanent implant replaces the expander—an outpatient procedure.
Thank you, again, for your support and prayers! I value each of you and thank you for walking through this with us.
Blessings,
Karla
Karla Tesch
Editor / U.S.-Haiti Coordinator
Harvest
www.harvestfoundation.org
602-258-1083
Saturday is the big day—surgery for (against!) breast cancer. I am looking forward to it. What do I know? My largest prior surgery was a tonsillectomy in 1950, so I’m happily naïve….
Here’s the scoop:
Surgery: 7:30 am - Saturday, April 12.
Place: Banner Good Samaritan Hospital, Phoenix
Duration: 3 hours
Hospital stay: 1 or 2 nights
Kind: Mastectomy (single), with insertion of tissue expander (for gradual reconstruction)
After surgery: Doctor will give Jack initial report on lymph nodes biopsy—4 are suspicious.
Pathology: Tumors and lymph nodes are sent for further study—results in a week or so.
Dr names: Dr Charles Castillo (general surgeon); Dr Govind Acharya (plastic surgeon)
Prayer Requests: Please pray for successful surgery, eradication of cancer, zero or negligible lymph node involvement, and an infection-free and fast recovery. Pray for peace before surgery, adjustment to my new look, management of pain and anesthesia, physical strength, and healing of wounds.
For you medical types:
· As you know, I had gotten differing medical advice from doctors about single-vs-double mastectomy. A double mastectomy was medically unnecessary for me, but many women choose it. Since extensive and sophisticated testing showed my healthy breast to be cancer free, I opted to have a single mastectomy in order to focus on fighting the cancer that I have now. There were many considerations, but that’s the simplest way to say it. I will be well monitored for any changes by MRIs and mammograms.
· The general surgeon and plastic surgeon work together. After the breast is removed, a tissue expander is put below the muscle wall. It is pumped up a little more each week after surgery for about 6 weeks, using a saline solution. At that point, a permanent implant replaces the expander—an outpatient procedure.
Thank you, again, for your support and prayers! I value each of you and thank you for walking through this with us.
Blessings,
Karla
Karla Tesch
Editor / U.S.-Haiti Coordinator
Harvest
www.harvestfoundation.org
602-258-1083
Karla's Health Update - 3/10/08
Hi, dear family and friends!
As some of you know, I had what I called “a wild ride” last week. My story isn’t over, but I am thankful to report good news. On Tuesday last week, I had a “bad” mammo/ultrasound, with the doctor telling me I have breast cancer and to get a biopsy asap. I got the biopsy the next day, Wednesday. I was supposed to hear results on Friday but the lab needed more time to identify the type of cells. “I’m sure it’s cancer. Have a nice weekend and try not to think about it,” was what the doctor told me. Yeah, sure… I took in prayers like a sponge. I just got called at 5 pm on Monday (today). It is cancer, but it’s manageable. It’s contained in the ducts, with maybe a little breakthrough. My assignment is to find a surgeon soon, have a lumpectomy and take a few lymph nodes, biopsy all that, and then be done. (If that biopsy indicates more, I would need to go back to take out more.) The follow-up is radiation, not chemo. I shouldn’t lose energy or even hair. Waiting was hard, but I’ve been moved to tears by people’s concern, support, and care. Jack’s been wonderfully supportive. I have been stopped mid-track in public places by people who asked to pray for me. Thanks to you all! I am so relieved! Hit me the next time I complain about anything or pray for someone without having real compassion. Thank You, God, for a new sense of lease on life!!!! (I still appreciate your prayers for wisdom and healing.)
Love, thanks, blessings,
Karla /Mom/Aunt Karla/ Etc
As some of you know, I had what I called “a wild ride” last week. My story isn’t over, but I am thankful to report good news. On Tuesday last week, I had a “bad” mammo/ultrasound, with the doctor telling me I have breast cancer and to get a biopsy asap. I got the biopsy the next day, Wednesday. I was supposed to hear results on Friday but the lab needed more time to identify the type of cells. “I’m sure it’s cancer. Have a nice weekend and try not to think about it,” was what the doctor told me. Yeah, sure… I took in prayers like a sponge. I just got called at 5 pm on Monday (today). It is cancer, but it’s manageable. It’s contained in the ducts, with maybe a little breakthrough. My assignment is to find a surgeon soon, have a lumpectomy and take a few lymph nodes, biopsy all that, and then be done. (If that biopsy indicates more, I would need to go back to take out more.) The follow-up is radiation, not chemo. I shouldn’t lose energy or even hair. Waiting was hard, but I’ve been moved to tears by people’s concern, support, and care. Jack’s been wonderfully supportive. I have been stopped mid-track in public places by people who asked to pray for me. Thanks to you all! I am so relieved! Hit me the next time I complain about anything or pray for someone without having real compassion. Thank You, God, for a new sense of lease on life!!!! (I still appreciate your prayers for wisdom and healing.)
Love, thanks, blessings,
Karla /Mom/Aunt Karla/ Etc
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