It's for my kids...

Deep breath.  It's amazing what kids will do to your thought process and how every ounce of major decisions goes back to them.  How long of a nap should they take?  Are they eating enough vegetables?  Why is his nose always running?  The list is endless.  I have been brought to my knees repeatedly in the last month over decisions.  I wish it were decisions over nap times and food.

I have a silly mutated gene.  It's the BRCA1 gene and it's mutated. It's a protective gene and mine is messed up.  Problem with it is that with this mutation you are basically a ticking time bomb for breast and/or ovarian cancer.  Worse still because both my mom and grandma were diagnosed and passed away at very young ages from this mutation (or at least so it appears-this science wasn't available to them sadly).  As thankful as I am for the technology, I am also so very confused as to what the best option for me is.  Better yet what the best option for my family is.

I watched my mom battle this awful disease.  She was amazing.  So tough, but she never focused on the stupid disease.  I rarely remember her sick unless I really try to think about.  Then it breaks my heart.  I know she put on a tough face for us kids.  Man, it couldn't have been easy.  I remember helping her replace her bandages after her mastectomy.  They were bloody and oozy.  She shaved her head before the chemo took all her hair.  And I remember laughing our butts off when she was baking cookies and the heat from the oven melted the front of her wig.  She laughed.  Inside I am sure she wanted to punch something.  Here she was with no hair, a wig, and now a melted wig that probably cost a pretty penny.  But she laughed.  She was amazing.  I can't imagine being in a fight for your life and looking at your kids everyday knowing you might not be there to see them graduate, get married, or see your grandbabies.  It puts knots in my stomach to think these thoughts as I look at my own kids.  I miss my mom horrible still and it's been almost 20 years.

Back to my decision.  Met with an oncologist, who by the way is the kindest doctor I have every met.  Basically my prognosis isn't great.  Most people with this gene mutation get cancer before they are 70, but her assumption is mine most likely would be much earlier based on family history.  Early like in my 30's. Like tomorrow. Who knows? Now what.  They can watch me close using MRI and mammograms, but that doesn't prevent it.  If we want to prevent it they have to start cutting.  Luckily, I am not attached to my breasts.  They are small and have served their purpose in nursing my children.  My ovaries have produced two beautiful biological children (and one beautiful adopted one).  But have also served their purpose. Sounds like an easy decision until I really start thinking about.  Basically everything that makes me female would be scraped out of my body.  Am I prepared to be an "it?"  My poor husband.  He is a champ.  Clearly wasn't a boob guy to start with, since he married me, but not sure bargained for this.  I can honestly say that I am sure when he said, "for better or worse," he wasn't thinking we would be talking about reconstructing nipples out of my stomach skin.  I am blessed to have him.

Still this isn't the toughest part of my decision.  My precious kiddos.  I want nothing more for them than wonderful childhood.   One where worrying about what's going on with Mom is the very last thing on their mind.  One where their mom is fun and active and plays with them.  One where their mom swoops in and picks them up when they stumble and need a hug.  One where their mom is strong and unflappable.  Ok, they know I am far from unflappable.  But you get my drift. The last thing I want is to look at my 5 year old and see concern on his face for my well being.

So do I go have a major surgery to avoid battling cancer at some point.  Sure, right?  What about my two year old? She still needs to be carried through parking lots and wrestled into her carseat.  She falls and the only real remedy is me picking her up and kissing her ouchie.  How do I explain to her "mommy can't pick you up for awhile because she had her boobs cut off so that she might be alive to see you graduate."  I know that sounds harsh, but it's the truth.  Have you had a toddler standing at your feet with their little arms lifted in the air, while they beg "up!"? I can think of few things worse than not being physically able to pick up your own child.

 For that matter my 3 year old in all her naughtiness loves nothing more than to hug you tight.  Like the kind of hugs that squeeze every ounce of air out of you, but fill your heart with pure goodness.  This surgery steals that for awhile.  Who is going to pick up my two year old or squeeze my 3 year old tight?  Who is going to throw the ball around to my 5 year old?  He is my worrier.  I see so much of my personality in him.  He picks up on everything.  Everything.  He is tender-hearted and hates to see others in pain.  How do I shelter him from those days post-surgery when I hurt.  I have to be so tight-lipped around him.  I say nothing about me and cancer.  He has been throwing the word cancer around lately.  I know he is picking up on stuff.  He asked if that is why Bentley (our sweet dog) died and if that is why Grandma Candi is in heaven.  I hate the idea of making him grow up faster than he should.  I know a thing or two about that.  It makes my heart hurt.

If I could do this surgery and freeze time for my kids, so they wouldn't feel any of the pain.  I would do the surgery in a heartbeat.  I know that it would be worse to have a 6,4,and 3 year old and be battling cancer with chemo on top of surgery.  I do know that.  As we waited at the Cancer Center for our appointment.  I saw all those bald heads and gray faces and it hit home.  Surgery just sounds so much easier looking at it from the outside. BUT life never stops.  I still have snack days at preschool, nursery duty at church, and laundry (and more laundry).  Who is going to do all that stuff if I am recovering from "elective-ish" surgery?  So many kind, wonderfully, kind people have offered to help.  It fills my heart.  But all of these people have lives that keep going too.  They have soccer practices to get their own kids too or jobs that don't allow for lots of time off.  Letting go of control, especially in regards to my kids is hard.  It's my job.  It's what I do all day, everyday.  I haven't been away from them for more than one night ever.  (That's not necessarily because I haven't wanted a couple nights away- but finding care for 3 young kids isn't easy or cheap).  Some people earn bonuses or reward trips or all kinds of awards, but I am hoping my reward is 3 kind, productive, God-loving adults that know they are loved.

So how do we decide when to do this surgery or surgeries.  I guess the fact is that we will have to do surgery at sometime.  I most likely can't avoid this cancer if we don't and if I get cancer, this is what they will do then anyways.  But how do I know when is best.  Can I hold out until my kids are in school all day or until at least some of them are in school?  Is that gamble worth it?  I am tired of being scared.  I am not scared of the cancer really and dying doesn't scare me really either.   Not to sound morbid, but it doesn't.  But the thought of leaving my kids without a mom drops me to my knees and in an instant brings tears to my eyes.  I don't know what we will decide.  But whatever it is, I can promise it is for my ki

Where to start?

So I have been wanting to start blogging forever. More as an outlet for myself, as I am unsure that anyone will ever get the chance or want to read anything I write. Hence the title, where to start? This is a theme today. My kitchen sits full of dishes and crumbs from lunch and pieces of playdough drying to floor from playing this morning. That overwhelming feeling of where to start? So today I start this, instead of the kitchen.

My three beautiful children and busy playing and napping. Asher is 4 and a half, Siri is 2 and half, and Shai is 15 months. They are wonderfully unique and fill my days will laughter, crying, screaming, praise, chaos, and "I love you's." Somedays, OK many days, I wonder how the Good Lord picked me to be their mother. I fall very short, but I am blessed that they and Him love me anyways.

So I guess back to the question, where to start? The best way is to just jump in. Better yet, to use an analogy. The only way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time. I love using analogies with my 4 year old. He takes everything so literally. I said this to him once and he asked, "Who eats elephant?" He is still trying to figure what side of the bed is the "right" side. Since occasionally, he wakes up on the "wrong" side. Haha!

So this is the first step, my first post. Not profound, but a step. Have a wonderful day!