I Have to Tell it Like a Story

I have to tell this like a story, it's easier for me to relate the details without getting overly emotional...

July 10, 2015
"It's getting tougher," I told Pete through my tears and from the crook of his neck where I had hidden my face.
We stood in the middle of the exam room where the surgeon had just left us.  Today was the day I had hoped to be scheduling my surgery and to have a clear plan to end this cancer treatment.  But that was not to be.  These two days in Skokie, which I had anticipated would be light and easy were by no means either.
Thursday was IV Vitamin C at The Block Center.  I was supposed to be receiving Herceptin (a Her2 blocker) by IV and was to receive it once every three weeks for the next year.  However because of a lowered ejection fraction and some symptoms involving my heart (as explained in my post "The Other Side of Struggle") it is being withheld.  The doctors want to see if my heart recovers after taking a break from the drug.  I had a repeat echocardiogram on Monday and we will wait for the results of that test before resuming the treatment.
In the meantime I received a vitamin cocktail by IV.  While at The Center I also met with Dr. Block and Dr. Kahn, my oncologist.  Before my last chemo treatment Dr. Kahn had reduced the dose of my chemo by 50% and said that if this reduction did not reduce or resolve my side effects that this could be my last/final treatment.  After experiencing all of the same side effects along with the recurrence of another issue I had thought had resolved.  I assumed I was done with chemo in this case.  Yesterday when I met with Dr. Block and Dr. Kahn they both implored me to have the 6th treatment as prescribed.  They asked me to at least consider it.  I agreed that I would.  Through tears and with a cracking voice I expressed my concerns about all the side effects as well as my uneasiness regarding the toxicity of adding yet another chemo treatment to an already weakened heart and body.
Dr. Block laid out fair and substantiated arguments for the 6th treatment based on the information he has available to him.  He addressed my concerns and stated that ultimately the decision was mine and he would continue to help me either way.  He is intelligent and kind, and I am thankful to have him on my team.
I struggled to relax as we left The Center that night.  Pete reminded that a decision does not need to be made immediately.  I should take the time to relax, pray and seek peace, he encouraged.  Every day this man reminds me of his unconditional love and support.  Pete is amazing and so patient with me.  I'm so blessed by this man.
I woke up this morning after a typically restless night.  I successfully slept four hours at the outset of the night, woke up and had trouble getting back to sleep, finally to enjoy two full hours of sleep just before having to get up.  I awoke with a smile, climbed out of bed and thought out loud, "This is going to be a great day!"  The weather matched my mood: sunny, bright, warm and pleasantly breezy.
We made it to the doctor's office early and were seen on time.  It was perfect.
Once the doctor examined me the visit went down hill.  Here's the long and short of it: the type of reconstruction surgery I had wanted to have is no longer a viable option for me because of my weight loss due to chemo.  This news was devastating.  Since my first appointment with the surgeon three months ago I had been talking myself into a surgery that I felt was the lesser of the evils.  At this moment I was being forced to rethink everything I had been considering and planning for.

At this point I haven't come to any conclusions.  These decisions are weighing heavily on me.  I feel very responsible.  Responsible to do what is best not only for myself but for my husband and children.   I'm trying to rest and not rush, to seek peace in my decision-making.  While I feel overwhelmed and wish I had a lighted path before me, I am clear on two things.  One, there are no guarantees whatever I choose.  And two, regardless of any decision I might make I am not the one ultimately in control here.  We might like to think that we have control but truly the only thing we have control over is our response to whatever and whomever comes to us in life.  
As we drove home from Skokie a song came into my head and I began to sing words that brought comfort in the midst of the emotional storm.  "I lift my eyes up unto the mountains-where does my help come from?  My help comes from You, Maker of heaven, Creator of the earth." (Psalm 121:1-2)
I accept this comfort and I continue to seek peace.