I want to thank all of you for being amazing friends. Amazing. Some of you are friends I haven’t spoken with in years, and here you are, sending us love, prayers, and support from miles and memories away. God bless all of you! I’m so thankful you are all so present in my life.

The visit to Hopkins last Tuesday was a success. We arrived in Baltimore late Monday night and checked into our hotel. We were exhausted after a long Monday, which began without electricity and ended with a new hot water heater and some seriously soaked carpeting. Nothing like homeownership to give you the big heave-ho on a bad day.

Tuesday morning opened with an early morning drive through downtown Baltimore, where 7-11 parking lots have (no joke) WWII-style surveillance towers. We passed dozens of men without work, waiting en masse for the day labor trucks to come through and take them to whatever job they find for the day.

Hopkins’ outpatient center is a haven for ill people seeking a second chance. I saw all sorts, from ladies with an inch of new hair growth to a man born in 1917 within a few days of the end of his life. I almost felt guilty for my full head of hair and the strength and surety of my body as I walked into my CT scan.

My surgeon, after reviewing my films, came into the office beaming. He said that the tumor is benign. Though it may still be a premalignant tumor, as of right now, I do not have to face chemotherapy. If I choose, I don’t even have to face surgery. I have the option to monitor the tumor via CT scans every few months. There is a good possibility that it is a serous cyst adenoma, but the doctor is not certain. Misdiagnosis on these tumors has been cited as often as 30%, according to recently published research. I am not comfortable knowing this thing might turn malignant at any moment. Missing my window of opportunity to live is not an option, no matter the odds.

After a week pouring over the matter and more than a few tears and migraines, I want to go ahead with the surgery. I don’t want this thing to grow anymore. I don’t want to have surgery 10 years down the road when it is twice as large and I have to lose most of my pancreas. I’ve been sick for at least a decade. I’m tired of throwing up. I’m tired of being anemic. I am tired of pain. I finally have the answers I’ve so eagerly wanted but have never found. It is time to get well.

This week, I welcome your continued prayers and thoughts for wisdom as we plan the surgery and recovery. I’m personally praying for a laparoscopic procedure. I pray for good communication with my doctors, and I pray for patience and hope. I will lose half my pancreas and my spleen, which poses genuine concern over infection and diabetes. This isn’t going to be a fun few months, but I want all of you to know that I’m the happiest I’ve been in years. I am loved and blessed. My family is faithful, reliable, and strong. Best of all, each passing day makes me more thankful for my wonderful husband. I married a good man who is here with me “in sickness and in sickness.” It is time to see that vow back to health. I want to be well again.

Tags: hyperemesis, pancreatic tumor

When I had Emily a year ago in April, I thought the vomiting was over. I was wrong. A few weeks after delivery, I was violently ill. An ultrasound in the ER revealed a gallbladder full of stones and a large cystic lesion hiding in my pancreas. I had surgery in June 2009 to remove the gallbladder, but the pancreatic cyst was still there, causing everyone to worry.

The first time I heard “cancer”, the doctor said it was a remote possibility, and that the cyst was most likely nothing. I followed up after we moved to DC, and my new doctor told me to wait until December for another MRI, giving the cyst a few months to resolve.

In December, I went back to the doctor and nonchalantly waited for the good news. The odds of a harmless cyst presenting after gallstones were decidedly in my favor. The doctor sat me down and looked over at my little Emily on my lap. He said the cyst was still in my body. It hadn’t grown, but it hadn’t gone away. It was just sitting there, a little 5 cm ball of anxiety in my belly.

I was told to wait- again- until June. June was six months away, ample time for the thing to disappear. I tried to stay positive, but my confidence was waning. Every month that passed increased the odds of malignancy.

I was afraid to call my doctor. I avoided making appointments. If I didn’t make the MRI appointment, I wouldn’t have to find out that it was still there. The stressed piled up- every time I disciplined my preschooler, I thought, “is this all she will have to remember of me?”. Every time we went swimming, I remember thinking, “is this our last summer by the pool?”. I know it sounds dramatic, but damn, pancreatic cancer is intensely dramatic. Especially when you have a 3 year old and a baby, and when you love your family as completely as I do.

Now we are in July. My June results were, as I feared, that the mass in my belly is a tumor. It might not yet be a malignant tumor, but it is a premalignant intraductal papillary mucinous neoplasm or a mucinous cystic neoplasm. We no longer believe it is a benign, run of the mill, pseudocyst from gallbladder disease. It is bad, it is scary, and I am going to Johns Hopkins in Baltimore this coming Tuesday. I will meet with a man named Barish Edil who will almost certainly save my life. If I let this tumor go for a few more months, the liquid inside it will grow thick and metastasize to my other organs. Pancreatic cancer is the most deadly of intestinal cancers. The survival rate is around 3%, five years after initial diagnosis. We’re well beyond the “wait and see” options. I want to grow old with my husband and attend my daughters’ weddings. I want this thing OUT. All signs are pointing to a pancreatectomy.

I will keep you all, my beloved 16 or so friends, posted as to the final diagnosis and prognosis, beginning this coming Tuesday. The irony is that the only accurate diagnostic tool for these things is surgical removal. As we wait, please pray for me. For all of us. Specifically, here are a few requests that I have for you as we face this:

- Pray for wisdom on the part of the doctors and Eric and me as we make life-altering treatment decisions this week. I am not a patient patient. It is in my best interest to try to become one.

- Pray for my daughters, Sophie and Emily, who are sensitive little things and are already tuned into the stress they see in their family. They cannot even leave the room I am in without tears. I hope for their world to remain as normal as possible as they spend the weeks following recovery away from mama and daddy.

- Pray for my husband and parents. I know they love me very much, and it is hard to imagine the fear they all face as they look at the possibility of losing their wife and child. I’m not going to die. I’m just going to worry about it.

- Pray for me through this treatment. I don’t like pain. I want a two-week epidural and a lot of benadryl so I can sleep through recovery. I’m flat-out, honestly and openly, scared down to my toenails of an operation. I’m no toughie. I’m a wimp. It is going to hurt.

- Most importantly, praise God for his goodness. The kind of tumor I have rarely presents any symptoms until a person is a few months from death. Mine was most likely the cause of, and discovered because of, hyperemesis gravidarum. A routine ultrasound revealed this silent mass. It has probably been there for years, and without its discovery and treatment, I wouldn’t be here for much longer. Because my God is so very good, my doctors found it, and I will live to see my little ones grow to adulthood. I will grow wrinkly and grey with my husband, who makes me laugh every day, no matter what. We will sit on our covered porch in our white Cracker Barrel rockers and remember the love we have enjoyed our whole lives.

And yes, I’m being dramatic. But I’m allowed to, I think.

Love to you all, and we will keep you posted as we follow through on this ever-surprising journey.
XOX.

Tags: hyperemesis, pancreatic cancer, premalignant

I am not at all any sort of farmer, but I recently had my first grown-up gardening experience! I made a pasta salad from scratch. By scratch, I mean that I grew my own ingredients, “harvested” them, and used them in a recipe that my family not only ate, but really liked!

Here’s the recipe from Southern Living magazine, March 2001, adapted to my own tastes:

1 pound shell or orechiette pasta, cooked according to package directions
1/3 cup red wine vinegar
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon seasoned pepper (I used Montreal Steak Seasoning from Weber’s)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1 garlic clove, pressed
3/4 cup olive oil
1 cup chopped fresh basil
1 tsp fresh chopped fresh oregano
1 (3-ounce) package shredded Parmesan cheese
1/2 cup chopped roasted almonds (I used packaged almond salad toppers)
16 oz. Cherry tomatoes, cut into quarters
Garnishes: gourmet mixed baby salad greens; small, yellow pear-shaped tomatoes

Prepare pasta according to package directions
Mix vinegar with next 5 ingredients
Add fresh herbs to oil, mix gradually with vinaigrette
Pour dressing over pasta, toss in cheese, almonds and tomatoes
Chill

Now if the Monarchs would just infest my milkweed plants (read: ginormous 8′ tall trees), my experiment au jardin would be complete.

Tags: basil, recipe

Alas, our first year of school is come to an end. I’ve attached the video of Sophie’s End of the Year Class Program. She’s easy to pick out- she’s the only girl. She’s also the only one tap-dancing in the middle of the stage. Enjoy!