Tag: #GoFrogs

Where will you be in 10 Years? Reflections on a Decade

10 years…one Decade…Gone in a Flash

I could never have guessed 10 years ago, on the eve of a New Decade what the next 10 years would bring.

What have I learned in 10 years? Just like the Bertie Bott’s Beans in the Harry Potter books, you never know what you are going to get. I have learned to enjoy the highs and use the memories created sitting at the top of the mountain to get through the lows of the valleys. I’ve also learned that friends are there to help carry you when you think you can’t go on anymore and will help you look to the next mountain top and remind you of the view that is just over the hill.

Where will I be in 2029? I have no idea, but I plan to try to capture as many highs as I can before I get there and focus on those when (not if) I find myself in a lowly valley…

Here’s the highlight reel of the last decade…

At the end of 2009, I was married to my best friend. We had 2 beautiful daughters – one in High School and the other in Middle School. Cancer was in my rearview mirror and my husband’s business was beginning to find footing.

2011 Rose Bowl Champs – TCU

2010 – Hello Cancer, my old friend (not really, but it is definitely a constant companion). If I’m honest, I should have been diagnosed much earlier in the year, but October 8th was the date of the Stage 4 diagnosis. Definitely not one of the highs of the year (or the decade). The year brought lots of pain (from the cancer metastasizing in my bones) but we ended it on a high note (thanks dad and Judith for the trip to the Rose Bowl and thanks TCU for the win! #gofrogs).

2011 – Cancer was still the highlight of the year. Since the metastasis practically destroyed my left hip, there were many trips to San Antonio to meet with an orthopedic oncologist. And in August 2011, I spent 2 weeks in San Antonio rehabbing from a surgery that made me feel like the bionic woman – lots of metal in my hip, but it didn’t give me any superhuman powers like leaping over buildings or running as fast as a train, but I was able to walk again by the end of the year.

2012 – Seemed like life was settling back into a routine. Nothing exciting happened. But after the past 2 years, we were fine with no excitement.

2013 – Our oldest daughter graduated from High School and got accepted at my alma mater to study Athletic Training. Super proud frog mom moment.

2014 – Still riding a roller coaster, but the drops are getting smaller and the hills not so large. We learned to live with the cancer diagnosis and even began to think we had it somewhat on our terms. The medicine I was taking was keeping things in check and although I had a minor setback with my hip (unexplained pain after many, many tests). I was stable as far as cancer goes and was still here to watch my kids grow up.

2015 – Cancer once again took control of our lives. Only this time it was my husband and not me, I was still stable (not sure how with all of the stress, but thankful nonetheless). J.R. had not been feeling well for months and on September 22, he ended up in the hospital with a diagnosis of Stage 4 Renal Cancer. Friends and family rallied to support us during this time. My daughter and I even got to welcome in 2016 at the Alamo Bowl. One of the all-time greatest bowl comebacks in history. TCU defeated Oregon in one of the craziest games I’ve ever had the opportunity to see in person.

2016 – We had some highs, my youngest graduated from High School, but mostly the year took its toll on our family. My dad, who was also diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer in September of 2015, passed away on July 20th. My brother and his family had made the trek to Texas to see everyone and I’m so grateful that he was there that week. July 24th, exactly four days later, my husband passed away. The rest of the year is a blur. But, with the help of great friends, we managed to get my youngest daughter moved into her college dorm and she began her college career.

A fresh start in a New Home #BuiltaHouse

2017 – I #BuiltaHouse. – we always talked about building a house, and in March 2017 I moved into my new house. It was bittersweet and I told friends it was an anniversary present (I closed on March 1st and March 6th would have been our 24th wedding anniversary). My oldest graduated from TCU and got a graduate assistant job at Angelo State University (my husband’s alma mater!). The year did not end so well, as I spent 10 days in the hospital and had to have all of that beautifully rebuilt hip removed due to an infection. Once again friends and family rallied to get us through Christmas and the coming months.

2018 – Hey, I’m walking again. No one saw that coming. Who walks without a hip joint? This girl, that’s who. Other than learning to walk, 2018 was a pretty mellow year, but again, didn’t I deserve a pretty mellow year after the rest of the way the decade had gone?? I think so.

2019 – This was finally going to be the year. I was walking, my oldest finished graduate school and got her first “real” job, and my youngest graduated from college a semester early. Unfortunately, cancer had decided it was time to flex its muscle again and after 7 years of being stable, I had some new “spots” show up on my scans, one in June and a couple of more in October.

2020 – I will be welcoming the new decade in with some new medication to try to get back on the stable train. Fingers crossed that we can find a medication that will be as successful as the last one. I plan to finish writing a book I started in 2018 and find as many mountain top views to enjoy as I can.

What are your hopes and dreams for the roaring 20’s?

Dear Cancer…A letter about how I really feel

I’ve never been good at expressing my feelings. I generally like to find the good in things. Don’t get me wrong. Situations can get me frustrated. But I can usually get past it after a few days and see things in a better light.

I have been able to do that for years with cancer. I have written about how cancer has given me hope and how I don’t let it tell me what I can and can’t do. But the reality is, cancer has taken a toll on me mentally and physically over the years. And it really pisses me off sometimes. So here is my Dear Cancer letter…

Dear Cancer: It’s not you, it’s me. 

Wait, that is so NOT TRUE – it very much is you and I’m tired of being nice to you. If you could just leave now and never come back it would not be too soon. 

In 2003, without any warning, you came into our home and disrupted our life. You were an unwelcome guest that barged in and made yourself at home. When you finally announced yourself on October 8th after a surgery to remove what we believed was a just a non-cancerous fibroadenoma, I was in shock. By the end of the month, I had 2 more surgeries and met the doctor who would be my oncologist. Less than one month from your intrusion, I began chemotherapy. It was all very fast and very surreal.

In the summer of 2004, after 8 rounds of chemo and I can’t even remember how many rounds of radiation, we packed your bags and kicked you out of our house. You had already overstayed your welcome and it was time for you to move out. I hated you then, and I still hate you. You took away my kid’s childhood by just being in our lives and for that, I will never forgive you.

We thought we had dealt with you and kicked you out to the curb, but unknown to us at the time, you had left a small unpacked bag behind for us to discover at a later date. 

When you interrupted our life in 2003, it felt like just a bad dream. For 10 months, we let you run our life. You told us when we had to be somewhere, you took my energy and my hair. But what you didn’t take was my spirit, as much as you tried. We had friends and family help with meals and house cleaning and other odd jobs that popped up. My husband took up a lot of the slack and didn’t even really complain. 

We fought with you on our terms and thought we had put you in our rearview mirror. That is until October 8, 2010. After months of pain in my back and hip, you once again came storming back into our home – that small bag that you left behind had turned into a huge duffel bag (kind of like those sea monkeys that you “just add water” and they grow). 

As you came in and unpacked the huge duffel bag, we discovered that you were there to stay this time. An uninvited guest that was now living in the house and had no intention of ever moving out. You had changed your name from breast cancer to Metastatic Breast Cancer. It was like you wanted to make sure you were in control again. Discovering the pain in my back and my hip was actually due to breast cancer metastasizing in my bones, we now understood that you were here to stay and there was nothing we could do to kick you out.

Through the pain and the uncertainty that you brought I really hated you. Not only had you disrupted our life in 2003, but now you had taken my ability to walk. When we saw the scans and the xrays that showed how much of my left hip anatomy was now gone, it was no wonder that my pain level had soared to a 12 on a scale of 1 to 10. 

You moved in and still wanted to run our life. Frankly cancer, your gift-giving abilities SUCK!

Surgeries, chemo, radiation, more radiation, another surgery, more chemo and drugs, another surgery, recovery and learning how to walk with a rebuilt hip, And you just kept giving.

After the surgeries, you decided it wasn’t enough and you had to move to my ribs which meant more chemo and drugs to try to keep you in your place.
My oncologist, through some trial and error, finally found the drug that managed to keep you under control. The chemo finally turned the water off that was making the monkeys continue to grow and we finally learned how to keep you in your place.

For 7 glorious years, we were able to tame you – to the point where I sometimes wondered if you really had decided to move on. I still had doctor appointments every 6 weeks to remind me, a daily pill to keep the faucet turned off, and scans every 4-5 months in which your distant relative anxiety would show up and we would all hold our collective breath until the results would come back with the words STABLE. 

But controlling my body and my life wasn’t enough for you. Maybe you thought I wasn’t paying you enough attention, but for whatever reason, in 2015, you opened the door for your cousin renal cancer and introduced your cousin to my husband. At this point, I had made my peace with you and had learned to accept your constant presence in my life. But DAMN you for thinking that was not enough. 

Kim and J.R. December 2015

Your cousin was not as well behaved as you and after 10 months, you brought your second cousin Grief. Why? I have no idea. I thought we had an understanding, you had taken up residence within my body, but if I thought I hated you before, I discovered a new level of hatred. Taking my husband and the father of my children was a new low that frankly I never saw coming. 

My girls have had to live with you since they were 8 and 5. They grew up with you as part of their life and they too had learned to accept that you were the distant relative that you had to put up with. 

I feel as if you have just piled on one thing after another and I’m F#@*$%G tired of it. Breast Cancer, Metastatic Breast Cancer, Renal Cancer, Grief. You can all just go take a leap and leave me the hell alone for a while. I’m so tired of you and your dirty relatives.

As if all of that wasn’t enough, you finally found a new way to turn the water back on. And this summer you decided my body was your playground again. Now we are back checking the arsenal to find something that will slow down the leak that you have created. I am not willing to put my life in your control again. I have every intention of fighting you and sticking around to watch my daughters as they embark on the life that you have tried to steal from them not once, not twice but 3 times.

I want you to know that you have just begun to see me fight. And although I know one day you will have the final say, until that day, I will fight you till hell freezes over and then fight you on the ice (#GoFrogs).

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