Have you Ever ...

Have you even contemplated your own death?  Like really sat down and thought about how it would happen and how it would feel and how people around you would respond?  Not in the sense of signing an advanced directive for a hypothetical what if in this world, but really raw and true fear of wasting away before your loved ones in something completely out of your control?


I have.  I do.  Every.  Single.  Day. 


Today, January 22, 2020 marks the 7th anniversary of hearing the words "you have breast cancer."  Every day since, I have contemplated my death.  I think about often what choices I would have to make.  What choices I have already made, but haven't shared with anyone.  I think about what medications I would request to make myself more comfortable.  Something written in the event I couldn't speak anymore.  I think about what I would tell Sam and Camden and how I would prepare them for life without me.  I think about being the patient and not the nurse.  I think about all of the people I have cared for turning around to care for me. 


In 7 years I have thought a lot about getting this far out from cancer diagnosis.  About what exactly this means to me and to my family and to my friends and to my coworkers.  One of the biggest questions people ask when finding out you are a youthful cancer survivor is, "but you're good now, right?"  In a way to make the question asker feel better I always answer, "yep, cancer free." 


Now I want you to think about this.  To really try and put yourself in my shoes.  Does someone who is cancer free think about their death every day?  Does someone who is cancer free question every twinge in their body?  Does someone who is cancer free truly believe they will leave behind their family before they all are ready?  Probably not. 


As any 7 year itch gives you a little motivation for change, I dug out the 'ol blog I documented my deepest and rawest feelings.  I am hear posting again to tell you all I am here.  I am living.  The reason I haven't posted an entry since chemo is because I have been trying to be as normal as possible.  I have relished in the sunshine on tropical vacations.  I have poured my heart in the my career where I truly feel like I am making a difference.  I have found new friends and new hobbies.  We have a new dog.  Camden is big and strong and amazing.  We are living. 


I am living through every day where death crosses my mind, but I am overcoming it.  As I read back on my past entries I come to tears in recognition that that was ME.  I wrote that.  I went through that.  I can't believe how much life has changed and how much I didn't let cancer win. 


I will never not think about what cancer could bring, but I will not let it over take my life.  Thank you to my amazing rock, Sam.  Thank you to Camden to remind me that I have to keep going.  Cheers to 7 years to all of the people who have prayed, who have supported us, and who live with me day by day.  You all know who you are.  I praise God every day for all of you.  For without you, I wouldn't be here today. 

Taxol 10, 11, and the last one

It has taken me nearly 2 whole months to write about my final Taxol treatments, my final chemo treatment. Chemo became a sense of security for me. It was the one place during the week where I didn’t need to wear a wig or worry about how people would accept me and my cancer. It is a place where I get to be with other women and men who get it. I often times get to see my friends and the nurses who have become my friends. On Taxol 11 I had to say goodbye to my research nurse Brianna. Brianna has been managing the clinical trial that I am a part of. She has visited with me at nearly every single appointment since I have started my chemo journey. We share a lot of laughs and I vent a lot to her. She is there as my nurse and my friend. Brianna is leaving me. Ok, I’m being dramatic, but she left the twin cities to follow her love and continue her journey in life. Brianna often would sit next to my chemo chair and cry with me while I ate my blueberry bagel as the steroid and Benadryl dripped into my vein. I cried and hugged Brianna and thanked her for everything she has done for me. I just can’t imagine being strong enough to dedicate your whole life to helping those with cancer and that is what she has done. She is a tremendous nurse and someone I hope to emulate when I (finally) become a nurse. The last chemo treatment Taxol 12 was bitter sweet. One of my favorite nurses, Julie, was administering my infusion that day. My mom and dad were there and even Camden got to come meet the nurses. We were leaving not long after I finished with the infusion to go up to Duluth; like we had planned to do for over a year. Nothing like cancer to tell you that you can’t plan life. My chemo friend Sally sat in the chair across from me and we both fought to stay awake during the Benadryl. My dad sat next to me and read on his iPad. Although, stoic though all of this, I knew that it pained him to see me in the chemo chair. I’m his baby girl and he is my daddy and he is there to protect me. The infusion went on without event. I had brought bagels to share with the chemo room and I had my usual conversation with lymphoma Joe, breast cancer Cindy, and chemo friend Sally. When we were all finished up I packed up and started to leave. There were tears in my eyes because I wasn’t ready to let go of chemo. Julie took me to the front of the infusion room and announced there was a chemo graduate in the room and all of the patients cheered for me. I cried. I hugged one of my nurses Emily. I hugged Michelle. And I left quickly. I felt like I was abandoning my friends and this secret club we had all become a part of. The Friday Chemo Club.

Guest blog by one of my besties

Since there isn't a ton for me to report, I asked my friend Jill to blog about what this experience has done for her and to her life.  You are all know by now that I don't consider this my fight, but our fight together; and I know Jill and her family is right on the front lines fighting for me.  I love their family.  They would do absolutely anything for us and we would do the same.  I consider her like a sister and I consider her the 2nd mom to Camden.  She is an amazingly strong support and always there to lift my spirits.  She is one of my inspirations and my reminders of why I have to win this fight. 

_________________________________________________________________________


My name is Jill and not only am I one of Nicole’s best friends but also her next door neighbor. Over 3 years ago I never thought I would meet such an amazing family and become so close to them. So when Nicole was diagnosed with breast cancer I just didn’t want to believe it. How could we go from nights were we would watching TV with our glasses of wine rolling our eyes at our husbands, or sitting out on the lawn with our kids playing in the pool to tears and talking about cancer. This just couldn’t be happening and I still can’t believe it.

I remember when Nicole first told me she had found a lump. I hoped and prayed it would be nothing so the day Nicole found out that she had cancer I was devastated. I remember being at work, trying to keep busy, and not thinking about the possible outcome. When I got home from work that night, I had just walked in the door and my husband told me that we needed to go next door. My heart sank. Mike said “Well, maybe she’s pregnant.” I told him “You don’t get tested for breast cancer and come out pregnant.” We walked in their house and Nicole handed us a beer and I could tell by the look in Nicole’s eyes that the outcome wasn’t good. All I could say was “No.” That night we talked, cried and I tried to be strong. That night I cried and laid awake praying that my friend and her family would be okay.

This isn’t the first time that cancer has had in impact on my life. When I was very young my mother passed away from thyroid cancer. My dad remarried and my mom today is the only mom I know, but there is always the thought in the back of my mind about what my birth mom was like. This was one of the thoughts that went through my mind when Nicole told me; I hoped that Camden wouldn’t have to go through life without his mom and the wonder of not knowing her and what she was like.

Seeing Nicole and her family go through this has been the hardest thing that I’ve had to deal
with. To see your friend go through this when she has a family and a son of her own is very difficult. I’ve wanted to take away all the pain and hurt that Nicole and her family have been
going through, but I can’t so I’ve tried to help out where ever I could; whether it’s helping with Camden, making dinner, being there for Nicole when she needed to talk or just spending time with them trying to have life back to normal.

As many of you know, Nicole is now on her second round of Chemo treatment. I’ve noticed a lot in the past few weeks. Nicole is Nicole again. Her first round of treatment was very difficult. To see her sleepy and barely able to do anything for even a short period of time was difficult. It was hard to watch her go through this and know that there is nothing you can do to help. But during this second round, I can say that Nicole is making a comeback. It is wonderful to see her smile and laugh again, have a drink with her, spend time outside with our kids. The one day that I knew that Nicole was going to make it through this was last weekend. We had decided to do a joint garden with all the veggies that we love. The husbands were going to try and attempt to smoke some ribs. It was wonderful to see Nicole sitting in the sun, talking and laughing with us and our other neighbor, but the best part of it was when Nicole and I got to cook together in the kitchen. We had so much fun and it was wonderful to be able to stand beside my friend and cook. That is the moment that I knew my friend was going to fight this and win.

Nicole, you mean so much to everyone. You are an amazing mother, wife, sister, daughter,
friend to many of us. You and your story have impacted so many of us in so many different
ways. You are an incredible and amazing woman. I look forward to the day when we will be little old ladies sitting on our chairs in the sun, probably still rolling our eyes at our husbands, with our glasses of wine watching our children and their families celebrating many, many, many years of being cancer free. We love you!

Time in Prayer

Friday is my chemo day, my day of cancer.  A lot of times I spend my 40 mile drive to the oncology clinic in prayer with God.  In the car is really the only alone time I ever get, so I figure it's as good as any to spend time with God.  Today I felt really compared to not only thank God for the blessings he has given me, but to pray for those who live this cancer nightmare every day. 

Today I prayed first for my dear friend Lisa and her mother.  Lisa's mom was diagnosed not long after me with Stage IV pancreatic cancer.  She unfortunately lost her battle last month.  I know that I have never met Momma C, but if she's anything like Lisa I know that she fought hard and didn't give up.  She is with our Lord and resting peacefully now.  I know she is looking down upon Lisa and her siblings and Lisa's daughter Ev.

I prayed for Allison.  Allison is the niece of an old friend from my hometown.  She was recently diagnosed at age 9 (I think :) ) with Stage IV kidney cancer, specifically a Wilms tumor.  She just started chemo and shaved her head in the last month.  I can't imagine doing this at age 9.  I prayed for Allison's strength and determination.  I prayed that she will still get to be a child through all of this and I mostly prayed that chemo will beat this tumor and soon she will be cancer free. 

I prayed for Sally.  I got to see Sally at chemo today.  I'm a few treatments ahead of her and she just started her Taxol.  I prayed that with Taxol she will have as easy of a time as I did.  I praised the Lord for Sally's faith and all who are praying for her, bringing her meals, cleaning her home and helping with her boys. I love Sally with all my heart and I'm so thankful God put us in each other's paths.

I prayed for all of those going through treatment, those who are diagnosed today, and those who are getting good news or bad news today.  Typically prayer brings me to tears.  I am so thankful the Lord is using me to do good.  Yes, cancer sucks, but it's because of all of you--these people ready my blog or being there when I cry--that I will beat this.  That I will show the world that I can't be brought down. 

I will never call cancer a blessing, but man God is showing me amazing things.  Moving me through His works and His word.  I am just a simple vessel showing the world that God does exist and He is amazing. 

My Photoshoot

Before I even started chemo Sam said he thought that we should get my picture taken of me bald. At first I couldn't even think of that idea.  Why would anyone want to document in a photo the hardest thing emotionally that they have been through? 

The longer I have been without hair the more I become used to it.  I still don't look in the mirror without something on my head or my chest, but I don't mind my scarves and hats.  I only wear my wig to work because it itches and it's hot; and I wear a scarf out in public that matches my outfit; and I wear my comfy hat at home.  Until very recently, I started to go bald around the house because it's just too hot.  I didn't want Sam to see my bald for the longest time and I didn't want to scare Camden with my cue ball head.  

While I was going through AC and hadn't yet been back to work I had the thought that maybe Sam was right (don't tell him I said that).  The scars will show my journey, but I wanted something to show the world that bald can be beautiful.  That chemo isn't sunken in eyes, emaciated frames, and throwing up on the bathroom floor.  Losing your hair means ones thing, it's working.  

I googled local Minneapolis photographers and who wouldn't have known, familiar faces popped up.  I literally clicked on the first link I saw and I recognized the two artists responsible for the site.  Twins, from Moorhead State, that were in the business program with Sam and I.  I emailed them through the "contact us" link and our relationship began.  

Ashley and Jamie of Ash and James Photography had developed a love for the camera after traveling to Asia.  Their knack of style and skill has turned into a career for both of them.  In the email I explained who I was, what I was looking for, and how I knew them.  They jumped to the opportunity whole heartedly.  More than I could ever imagine, their passion was exactly what I was looking for.  

Little did I know, cancer has scarred their lives as well.  About 3 years ago their father passed away after a battle with cancer.  I think in a way, shooting me was telling their story as well.  

We played tag via email about what we were each hoping for and how to execute it.  We met at Ashley's (I think :) ) apartment with stark white walls and lots of character.  We were met outside with a hug from each of them and the excitement no other could match.  The girls got right to work, capturing me in my real and raw feelings.  Simply engaging in conversation about my experience.  After my own photos we headed to the park for some family pictures.  

This is our life, this is where we have been, and we wanted to share it.  Thank you Ashley and Jamie for an amazing job, amazing excitement, and an amazing product.  I couldn't be happier.  So for those who haven't seen the photos via Facebook, here you go.   

The girls placed a nice message on their blog to accompany the sneak peak:
life is intriguing. all in all it’s a beautiful journey. some days are more easily celebrated than others, but the ups and downs and twists and turns all make what we’re here to do seemingly more fulfilling. sometimes you meet people and you take a step back. maybe two steps back. that’s when you realize we’re all in this life together, whether we know it or not. we all meet similar conflicts through our existence, no matter the severity or complexity. we all are given an opportunity to revel in accomplishments and milestones worth noting. it’s safe to say that very few, other than close friends and family, know certain details of both of our lives leading up to our venture into photography. it’s a question commonly asked when we sit down with our couples or as we’re out photographing clients; “so, how did you get into photography?” we simply answer with “travel.” although this is true, it’s rooted into something deeper. it’s the untold story of our bio. just a few months before we set foot onto foreign land to travel, learn, and discover, we lost an important part of what held our lives together. after nearly a two year battle, in 2010, our father passed away from cancer. life as we knew it was forever changed. we could either make that attempt to go back to what was considered “normal,” or take a chance and change life even more by exploring another part of the world. so, with cameras in hand, you know the rest.

every time we’re given the chance to be involved with anyone who has been dealt the cancer card, we’ve been welcoming in being a part of that story. that’s another great perk of this job — it brings you together with the most unexpected of people. nicole contacted us after discovering our website and mentioned that her and her husband attended the same college not only together, but with us as well. after connecting the dots, yes, we have spent days brushing within feet from one another. her story is one that we wanted to be involved with. being under 30, nicole was diagnosed with breast cancer after discovering a lump on her own. she has undergone a double mastectomy and several rounds of chemo. she wanted portraits of her in the now, real and raw, the life as she is enduring it. being married with one little boy, she wanted this stage of her life documented. to be able to tell these stories is so honoring. since we’re better at capturing this through photographs, here’s what we captured. (http://blog.ashandjamesphotography.com/the-rovangs-minneapolis-portrait-family-photography/)

 

I'm in love with these photos and I will forever cherish them.  And Ashley and Jamie, you are forever hired for capturing our life.  Thank you girls,  a simple thank you is not enough.  

Finding the Good

My breast cancer diagnoses and fight has never been something that I felt I needed to act a certain way or to prove a point.  I'm just fighting the best way I know how.  I didn't start this blog to become an inspiration or words of hope.  I simply created it for selfish reasons, I didn't want to answer the same questions over and over again and I didn't want to leave anyone out who wanted information.  So here it is.  My blog.  The outpouring of what I'm going through to bring awareness to the under age 30 who are diagnosed.  To let all of you know that I'm ok and I'm going to fight and how I'm doing it all. 

I guess I have never thought that I'm doing this any differently than any other 28-29 year old, "newly" married, "newly" a mother would do it. I've learned through my life experiences that it's easier to find the good in a bad situation than it is to constantly think of the bad.  For example, no one can bring my brother back to earth.  But I can find happiness knowing that he lived his life the fullest every single day, he brought happiness to others, and he died doing something he loved.  Out of his death, I think, we have become closer as a family, I have grown in my marriage with Sam, and I have grown in my relationship to God. I would give anything to bring Jason back to this earth, but that can't happen.  So I choose to focus on what is possible and what is happening in my life. 

Bring in Northwood Church, again.  I love our church.  The pastor and many of the attendees know us by name.  They have watched my belly grow, Camden grow, and my hair fall out over the 2 years we have been attending.  I love them so much.  The outpouring love and support they have showed us this last 6 months has been ..... well .... I don't even have a word for it other than incredible. 

Pastor Brian asked me to speak to highlight his message on finding the good in the bad.  I guess I've lived this example and I guess I could enlighten others.  I knew I would cry throughout the whole speech, because this is raw, this is real, but I wanted to let my fellow Northwooders know that it's ok and there still is good in the horrible. 

Here is what I said:
(Brian asked a series of questions, in a question and answer style)

1)    Tell us the journey you've been on the last couple months.

After the first of the year I was accepted into nursing school off of the waiting list.  Our lives were moving quickly trying to get things ready to go.  On January 21, after finding a lump in my right breast I went in for an ultra sound.  The radiologist immediately wanted to do a biopsy, so I agreed.  The next day, January 22, I was told by my midwife that I indeed had breast cancer. 

After a whirlwind of appointments and further testing, we also learned that I carry the BRCA gene.  My best chance at not only survival, but no recurrence would be a double mastectomy.  In February, I waved good bye to my family and my breasts and had the operation that will hopefully save my life. 

The pathology of the surgery showed I had 5 of 13 lymph nodes also positive for cancer.  On paper, they labeled me a Stage IIIa breast cancer.  We were stunned, saddened, but ready to fight.  The staging and my age got me a one trip ticket to a full service cancer fight; surgery (which I had completed), chemotherapy, and radiation therapy. 

Before beginning chemo the oncologist ordered base line scans to see where else, if any where this cancer was living in my body.  Luckily, the scans came back clear and because of my surgery I am considered cancer free. 

I’ve finished my first round of chemo which was very difficult physically and emotionally and spiritually.  I’m on to round two of 12 weekly cycles with 8 cycles left.  Things are going really well. 

2)    What is God teaching you in all this?

I struggled with this question.  My answer is almost, what isn’t God teaching me?  Sam, who is integral in my fight, has reminded me constantly to look towards the good.  Especially at night when I can do nothing more than cry. 

 

Brian, you always break things down in lists of 3, so I will too. 

 

1.    During the Boston bombings there was a Mark Twain quote that surfaced about when tragedy happens, there are always good people.  Look for the good people.  I find these people on my door step baring casseroles and more home cooked meals and even cleaners and people to play with Camden so I can rest.  There are good people out there, God is reminding me, that WANT to help.

2.    God has reminded me of my wedding vows and the truth behind them.  In sickness and in health.  God is teaching both Sam and I that marriage isn’t about health and success, it’s also about sickness and the low times.  In 3 short years of marriage, no couple should have to endure what we have endured.  But we are a testimate that if you look toward God and ask him to lead you, you will grow together and you will conquer the challenges.  

3.    I don’t believe God gave me cancer.  I don’t think this is a punishment—although it has  crossed my mind—but I quickly remember that God will carry me through this.  God can use me as a vessel.  I grew up in Montana, so an attitude of pulling up the boot straps and getting to work reigns true.  I know that at the end of the day when all I can do is cry and feel pity that God is picking me up and carrying me through this.  He is there to show me there is more to chemo and my new physical appearance.  He is showing me that I’m a vessel to spread good news and his word. 

 3)    Have you experienced any "good" in this? Tell us about that.

Have I ever.  There have been many good things just from people in the room.  The generous people who have brought our family meals, cleaned our home, watched Camden, and even donated funds.  It has reminded me that people are good and God is great.  I have found my voice in how to spread the good work that God is doing.  I think by showing what positive attitude and my full trust in the Lord, many who hear my story may start to look to God as well. 

Also, I think it’s amazing that I have the chance to bring awareness to the under 30 segment of diagnosed breast cancers.  We have the worst survival rates (that was a note to self not to Google anything).  We have the worst chance of metastases.  Typically the cancer is hormone fueled and because of our age and wanting to be mothers we have a lot of hormones.  If I can remind one woman to do their self breast exam regularly I feel like have succeeded.

I found I can be support for other young woman.  As I approached a noticeably scared young woman in the chemo room, we found we had a lot in common.  With the promise of prayer as we parted, this week she left me a note saying she had been praying as well and was hoping I would have been there today because she knew with me by her side it would be better.  A smile and warm eyes go along way I learned.     

I will continue to smile through this and find the positive.  As I read one girl’s shirt in this room a couple weeks ago—Why me?  Why NOT?   

 

Of course, in no surprise, there was an outpour of support from our church.  I think it's easy to sit and cry and feel sorry for myself.  But the challenge that I think faces me head on every single day is, why not me?  No one else deserves this either, so why not me?  I can use this to show others that this is a disease that can be beaten, a fight that can be one, and that there is always a little bit of good in the bad. 

 

 

 

 

My Chemo Friend--Sally

I met Sally on my first Taxol.  I awkwardly stared at her across the aisle of the comfy chemo chairs.  You just don't see many young women or men in the chemo room.  I wanted to talk to her, but sometimes I know I come across as waaaaay too friendly and I didn't want to scare her.  It was obviously her first time in the chemo room and she was scared.  I wanted to at least tell her that it's ok and it does get better.  I wanted her to know that we are fighting the same monster and we will both beat it.  I wanted to hear her story, I wanted to share mine.  I wanted her to know that she is not alone.  Young and fighting. 

I kept asking Sam if I should talk to her.  We kept making eye contact.  It was like meeting someone in a bar and I didn't know if I should buy her a drink or not.  My treatment finished up and I was unhooked, so I pulled up my boot straps and got the courage to talk to her.  Who would think me, of all people, would be shy?!

I approached her and just asked if it was her first time.  She said, yes and I told her it would be ok.  We talked about surgery, we talked about our kids, we talked about reconstruction (we share the same plastic surgeon), and we talked about our BRCA diagnoses.  Sally is BRCA 1+ and I am BRCA 2+.  Our genetics, from the time the sperm met the egg have said that we are more likely to suffer from breast cancer and ovarian cancer than the average woman and man.  This diagnoses is our why.  We talked about our faith and how helpful each of our churches have been.  With a promise of prayer for one another, we parted. 

I felt so fulfilled by our meeting.  This was the first person in real life who has been through chemo at my age with young ones at home.  It was someone that I could simply say "this sucks", and she could say, "yes I know." 

I hope that I gave Sally an inkling of hope that day.  I hope that I provided her with a sense of empowerment rather than fear.  I know Sally gave me more than I can explain.  She gave me a sense of community, that I wasn't alone in this.  Our treatments have only coincided a few times because of changes in schedule, but  I am so blessed by Sally and I can't wait to see her on Friday. 

So Sally, my chemo friend, one day our hair will grow back, one day we will have complete breasts, one day we will not have to meet while we are being poisoned, but for now, thank you.  I can't wait for one day when we can meet for lunch.