A Woman of Substance

   I love this picture.  It was taken at our daughter Brooke's wedding at the end of this past May.  The photographer was amazing and she spent the entire day with the wedding party recording tender and funny moments. This picture was taken minutes before the wedding party headed down the aisle for the ceremony.  Joy had poured every ounce she had into this day and our role was nearly complete.  The guests were in their seats, the music was drifting into the room, and the wedding party was giving each other a last round of hugs before heading down the aisle.  This picture was as close as we came to crying that day. We knew we had done all we could and we were happy with Brooke's choice for a mate. The day was magical and everything went just as we'd planned.  It was just a bittersweet moment when you hand your last baby over to be married and you realize that all our lives would find a different balance from this day forward.  

   Little did we know how much we would face in finding that balance less than 30 days later when we found out Joy had cancer.  We went from thinking that we were heading into the time of life where we could start thinking about life after work and about traveling to some of the places on the bucket list we'd recently compiled.  We'd been discussing selling our business for months and wondering if we would ever know when the time was right.  It's funny how quickly something like cancer can help you set your priorities in a new order and urgency.  Knowing that all of our kids lived a considerable distance from us made selling the business a must if I was to be able to help care for Joy. It truly is a God thing that we were able to get a fair price and completed sale within 60 days.  The closing of the sale happened the same week as Joy's surgery.  I don't think that was an accident.

   I won't go into the months that followed as I've covered them in previous blog posts.  What I want to discuss is what I've learned about the woman I married.  There are so many "no accidents" in the past 18 months that it would take an entire book to list them but I'll try to boil it down to a few really meaningful insights and discoveries.  We'll begin with this.  Joy is an amazing woman.  I don't say that lightly.  In the 25 years I've known her I have seen her blossom into someone of substance and influence.  I'm not talking about jobs or possessions.  I mean there are times I feel like I married a rock star.  A room changes when she enters.  David Phelps sings a song "Everyone that sees you" and the chorus goes like this:

               

           Everyone that sees you always wants to know you, and everyone that knows you, always has a smile.

   That is exactly who Joy is.  It begins with her smile but it is complete when people get close to her and discover who she really is.  She is real and courageous to the core.  It hasn't always been that way but she has worked so hard to set aside her fears, old mind tapes, and past failures.  She decided that her cancer would not limit her and that she would not hide from how it changed her.  Need further proof? 

   You know I wouldn't have posted that without her permission.  All the beauty and smile is still there. I want her to feel comfortable to go around like that as much as she sees fit since wigs are so hot and uncomfortable.  The Joy of 10 years ago would never have let anyone see this.  At that time in her life, it was all about image. If I look good, I am good.  Perfectionism was her friend, not her captor.  She gave all that up a couple of years ago and decided that life and relationships are more important than an image.  She intentionally chose to be real and to show up for every part of life.  That takes courage and a willingness to be vulnerable.  What she has learned (we talked about this in depth the last few days) is that just showing up affects people. And, don't fool yourself, just showing up is courage.  People are drawn to courage. There is so much more grace given to the courageous than the coward. She also told me that being vulnerable gets easier with practice.  You want the true definition of intimacy? It isn't sex. It's letting yourself be seen honestly and completely.  So, in a nutshell, Joy chooses to show up for all of life, including the ugly parts where she'd rather hide. 

   All that aside,  I have a new found appreciation for wigs.  I mean, being real is fine but it's OK to look as normal as possible.  It's amazing how much it looks like her real hair.  The worst part of having a wig around is when I wake up in the middle of the night to head to the bathroom. Turning on the light only to find Joy's head on the bathroom counter can cause a heart to jump right out of your chest. It's hard to go back to sleep after that.  

   We head back to the hospital for another 5 hours of chemo tomorrow.  That will be the 2nd of 4 treatments and we hope to be done (other than the last reconstruction surgery) by December 10th.  With any luck, Joy will be back at close to full strength by Christmas.  That would be wonderful since we are scheduled to have all of our kids home this year for the first time in years.  In closing out this post, I want to add the favorite picture I took while we were on a recent trip to Colorado. We went out there early this month to try to capture the Aspens turning gold. We found very few good pictures of the Aspens but I found this one while we were hiking in the Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs. It spoke to me as a perfect illustration of where our lives are and who Joy truly is right now. If you know that area, it is very arid with lots of scrub bushes and few flowers.  This little bunch of flowers was erupting out of a crack between a big rock and some hardpan soil.  I had to touch it to be sure it was real and not some one's idea of a joke. They were real and a message to us that there can be beauty in unexpected places and that all of us can bloom where we're planted.

The Puzzle Savant

    Before I begin this post I need to apologize for being so long between posts.  Although I find it hard to believe that anyone actually reads these posts, I have been getting some serious flak about the delay. I'll explain more in my next post but the truth is that this process is just so overwhelming and exhausting that I just didn't want to talk about cancer anymore. I'm finding that I'm just not as tough as Joy. She continues to amaze me.

    So, as I write this chapter I'm sitting in the chemo suite watching over Joy while they pump the poison in her veins to destroy any remaining cancer cells. At least that's the plan. The reality is that only 5% of women are helped by chemo and we can only hope we fit into that 5%.  We are participating in a national study here at KUMed that will hopefully help them identify which 5% of women actually benefit from chemo.  As it now stands, chemo is standard treatment for most breast cancer patients and that is a troubling fact since the chemo is so hard on the body and 95% are doing nothing more than taking toxic risks while hoping for the best results.  We certainly were clueless about all this before our journey.  As good as medicine is, there is so much they just don't yet know. Our experience at this hospital has been very good. They go out of their way to answer any questions and to present any and all options and risks clearly. I'm impressed by the level of care in an environment where it must seem like there are more questions than answers.

    While this whole process does wear you down, there are some moments of serendipity and humor. Our favorite has been morphine.  Joy on morphine has given us some stories that will undoubtedly expand over the coming years.  Due to the removal of both breasts and 18 lymph nodes on the left side, Joy could only sleep in a recliner in the living room.

Brooke, Elizabeth, and I took turns camping out on the couch while she slept.  She always started her naps looking so peaceful but then the hot flash would hit and she ended up sleeping more like this.

We had to wake her for meds, bathroom breaks, and to empty the 3 drain tubes from the incision sites.  Joy would usually wake up and begin to talk to us along with several folks that weren't present.  The best times were when she tried to get us to engage the invisible visitors in the conversations.  Her conversations occurred at odd hours and made sleeping on the couch difficult as I always woke up with a start thinking she needed something or was in pain only to discover she was staring at a blank spot on the wall and talking up a storm with persons unknown and unseen. One time she was talking and turned to point at me and then back to the blank wall and said, "Scott Campbell is right there and he can't see you".  I confess I stared at the wall for a long time to make sure there wasn't someone there. After all these conversations, she would, at some point, realize it was the morphine talking and start to smile or laugh.

    While those episodes were entertaining, none were as funny as trying to put together a 1500 piece puzzle with someone on morphine. Let me tell you, it was a hoot.  The puzzle was difficult and the girls and I would go 5 or 10 minutes at times before finding one piece that fit. Joy, on the other hand, would sit there and we would hear. "Oh, found another one" about every 30 seconds. 

    It didn't take long for us to realize that she wasn't the puzzle savant she appeared to be. Take a look at this picture of a tree she put together. We laughed until we cried and had to take apart nearly everything she'd done.

Needless to say, we watched her progress a little closer after that discovery.  It was a time we will always remember and cherish.

   

A New Normal

     So sorry to be so late getting this update out to you.  As you might suspect, it has been a very busy time and a roller coaster of emotions these past two weeks.  The long couple of months of diagnostic tests and biopsies finally ended when we wheeled Joy into surgery on August 28th.

   We arrived at the hospital at 5:55 a.m.   Elizabeth and I had Joy pause at the doors to the lobby to record the moment. She was proudly wearing the shirt provided for the Susan G. Komen cancer walk. The group of ladies at her bank provided the shirts and have been a tremendous support to Joy throughout this journey.

 
  KuMed is a huge hospital and we were stunned to find the surgical (they have more than 1) waiting room almost completely full.  At 6 a.m. we were all given stickers identifying us as the family for surgical patient #24.  They also gave us a private number that would link us to Joy's surgical status.  Thankfully, we weren't in the waiting room too long before they took us back to a holding room where we counted 9 different doctors, interns, or nurses prepping her for surgery and asking the same set of questions.  Before they took her away for to inject a dye to locate the sentinel lymph node, we took a picture of her getting a series of injections for a nerve block in her upper back. It was designed to reduce the pain and the need for additional pain meds later. As you can see, Joy maintained a smile and positive attitude as they rolled her away from us and into the surgical suite.

     I can't fully explain the range of emotions i felt seeing her move down the hallway and through the doors where we could no longer follow.  We'd been able to sit with her for 2 hours prior to her leaving us for surgery. It was the last time I'd see her until after 8:00 that evening in the recovery room.  It was a very long day of waiting. I was thankful to have the company of my daughter Liz,  Joy's sister Alice, and three friends, Paula French, Patti Alberts, and Pam Renner.  What a gift it was to have friends there to pass the time and support Joy.  We were able to use the number they gave us to track her progress throughout the day. That's Joy on the top of the list on the picture below.

   While Joy was in recovery, we were able to talk to the breast surgeon and the plastic surgeon. It was then we were told the news that an additional procedure was done because they did find cancer in the lymph nodes. I confess that this was the only time throughout this process where my courage wavered and I shed a few tears.  By the time I saw Joy in recovery my courage was renewed and I was hoping she would be too loopy to ask many questions.  Not my Joy.  The first question she asked was " what did they find?" I tried to divert the conversation but she stopped me and asked again.  When I told her they did find cancer in the nodes, her eyes filled with tears but they were gone as quickly as they'd arrived.  We kissed and she smiled and was back to the woman I've always known.  She grabbed the top of her gown and pulled it up and said, "Look, I've got boobs". We both laughed and I knew she would be just fine regardless of where we're headed. She's an amazing woman.

    This series of photos is a little bit of the week's progress for Joy.  She began the week sleeping most of the day and night in her new recliner. When she first came home she had almost no use of her arms due to the pain, stitching and the 3 drain tubes inserted into her chest.  As of this writing, she still has the drain tubes and some pain but she is up and around and looking for something to do.  The last picture is one of my favorites. Sitting out on the deck with her coffee and a big smile on her face.  We meet with the doctors again tomorrow and learn the full results of the pathology tests and what the future holds with regard to chemo and radiation.  Please continue to pray with us for good results and for the wisdom of the skilled medical team.  Looking at that last picture, is there any doubt she is ready for the next challenge?

The Long Way Home

     What is it about getting older?  As a kid, the future was full of options and dreams. Some fears too, but mostly dreams.  Now I find myself over 60 and closing in on the years where retirement and relaxation should be occupying my mind.  Instead, I sit here wondering if I really know the way home to the little boy with the dreams.

    A little background for you.  The past few years or so have been a watershed of memories, deep introspection, and hard work on who I really am when no one else is watching.  Believe me, its not a journey for sissies.  Life has a way of rerouting us over and over again.  Sometimes it's marriage, divorce, or kids that force us to reevaluate our dreams and ambitions.  Maybe we saw ourselves doing something different with life only to find that we made choices, or had choices made for us, that caused us to veer off the path we thought we were supposed to follow. Sacrifices for family or opportunities missed because we had too much fear or insecurity to take the next step. It happens all the time and most of us feel that nagging voice beckoning to us from the dreams we once carried close to our hearts.

   Now, I'm not complaining. I have a wonderful wife, great kids, and adorable grandkids. I even have a few close friends that love me.  I'm certainly not rich but I'm doing OK.  Life has been hard at times but also rich and full in others.  So, what's with all the melancholy and bubbling emotions?  I wish I knew. Oh, I have some ideas (Joy's cancer, the sale of my business, missing my kids, etc.) but those are just the vehicles that took me on this journey.  They are the motor that drives me to find the little boy with the dreams.

    Have you ever lived your life as a not? No, I didn't misspell that. You know what I mean.  I'm not going to be like -----, or I'm not going to make that mistake, or how about, I'm not going to let them see me hurting.  I think everyone does some of that but some of us have spent way too much time living there.  Not sure if you do that?  Let me ask you a simple question.  When was the last time you felt complete joy?  I don't mean happy. I mean I want you to name the last 3 times in your life where you were literally overcome with joy to the point where you were oblivious to your surroundings.

   I can't name them because I taught myself years ago that I never going to feel anything too deeply.  I put on a self made mask and did the best I could. At least I thought I was.  Now, as I'm facing the issues around the cancer in the woman I love and the sale of a business that has been my identity, I began to realize that I was numb and unable to dream anything at all.  Surviving is not a dream destination. Surviving is not intended to be a way of life.  Doing nothing but getting through each day and surviving to fall into a restless sleep only to wake up and do it all over again is not living. There can be no joy in that type of existence.  Depressed yet?  Sorry. Let me shift gears.

   Joy and I are hosting a book club at our house and the subject is the least likely topic anyone wants to talk about.  It's a book called "Daring Greatly" by Dr. Brene Brown.  It's a book about vulnerability and shame. Scary stuff indeed.  She studied the topic for over 10 years and her findings are often like surgery without anesthesia.  I won't ruin the whole book for you but do want to talk about the one topic that set my mind and heart to a full spin cycle.  Let me give you and example from her book;

"Vulnerability is the cradle of the emotions and experiences that we crave. Vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, and creativity. It is the source of hope, empathy, accountability, and authenticity. If we want greater clarity in our purpose or deeper and more meaningful spiritual lives, vulnerability is the path." 

    Here is another quote that addresses the connection between vulnerability and experiencing true joy. Try this one on for size;

"Once we make the connection between vulnerability and joy, the answer is pretty straightforward: We're trying to beat vulnerability to the punch.  We don't want to be blindsided by hurt. We don't want to be caught off-guard, so we literally practice being devastated or never move from self-elected disappointment."

    Ouch!  That is what she calls foreboding joy.  In a nutshell, it means never really allowing joy to be fully experienced because it feels like a trap.  Remember when your child was a newborn and you longed for the day when you could get a full nights sleep again? How many of you did like me and went into the room to check on the baby because they were sleeping so soundly? That is foreboding joy. Rather than being excited to have them sleeping soundly, we begin to imagine that something must be wrong so we go and check. That's a poor description but that is exactly how I've chosen to numb out my life.  I've laughed when telling friends my philosophy of "expecting the worst and hoping for the best".  To my twisted way of thinking, I was never disappointed if bad things happened and mildly surprised when good things came along. Made perfect sense to me but I was so wrong. What it did was to insulate me from really engaging with life and allowing myself to fully feel joy when it was right in front of me. How sad.

    I've said all that just to say that I'm not going to live there anymore. I am going to look whatever comes straight in the eye and experience whatever comes up. I'm going to be in every one of Joy's appointments and we're going to talk about where we are and what we're feeling as it comes up. I'm willing to lean into the fear in order to experience the joy that I know will be on the other side when this cancer scare is over. I'm going to change the dressings and be completely involved in caring for her for this part of her life so that I can fully appreciate her health and vitality when this is over. I want to be in the arena with her and not sitting in the stands numbing out my fears.

    When we look back on the year prior to Joy's diagnosis, it is absolutely amazing to see the journey and how God put us in the right places, with the right people, at the right time. There is no mistaking His hand from months before we knew where we were headed. This is no accident. We are exactly where we are supposed to be.  Thanks so much for enduring this lengthy post. I appreciate the prayers and love so many of you are sending our way.

   

 


 

Waiting for the war to begin

     This is a picture I took out of our bedroom window some months ago. I remember telling Joy and posting it on FaceBook that storm clouds were headed our way. The colors and light were breathtaking. I couldn't keep my eyes off it.

    I said this blog would be honest and even raw at times.  Today is a difficult day. I'm struggling with the balance between creating a place where friends and family can get information and a place where I can be real about our journey. I don't want this entire blog to be about cancer. I want parts of it to be funny and light but I can't sugarcoat how I feel this morning. Joy and I got some tough news a couple of days ago about the biopsy last week. What the doctors felt was a shadow under the tumor was actually another mass. The stunning part is that it is twice the size of the original tumor. Joy called the doctor twice to confirm what she'd said because we were sure she had misunderstood. No mistakes. She really said this one was 4cm. They aren't sure if it is attached to the back of the original tumor or a separate mass. It was apparently hard to see because most of it protrudes behind the first tumor toward the chest wall. We are praying that it hasn't affected the chest wall behind the breast. The size alone automatically makes this a Stage III cancer. That is a game changer. Joy has endured 5 or 6 mammograms, the same number of sonograms, at least 2 MRI scans, and 3 biopsies in the last month. The big question we struggle with is how is it possible that a second tumor so large wasn't detected? There are no answers available.

     Out breast surgeon (the quarterback of our treatment team) is out of the area until next week so we won't have any official answers until our appointment next Tuesday. I doubt the radiological oncologist can give us any answers when he tries to drain the blood trapped in her breast from nicking a vein during the last biopsy. She is having that done tomorrow. So, we have no long term answers but we know this war has escalated and our options for treatment are quickly diminishing. We were considering a lumpectomy with radiation and minimal healing time. That option is off the table and we now realize that chemo has gone from a slight chance to a very high likelihood. We still have decisions to make on whether it will be a single mastectomy or if both breasts will be taken.  The only thing we know is that we want this cancer removed as fast as possible.  

     For our friends and family, please understand that I'm putting this out there so you can have answers to your questions without the awkwardness of asking us directly. We want your prayers and support and I promise to do what I can to keep you up to date. The reason I say all that is to let you know that answering the same question dozens of times is exhausting emotionally. More so for Joy than for me. I process differently and need to verbalize my thoughts, hopes, and fears. That isn't the case for Joy. She has been very stoic and outwardly calm during this journey. As such, it's much harder for her to talk openly other than general details. Please respect that. If you need or want an answer, please ask me and I'll do what I can to provide an answer. I feel like that is my primary role during this war. I'm going to protect her as much as possible.  The outpouring of love and support Joy has received so far has been overwhelming. From the family, our BT community, friends, and her co-workers at the bank, we are grateful for all you've done and said. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

    I have one last request. I'm learning the hard way that the Internet isn't always a good place. Like many of you, I searched the Internet for advice, explanations, and to get a better understanding of what we are facing. Big mistake. Don't do it. All it did was terrify me and Joy. When you begin looking at survivability rates based on the stage and grade of cancer, you are borrowing trouble and worry.  Just about a week or two before we discovered the cancer, I read a devotional in "Jesus Calling" by Sarah Young and it has had a profound effect on my mindset throughout this process. It said something to the effect that one of God's greatest gifts to us was that he never gives us more than one day at a time because He understands that we wouldn't have the courage to go on if we knew everything that we would face in the future. I've thought of that countless times since then and thanked God that I don't know everything. I have to trust Him and the doctors to get Joy through this treatment. Countless others have gone down this road before and so will we. We think we know how this will end but we have no guarantees. I know this post is a little heavy and I'm sorry. It's exactly where I am this morning. I remain confident that Joy will survive and that our lives will return (maybe even better) in a year or so. My heaviness has to do with the knowledge of what Joy will have to endure, both physically and emotionally. Now, back to the business of this day and making sure I live it intentionally.  That means not obsessing about the gathering storm clouds outside my window and trusting that storms are a part of any long journey.

Hugs and Happiness

   Those of you that really know me can get up off the floor now. Yes, I really am writing this post and I do know the definition of both words. Granted, I am perceived as a skeptic and I often come off as less than positive but that doesn't mean I don't have my good days. Unfortunately, this isn't one of them.

    Sorry, it's Monday, cloudy, and I slept poorly last night. Since there is so much on our plates right now, I decided to practice feeling good and engaged. You know, fake it til you make it.  The easiest way for me to do that is to start looking at pictures. When I started the day I felt like the guy on the right in the picture below.

        I'm not sure even a mother can love that face. It looks like his mother rocked him to sleep every night and used really big rocks. I wondered how often this poor guy was hugged in his life. It got me looking for hugging pictures.

    This one made me laugh. Yes, it is a live alligator and, yes, I was afraid. Two women had held him before I worked up the courage. He also had his mouth taped shut or I wouldn't have been within 20 yards of him.  The alligator made me think how great it would be if we could tape shut the mouths of those difficult people in our lives so we could hug them without risking injury or bloodshed. No doubt there are many that feel that way about me as well.

    Some hugs are fun but messy. This one is from a local Dirty Girl mud run to raise money for cancer research. Little did we know that we would soon have a deeper connection to breast cancer. Tee and Lisa were two of the friends that participated and then made sure I got muddy at the finish line. Next year I'll be wearing sweats. It was a fun event and Joy and I were there as cheerleaders and photographers.

    This may not be a hug but there is no doubting the love a dog can add to anyone's life.  If I could be 1/2 the man my dog thinks I am, I would be a great guy.

    Whether it's a picture from Tommy and Elizabeth's wedding with all the family but Josh and Angela,

    to the photo booth pictures of Josh, Angela, and Thurston at Brooke and Thomas' wedding this past May.

    These are the things that keep me going and cause me to smile more often than I'm likely to admit.  Ok, I'm ready to face the day again and thankful for the family on this journey with us. Even though all our kids live quite a distance away, Joy and I are blessed to live in an age with Skype and FaceTime so we can keep up often.  We're ready for where we're headed. Thanks for walking with us.

New language immersion

    I thought reading a doctor's signature was tough. Little did I know that understanding what they say is even worse. Now, some doctors are fine and able to communicate perfectly and, thankfully, the primary breast care doctors have both been very open and easily understood. Not so much when you get to the specialists. I get the sense that they know you aren't tracking and they really are fine leaving you with more questions than answers. Ignorant me, I thought you had a primary doctor, a surgeon, and an anesthesiologist when you had breast cancer. Well, so far we have a primary breast care doctor, a medical oncologist, a radiological oncologist, a plastic surgeon, and we'll be adding the anesthesiologist soon. That's hard enough to track but when you double it by asking for a second opinion and throw in the fact that English isn't the primary language for half of them, well, you get my drift.  That doesn't even count for the countless nurses, interns, and other folks that tell you to get undressed and wait.

    Yesterday was one of those days. We knew we had a meeting with the medical oncologist and I wanted badly to be there because it is so crucial to have at least 2 sets of ears listening to these doctors.  I met Joy at KU Med Cancer Center and we found out that we had been directed to the wrong campus for the doctor we needed. Apparently, they aren't sure where any of them are either. OK, cheap shot but I was aggravated.  We got back into our cars and found the other campus and began to wait for the oncologist.  Another doctor ( we have no idea who she was other than she seemed to be connected. Intern? Probably.) examined Joy, made lots of notes in and incredibly random fashion on the back of a blank sheet of paper, and left the room. A short time later, the medical oncologist came in and did the same exam but without any notes this time. He then began giving us news and options at a pace that felt like we were suddenly taking a drink from a fire hose.  He wanted Joy in a clinical trial, blah, blah, blah.......... I confess I left the conversation some time around his comment that we'll leave the tumor in there for another 4 to 6 months and then decide on what type of surgery is needed.  Then he tells us that no reconstructive surgery will be needed. Excuse me but I fail to see how you can take a chunk out of a breast the size of a scoop of ice cream and not leave the breast mangled.  Not one of the other umpteen doctors has even mentioned that as a possibility. That concluded her first doctor visit of the day.

    Joy then had an afternoon appointment with the Radiologist (back at the other campus) for an MRI biopsy on the left breast (again). They are worried that the area under and behind the original tumor may be a second tumor and wanted the added detail of the MRI to guide them in the process. Poor Joy endured about 90 minutes face down on the MRI cart trying to keep perfectly still while 2 doctors did their best to locate the area, mark it, and then do the biopsy. I think she said they slid her in and out of that machine 4 or 5 times. After it was done, she noticed pain that hadn't been present on the other biopsies but figured it was due to the fact that this one was very deep in the breast and up against the front of her chest wall. She left to drive home and felt increasing pain all the way. After calling the doctor, they wanted her back right away so I ran home to pick her up and off we went, in rush hour traffic, back to the hospital. By the time we got there her left breast was severely swollen and very painful.  Another sonogram revealed an 8cm pool of blood inside the breast (about the size of a fist) and that they apparently nicked a blood vessel during the biopsy.  There is very little they can do about it but wrap her chest very tight and keep an ice pack on it most of the time. It may take months for the blood to be reabsorbed unless they can figure out a way to drain it. We have no idea what impact this has an any possible surgery or reconstruction.  Sigh.............

   The worst part is seeing Joy in such pain. She is a trooper and handles pain way better than I ever will (what woman doesn't do better than their man?) but that part has been where I feel the most helpless.  She goes back today for yet another sonogram and to meet with the Radiologist. Thankfully, Elizabeth rove up from SE Kansas last night and will go with her.  We were warned that the next 6 months were going to be tough and I'm sure this is only the tip of the iceberg but it's obvious that we are just beginning to understand this journey and what it will take to get to the other end. One day at a time, one step at a time.

Talking about cancer

    What do you say when a friend or family member gives you the news that they were diagnosed with cancer?  Is it ok to ask questions about the disease or diagnosis? Will it hurt if I hug you?  Or, do you get half way into a story about someone who had cancer only to realize that you wish you hadn't started down this road since the subject of your story didn't survive. The truth is that most of us are completely uncomfortable talking about cancer.  When Joy was diagnosed, we put out the word selectively and were blessed to have a couple of friends that have had a similar diagnosis and have beaten it.
Statistically, the chances for survival beyond 5 years with Joy's diagnosis is somewhere over 80%.  I felt real good about that until I remembered that that they told us the lump in her breast had an 80% chance of being benign.  So, the 80% survival rate doesn't comfort as much as you'd think since we're already in the 20% that ended up with cancer.  You get what I'm saying?  Good news is sometimes what you make it.

    Some of the best advice we received was from one of the ladies that had been through this process. She told us to use the word cancer as much as possible. Talk about it. Encourage your family and friends to talk about it.  That makes perfect sense when you realize that cancer is a scary word and anything we're afraid of gains more power over your emotions and thoughts.  Joy and I are learning to verbalize whatever we're feeling at the time and it does wonders in keeping the mind monkeys from terrorizing your thoughts and dreams. From the stories of those that have already traveled this journey, I'm beginning to see the next few months as a season where it will be cold, clinical, and full of small and large storms.

    This picture of the maple tree in our front yard made me think of where we are in our journey.  There is plenty of warmth and beauty all around us but the season is changing. The important thing to remember is that all seasons run their course and that we will emerge from the darkness and cold at some point and begin to create a new normal for our future.


   I don't want to be too technical but we both want this blog to get out information about Joy's cancer.  The current diagnosis is that her cancer is called invasive ductal carcinoma. That is the most common breast cancer. It is stage II, hormone sensitive, and I forget the rest.  The tumor is on the lower, inside of her left breast which is a little unusual as most are on the outside toward the armpit.  The stage is determined by the size of the tumor. We do not know about lymph node involvement or if there is anything metastasised anywhere else. For the time being, our diagnosis is pretty much the best bad news you can get.  They also found 5 suspicious spots in the right breast and Joy has endured 3 or 4 mammograms and sonograms on that breast trying to locate the lumps so they can be biopsied.  They tell us that they think they are nothing to worry about and that they are "probably" not cancer. Not sure where "probably not" fits in that 80% thing.  Obviously, we want to know about the right breast before deciding what to do regarding a lumpectomy or full mastectomy of the left breast or whether we need to consider removing both breasts.  These are not easy decisions and I find I'm mostly as spectator and there for support.  Statistically, the recurrence percentage is almost the same for lumpectomy or mastectomy.  The lumpectomy requires less healing time for the surgery but requires 6 weeks of daily radiation treatments. Then there needs to be 1 to 2 years of tissue healing before the breast can be reconstructed. The mastectomy requires a longer healing period but she may not need the radiation or chemo if they find no other bad tissue when removing the tumor.  So, that's where we are. We're trying to decide which surgery gives us the best results and it isn't an easy decision.  We meet with the medical and radiation oncologists this week so we will hopefully be able to fill in more of the blanks.

2013- Already a year to remember

From the beginning, this year has been one for the record books.  Last year there was no snow and very little cold weather. I didn't have to scape ice off my windsheild one time. The law of averages caught up with us this year.  54" in a 3 week span.

We shovelled, survived, and began to wonder why we live in Kansas?  10 below in the winter and weeks well over 100 in the summer. Add our complete lack of scenery and you get an idea why we're asking that question. 

Spring finally arrived but brought a terrifying phone call from our oldest daughter's husband.  His quick message was the sort of things that bring any parent to their knees.  They were travelling in Texas and had a head-on collision at highway speeds. He told us that all were alive but please pray. He hung up quickly and we had no idea about injuries to Mandy, Marcus, or their 3 little ones.

Thankfully, there were no significant injuries to our family and, while the other driver suffered a broken leg,  all involved survived. God is good.

May brought another family milestone as we gave our youngest daughter in marriage. Brooke was absolutely radiant as she became Mrs. Thomas Sunderland.

We don't have all the photos back yet and I will blog more about this event later. It was a wonderful day and I felt like a King giving away a princess.


Shortly after the wedding, Joy and I began to discuss selling our business. There was an interested buyer and we wanted to begin the transition toward selling everything here and moving closer to our kids.

We opened this shop in 2002 and have enjoyed thousands of customers and the satisfaction of building a dream and hanging on for the wild ride that is part of any new startup business. It's been a great run but after 40+ years of dealing with folks in an insurance claims and retail setting, I'm longing to discover a new dream.

All was good and then Joy found the tumor in her left breast. This type of thing only happens to someone else but we found ourselves forced down a road where there are often more questions than answers. All sorts of thought jump to the forefront of your mind when the doctor confirms what you feared. Suddenly, selling the business and thoughts of travel were gone and a new giant stood before us.

Here's my sweetie on the Oregon coast last summer. Always smiling, kind, and living life positively. I know. We're proof that opposites do attract. She's everything I wish I could be and more. So, as we began this detour from the path of life that we'd carefully crafted, we do so with the knowledge that she can beat this and that attitude matters. All we have to do is keep moving forward and trusting God for the rest. We'll figure it out.

All in for the journey

   So, why does anyone blog anyway?  I mean,  who reads these things?  What kind of person stumbles onto a blog post and then hangs around to follow lives and stories told in fragments?  I guess that would be me.  I follow the blogs of a few friends and love to keep up with the dreams and drama of their everyday lives.  The other blogs I follow are folks I don't know but something in their writing style or the transparency of their posts draws me in and keeps me checking back eager to see their next post.  For me, it's all about authenticity.  I love people that are real and live their lives in the face of the slings and arrows of criticism. They get knocked down only to rise up and risk failure again just to be heard or seen.

   Why the name Alphabet Soup?  Well, my last name is Campbell so any tie in to soup made sense but there was a bigger reason.  Alphabet soup is a good illustration of how I see life.  Remember that soup as a kid and how you would try to spell a word with each spoonful of letters?  That's just like life to me. There are days where the words come easy and life is full of purpose and promise. There are also days where words fail and our struggle to connect and communicate leaves us empty and alone.  Now, I have no grand illusions about this blog.  Writing has always had a calming effect on me.  This blog will be nothing more than me thinking out loud. It helps me think and gets me out of my comfort zone.  It will be personal and often raw but it will be real.  In the coming posts I'll be sharing lots about my wife, Joy, and our new struggle with her breast cancer.  It will also serve as a place for friends and family to keep track of her journey without the awkwardness of asking us questions and not knowing how to respond to the answers.  Hopefully, there will be lots of humor here as well.  I'll add pictures and dress up the blog as soon as I figure out how to accomplish that. It took me all day just to figure out how to create this and to get this first attempt out there.  See you soon.