Trials, Blessings, Cancer.

By Hannah
Introduced by Amy

Hannah is my friend who my son may love more than me.  (Kididng, Not Kidding. He asks for her and tells me that he loves her--no joke!  Pretty bold for a two-year-old, huh?  Ha!)  My husband met her in their grad programs, and he heard that she is amazing with kids (she's the oldest of six kids--she's had a lot of practice), so we asked her to babysit.  Seriously, I remember thinking watching her interacting with my son, "Crap, she's better with my baby than I am!" 

Hannah is mature beyond her age, super talented (she's got a gorgeous, soulful voice and some mean piano skills) and she truly is beautiful (to use the cliche) inside and out.  One night after she came over for dinner with us, we talked for hours, and she told me about her battle with cancer.  I was blown away.  Not just that she'd already faced such a trail (she's only like 21!) but I was amazed by her attitude about the whole thing.  Most of us would be so angry with God, with fate, with destiny, or whatever to have to deal with chemo and hospital stays while the other girls our age are crushing on boys and planning for prom.  But not Hannah.  So of course, being the weirdo blogger lady that I am, I begged her to share her story here on SOM. :)  

I hope you find her story as uplifting as I did!  Enjoy! :)
-Amy

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January 24, 2009 was a day that began one of the most treasured experiences of my life: My cancer. 

Wait, what?

Just keep reading.

I was sixteen years old, was finally coming out of my awkward stage, had just gotten my license, and was two weeks into my second semester of college. (I homeschooled so I was able to finish my coursework and graduate from high school early.) I was on top of the world. I'd always had a plan for how my life was supposed to go, and things were right on track. Life was perfect.

Out of nowhere on a Sunday evening, I felt a dull pain in my lower left side. It was like it was just underneath my ribs, but I didn't think much of it. By that Wednesday I could tell it wasn't just going to go away. Over the course of that week my pain got much worse, and by that Saturday morning I was convinced I was dying. My mom took me in to urgent care and demanded that they do a chest x-ray. We were taken into the doctor’s office where she showed us the x-ray on a computer screen. She pointed to the picture as she said, “This is your right lung, and this is where your left lung should be, but it’s not.”

My thoughts started racing. I only have one lung? I’ve only had one lung for a whole week?! My mom and I were sent directly to the emergency room where a team of doctors was waiting for us. People were throwing the term “chest tube” around, and in my mind I was picturing something similar to a bike pump that they could just put down my throat, pump my lung up, and send me home. So I was confused when I was told to don a hospital gown and lay on the stretcher. The doctor explained that they were going to have to make an incision in my side to insert a chest tube which would hopefully drain the fluid they were guessing was there which had probably caused my lung to collapse. However, because I had had some crackers within the past hour, they weren’t going to be able to give me any general anesthesia. They could only numb the skin they were going to cut into.

They cut me open, and I remember it feeling like someone was running an ice cube across my skin. Then I felt all of it. They shoved a tube through my muscles and ribs, and immediately three liters of fluid began to drain from my chest cavity. My mom sat by my side as my body racked and jolted with the pain. I remember thinking I needed a distraction, so I screamed for my mom to tell me stories. Thankfully, they gave me something to make me forget what I felt.

I was then life-flighted to a bigger and better hospital about an hour’s drive from where we lived. I spent a week undergoing countless number of x-rays, MRI’s, CT scans, blood draws, having a second chest tube placed, and a bone marrow biopsy taken all of which only told us that there was a “mass” in my chest. Our last resort was to take a biopsy of the mass, or tumor, which confirmed my diagnosis of Non-Hodgkin’s T-cell Lymphoblastic Lymphoma.

I had cancer.

I didn't really know what it meant. I just knew my grandpa had died from it, and it was what the cardboard signs at McDonald’s with bald children on them asked you to donate to. Over the next two years I received chemotherapy and became much more acquainted with what it means to have cancer. 

My little brother and sister visiting me in the hospital.

It means that some things matter and others don’t. One day after I'd come home from a chemo treatment, I went straight to my bed. I was exhausted, but was distracted by my siblings fighting over something inconsequential and my mom yelling at them for it. I got out of my bed and walked down the hall to the top of the stairs so that everyone in the house could hear me. I screamed at the top of my lungs for them to stop it and that it didn't matter. I’m sure my mom about had a heart attack to hear me exerting myself that way.

It means that appreciating the little things can make all the difference. For about three months I barely left my bed, and I lost about 60 pounds. All of my muscle was practically gone. I remember the first time I put my pants on by myself, took a shower without assistance, made a meal for myself, and even just sat up for an entire day rather than lying down. Can you imagine how elated I was when I ran for the first time? Occasionally it still hits me when I'm doing something as simple as brushing my teeth… “I used to not be able to do this.”

It means that acts of service are the greatest ways for us to become closer to our Savior, on both the giving and receiving end. One night I was craving pickles, and my friend brought me a baggie of them the next morning. Another night I wanted ice cream, and a friend who was visiting ran home and back again to bring me some. I craved yummy potatoes, and a friend made us two giant pans so we could freeze some. Another friend helped me wash my hair as chunks of it fell into her hands. So many other acts of service were rendered, and each one helped me feel how mindful the Lord was of me in that time.

When I started growing back a little fuzz...

Wig shopping!

It means that there are more people within our sphere of influence than we can ever imagine. When I was almost fully recovered, I was out and about with my grandpa when he asked me to make a phone call for him. I explained to the man who I was, and he immediately asked if I was the granddaughter with the cancer. I laughed and said that I was. He told me that he and his wife had been praying for me for a good long while, and they were glad I was doing alright. Crazy, huh? I’d never met these people, but their relationship with God was being strengthened as they prayed for me.

It means so many things. I could not hope to list all of the things I learned through that process, and the things I am continuing to learn because of it. To name a few: It’s all about perspective. Life is beautiful. Your level of gratitude is directly related to your level of happiness. Everything that happens to us can benefit us if we let it. Family will always be there. God’s plan for me is far better than anything I could ever plan for myself. I am in control of my attitude. Your best tools are optimism and positive thinking. 

My family!

The biggest lesson I learned is that love wins. 

Nothing is more important than true, pure, eternal love. Love without judgment or reserve. Love the people you don’t know, and remember to love the people you do know.

Love your trials.

Love yourself.

Love the Savior.

Love life.

But most of all, know that you are loved.

Hannah

---
Isn't she amazing?  I am continually inspired by her attitude...sheesh, I get a sinus infection and I'm about ready to give up on life!  Ha!  Thank you, Hannah, for sharing your story with us!

Friends, have you ever dealt with a long-term illness?  How did/do you get through?  How do you keep positive in such a heavy trial?  We'd love to hear your perspective!

I am amazed by those who constantly battle a chronic illness, but continue living their lives.  What a struggle!  Especially mommas who have a family to care for...wow.  Not only physical illnesses-- mental illnesses would also be such a difficult struggle, because many times, no one fully knows the extent of what you're going through since it's not something that can be seen on the outside.  It makes me want to be more aware of those around me and be quick to serve, like the friends and family in Hannah's life.  I love her motto: Love Wins.  I agree.  Love wins, because after all is said and done, the acts of love and service given during a trial, as well as our increased reliance on the Savior, give meaning to what could have otherwise been just pointless suffering.  We will all have times when we get to be God's hands for others as well as times when we will be on the receiving end of loving service!  Heavenly Father is pretty darn smart for designing life that way. :)

Please leave your comments, Like and/or Share!  Love to you all!  

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I Almost Died from Leg Obesity

By Amy

I have been a bum as of late.  Really.

But I have a darn good reason for my lack of blog posts, my 5 extra pounds, and my general hermit-ness.  And, as always, I can't just tell you the reason, I gotta tell you the WHOLE story. :)

First of all....Drumrolllllll....I am big with child!  Baby numero dos is on it's way, and we are so excited and grateful for another little babe to hold and love!  :)

So, my first tri definitely accounts for some of my extreme exhaustion, lack of energy, and general bum-ness.  (But, I am dang lucky cause I'm not a puker.)

But, it wasn't just pregnancy that caused me to spend the past week laying on the couch.

About a week ago, I woke up and my leg was feeling reallly weird.  And I kept getting lightheaded.  It was a Sunday morning, and my husband was off at a leadership meeting before church.  So, I went into survival mode...I'm laying on the floor of my toddler's room, with the door shut so he can't escape, and I feel like death.  Meanwhile, my son joyfully pelts me with toys, and I'm moaning, "Momma's SICK! NO THROWING BOOKS!"...and other pleasant things like that.  Well, after an hour of that, Patrick gets home, and opening the door to Hayden's bedroom, was a little concerned to see me, a pale-faced rag doll surrounded by toys, slabbed out on the floor.  Hayden was having a good old time, but I was a wreck.  So, I tell him, "I feel like crap.  Here's our son." or something like that.  I head into the bathroom, and I think, "Ok, I probably shouldn't stand up in the shower, so I'll take a nice bath so I'm clean for church."  (But, I did not end up going.)  I get in the tub, and see..

UM, OH MY GOSH MY LEG IS PURPLE.

And huge too.  Not both, just one...my left leg.

I wrapped in a towel and went to show Patrick.  He was worried and said, "Um, that's not good.  That could be a blood clot."  (Hooray for having a smartie husband who has some medical knowledge!)

So I went and took my bath, staring and laughing at the absurdity of my leg the whole time, and when I'm dry and dressed, we call our neighbor to come have a look (he's a physical therapist) and he and Patrick decide that I need to go to the Urgent Care.  We get there, (I'm still feeling woosy) and the doctor looks at my leg for like 2 seconds and says, "You need to go to the ER for an ultrasound of your leg."  So, then we're driving to the ER, and I'm begging Patrick to go to the house to get me some of the left-over Papa Murphy's Hawaiian pizza, which is calling to me from the fridge, cause I know that it could take a while at the ER.  (It was about noon by now and preg ladies get HUNGRY...and sure enough, I ended up only getting a couple of graham crackers till 6:00 pm)  But, he looked worried at me again and said, "No, we need to go to the ER right now."

So, we get there and they do an ultrasound and it turns out that I did indeed have a clot.  So I ask the doc, "Where's the clot?"  And he says, "It stretches from your mid-calf up to your inferior vena cava in your abdomen,"  Oh GREAT.  I have clotted, cottage cheese blood, going all the way up my leg.  I was picturing like this little clot somewhere, not veins that are all chunked up from calf to waist!  Sickkkkk, I wanted to vomit.

Well, long story short, I was put on blood thinner shots that I now have to take twice a day for the rest of my pregnancy, and every pregnancy after this.  Apparently, the increase of progesterone during pregnancy can cause blood clots, but it usually doesn't happen until the end of the pregnancy, and I was only 8 1/2 weeks.  But, it can also cause miscarriages if not found.  And obviously, I could have died, if a chunk of the clot had broken off and gone to my lungs.  So I feel extremely grateful and fortunate that

A. we still have a baby safe and growing inside me, and
B. I am still ALIVE!

So I got a 24 hour vacation in the hospital, where I got to order tons of food from the cafeteria (contributing to the 5 pounds gained...the strawberry shortcake was AMAZING) hang out with my hub, read books, and watch movies while my awesome parents played with Hayden at home.  (It's so nice to live only 45 minutes from parentals!)  Once I got home, the pain really set in, and my leg, which was a ginormous hard-as-a-rock sausage, stayed swollen.  I had a lot of pain in my groin and leg for almost a week, and standing on my feet would become unbearable.  So I was a bum on the couch and my mom, then my mother-in-law helped out a ton, along with kind friends that we know from church who sent dinners, texts, little gifts, and generally made me feel loved. :)

Chilling with my babe on the couch, my new favorite spot.  I prop up my leg and I'm good!

I'm feeling much better; now I only have a slightly fatter leg and a limp.  Oh and a GLORIOUS cankle.  Hahaha....hahaha... I love looking at it--my foot is SO pudgy.  I took some pics, but they don't do justice.

This is a week later...I wish I had a good one from the day of!  It was much bigger.  My leg had no curves, it just looked like a cylinder!

hahahaha...I love the cankle!  

While I was in the hospital, I had some time that I was alone, while Patrick went to check on Hayden, put him to bed, and get some stuff for me. (Ha, including some of the Hawaiian pizza in the fridge...even a near-death experience didn't put that out of my mind!)  My Dad and hub had just given me a priesthood blessing (a special prayer given though the inspiration and direction of the Spirit by those who hold the priesthood authority)  The blessing was beautiful and comforting, but still, my mind was racing with the doctor's words.  I wondered, "Are we only going to get to have two kids?  Will I have to use blood thinners for the rest of my life?  Can I really give myself a shot twice a day for the next 7 months?" And, worst of all, I started imagining what would happen if I died.  I wasn't really scared of the idea that I could have died...honestly I feel like I've lived the best I could and I figure a blood clot to the lung would be a quick death (I'm morbid, I know)...but I didn't want Hayden to lose his momma or Patrick to lose his wife.  I know I'm not the perfect wife or mother, but dang it, I love them so much and I am theirs and they are mine.  And I am not ready to leave yet.  I want a full life with them and my unborn baby needs me to live so that he or she can be born and come into this messy, crazy, beautiful world.

All this was racing through my head, and I start really crying for the first time that day.  Fear and doubt threatened to overwhelm me.  Laying in my quiet hospital room, hooked up to IVs and monitors, I prayed for peace and guidance from the Lord, and tried to focus on the words of my blessing.  Soon, I was able to be calm and return to faith.  I knew that God still wanted me here.  And the rest, my hub and I would just take as it came.

Oh and another blessing: one of the nurses on the floor that night had also gone through blood clots while pregnant.  It happened with her third baby, who is now a happy little kid!  She was so kind and helped me laugh and relax about the stupid shots.  She doesn't work that often, so I was grateful for a loving Father who kindly made that happen.  Not a coincidence, peeps.  That's how He works: he doesn't stop bad things from happening, cause like any good parent, he knows that the trials of life are part of the learning experience.  They shape us and help us to become better, stronger, and more compassionate people.  But, He constantly sends us little tender mercies to help us find joy and hope, even when the going gets rough.  I thought it was extra sweet of Him to send me such a cool nurse who knew exactly what I was going through.  :)

So for about two months, until the clots can be absorbed by my body (gross, huh? Bodies are so weird...) I'll have some swelling and pain, and I can't do anything high impact, like running. (HA...yeah right, I hate running, even when I'm not an exhausted preggie.)

So, the shots suck.  I start and end everyday with dread, but luckily, Patrick usually does it for me, so I can look away.  I CAN do it though...I've poked myself three times now.  :)  And, I now have a belly covered in bruises and little poke holes, but heck I already had stretch marks, so it's not like I own a bunch of bikinis that I now need to throw out!  Ha!  It will all be worth it to get baby safely here.

Well, there's my goofy tale.  I'm grateful that I didn't die from my sudden leg obesity and I'm grateful for family and friends, including an amazing hub, who love and support me.

Ahhh, love him.  

And, I am grateful for the little babe with the steady swish-swish heartbeat growing inside of me. :)   Life is good! :)

So mommas...tell me what I can expect!  Was it hard going from one child to two?  And, anybody else experience blood clots in pregnancy?  If so, I need to hear from you! :)

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