The Quiet Life of Violet

Not THAT Bad.

So, Thursday was bandage removal day.

My Daddy drove out, parking his blue Jeep in our driveway right on time. It was about a half-hour after Ro went down for his nap, so we (Dad, Dustin and I) hung out and talked projects. You see, my daddy is a perpetual homesteader without the hipster element. Guys, he doesn't even know just how damn cool all the stuff is. He knows tht he loves it and it brings him joy, but I kind of idolize how go-get-'em he is with his hobby adventures.

He makes / toils with:

• Beer (I have childhood memories of these big glass jugs in the kitchen blowing their tops and spraying the ceiling with immature beer foam.)
• Wine (He crushes the dang grapes in the driveway with a fancy wine machine. My brother helps. They refused to use their feet, though.)
• Limoncello (They have a GIANT lemon tree in the back yard.)
• Sausage (Jugs of pork intestine in the fridge, ripe for the stuffing. Ahhh, high school memories.)
• Jerky (beef, salmon and pork - all delicious.)
• Salami
• Pepperoni
• Smoked fish
• Home grown herbs, veggies and fruit (He brought me a gallon ziplock with fresh herbs yesterday!)
• Sauerkraut
• Fermented pickles
• Jam
• Canned veggies

On top of that, he's an excellent cook. On top of THAT, my brother is too and likes to bake fresh bread. My brother's steamy loaves (mind out of the gutter, perv) are one of the few gluten-y foods I'll indulge in... Hot bread is straight from God, I swear. (NOTE: Dad and brother - please make me some gluten free sourdough starter. Pretty please?)

Okay, the foodie in me got a little lost there. Can you see where I get my love from, though?

 

So, Thursday. Dustin and I headed out a bit early in hopes of getting a bit of lunch prior to my appointment. We walked (I rolled) around Piedmont Ave in Oakland and stumbled upon a place called Holly's Mandarin. I am a Chinese food LOVER, but have to be careful because I'm allergic to MSG, a food additive that seems to be abundant in most Chinese foods. So, we asked and they denied using the evil additive and we decided to try our luck. Oh. My. Gosh. Best Chinese food ever. Dustin actually said that and he is not as in love with Chinese as I am. They had a huge selection of lunch specials, all under $9 and everything came with the best hot and sour soup I've ever had, chowmein or rice AND fresh steamed veggies. The veggies made the meal. Tender-crisp and delicious. I had the curry chicken, which blew my mind, and he had some spicy, crispy chicken dish that tasted like heaven and wasn't greasy at all. Hell yeah. I'm drooling right now just thinking about it.

After we stuffed our selves (comfortably stuffed - the fat chick in me wanted to eat all of my food and lick the plate), we headed over to the hospital with just enough time to check in to my appointment on time and plop down in the waiting room. And we waited.

And waited.

... And after the suspense just about did me in, we were called back into a room. I found my place on the ever-so-familiar paper covered exam-room table and thought of my dear Roman. The poor kid HATES that paper - the crinkly noise makes cry. I though about how much I love him and how awesome it's going to be when I can walk around with my boy, go down slides with him and just be more mibile. How I'd want him to be brave and not freak out if he were in my position and then back to how much he hated that paper.

I allowed myself to take a moment and find the courage to be present. I am Stephanie, wife of Dustin, mother of Roman. I live in America. It is June 14, 2012. I am in my doctor's office two weeks after the final surgery that will allow me to be a walking Momma. I am not in danger and even though having the clear bandage film taken off will probably hurt, I will be okay.

*deep breath*

I can do this.

Plus, I made Dustin promise to take me for a slice of cake afterwards. I am a foodie. Cake bribes always work.

Dr. Phil came in after a few minutes and we talked about how hard it was for me the week after surgery. How I can't handle drugs and how badass it is that I'm only taking Tylenol when needed now. He said that most people still need hardcore drugs. BAM. I told him how apprehensive I was to have the bandage t.aken off and that my mind was filled with thoughts of infection (gross) and gauze that was fuzed into my freshly cut skin. (I seriously need to tell my imagination to sit down and shut up because I dream up weird shit like that all the time.)

He let me pick the bandage off myself and the inner picker (you know, scabs, blemishes, sunburns) in me was equal parts ecstatic and creeped the eff out because I didn't know what I was about to find. I'm notice of those "yank the bandaid off slowly " type of people. I want to do it slowly, carefully and make sure that nothing too painful is going down. I started with the corners, little bit by little bit until I could see my incision line. Oh. Boring. I mean, it was creepy seeing a new cut on my body for the first time, but there was no blood or guts or anything gross. A tiny part of the gauze was stuck to one little part of me, but Dr. Phil took the time to take each string (string, people! My Doctor get the patience award.) out with little to no pain on my part. He's amazing. I told him that I wanted him to be my doctor for everything and that he better study up on oncology (just incase, heaven forbid) and obstetrics (baby making season, here we come!) because I want him to be the only doctor that I ever see again.

He said that my incision looked great and that I was free to shower (HALLELUJAH)! I begged him to put some steri-strips (super sticky, strong strips of medical tape) on me because the incision looked so damn good, but still pretty fresh and I wasn't comfortable enough not having some sort of something holding it together for at least another week. (during surgery He stitched me up internally, like a plastic surgeon, so I have no visible staples or stitches. Creepy as crap!)

After my appointment, Dustin and I busted out of there and my heart floated above me like a little red balloon.

I didn't have an infection. I didn't have to be re-admitted for additional surgery. I was good. HELL YES! I took a second to thank God that I wasnt stuck in the hospital with chemo flowing into my body. That I wasn't stuck in a bed, beeping machines around me, my heart and spirit crushed. I was Stephanie. It was June 14th, 2012. I was able to leave the doctors and bandages and intravenous fluids behind me and go home to start yet another adventure in my quiet life.

... Plus cake.

 

Bandage

Getting my bandage taken off in a few hours. I've got the heebie-jeebies and just have this mental picture of the bandage sticking to my scar that keeps making my tummy flip-flop like a petite lady in Cirque du Soleil.

My Daddy just got here - he' s watching Roman for us - and Bubby and I are about to head it for some pre- bandage ripping lunch.

Wish me luck and no pain, please!

Xo,

Nervous Violet

Ice Packs, Baby.

On My Way to the Hospital.

I bawled like a baby as we pulled away from the house. Saying goodbye to Roman was one of the most heart squishing things I've ever had to do. Gosh damn. The drive was nothing special and we ended up getting a bit lost. Thank God for iPhones with GPS, huh?

Checking In.

We found our way to the hospital, parked and took the elevator up the the Ambulatory Surgery Unit. I got my bracelet (so fancy! Not really.), slipped into a gown and was informed that I needed to wear hospital panties and a giant pad. Um... hello. If you've ever had a baby in a hospital, you'll know exactly which panties I'm talking about. Fishnet granny panties. Lovely! Also, I didn't know that they made pads that thick anymore. Seriously, it could have been a hotdog bun with a strip of adhesive on it. Mental picture? Yikes!

After changing into my surgery outfit, they gave me an albuterol breathing treatment, which was AWESOME. Nothing like being able to breathe! I answered a bunch of questions about my health history and had to tell three or four different people what I was in there for (a safety measure, I'm sure). This one lady tried to convince me that I was getting surgery on my left leg. Ummm... no, ma'am! Read that chart again.

My surgeon, Dr. Phil, caught me dring a bit of a breakdown and really calmed me down. He knows my history what my goals for this (and the following) surgery were. He told me to imagine that not getting the surgery was like an anchor and allowing them to go in there and remove the bone growth was like cutting the chain. It was so poetic and happy and I couldn't believe that it came out of a doctor's mouth. I told him that I'd like for him to be my doctor from now on for anything that ever goes wrong with me. He laughed and I felt much more confident and sure of what I was doing. I believe that God sent me Dr. Phil. He's also going to be doing my next surgery. <3

After the pep talk, they wheeled me into the O.R. and tried to give me an I.V. which was a fail. On the third try, they were successful and before I knew it, I was feelin' the happy drugs. Happy, happy, joy, joy! I don't remember annnnything after that. I don't remember the spinal they gave me or the catheter or anything at all.

The next thing I know, I'm in the recovery room. Blink, it's 2:30. White sheets. My bear still in my arms. I'm alive! Blink, it's 3:30. I'm freezing and hot all at te same time.  Blink, I'm super thirsty and I get a few sips of water. Close my eyes and it's 4:30pm. I can feel my toes again. Ice chips, please.

Dustin was finally allowed to come up and see me and I'd never seen a more handsome man in my whole life. My heart got all leap-y and happy and we decided that I could go home since my stomach felt fine and my toes were finally "defrosting." Sweet victory!

 

The Ride Home!
(drugged much? Ha!)

I was starving so Bubby stopped at a Mexican food place and got me a side of rice and beans. I've never had better rice and beans in my entire life. I'm so thankful that my stomach felt fine the whole time!

Being Home.

I claimed that the couch would be mine and I've made true to my word! I have a whole station set up here: water, tea, tissues, pills, trash (half of a strawberry box!), gum, glasses, phone charger, pillow, two blankets and so on. I've slept on the couch for the past two nights  because our bed is a bit tall and I wanted to be as comfy as possible. Dustin has been a huge help - he's my hero. Helping me to the bathroom, changing my pad (DUDE, that's true, honest, pure love right there), getting ice packs for my leg, dressing me, brushing my hair, running to the store. He's the sweetest. My MIL has been a rockstar with Roman - taking care of my sweet boy, cooking us all food, making sure that I take my medicine and helping with house chores. We watched Take Me Home Tonight together, too. So funny!

My family and friends have been sending me loads of love and support. Phone calls from my Mom, texts with my Sister and friends. My friend Katie even sent me a card. A SNAIL MAIL card! I just feel so, so blessed to live this life that's mine.

I've been eating like a cow. For reals. I can't get enough food and I'm thirsty as heck, too. My MIL made a huge pot of seriously delicious chicken soup and we've all been munching on it. Even Roman! We had burgers last night and roasted chicken will be for dinner tonight.  One of the many awesome things about this part of my journey... getting to lounge around be fed and loved. Oooo! Plus, I have full control of the television. Boo-yeah!

I've been icing my thigh non-stop and am taking Norco for my pain. It's making me itchy and today it's been making me dizzy, which is SO not cool. I'm cutting back and hopefully it will still be able to squelch my pain but not make me feel super high and gross. I HATE feeling out of control of my body and woozy in the head. It only gets better from here, though! God is so good.

 

Thank you guys for supporting me and sending all your love and prayers and warm wishes. They worked! Thank you keeping me strong. Having people around you that care makes hard days seem a bit easier.

My next surgery will be in a month. It will be more intense and I'll probably have to stay in the hospital for a few nights. But then... then I'll be done! Then it will be time to learn how to walk again. Roman and I will learn to walk together. How precious and amazing will that be? The future is full of such beautiful moments and I can't wait to unwrap each delicious one.

Lots of love,

Surgery Eve

 

Hi guys!

It's Surgery Eve and I want to thank you all for the loving emails, Facebook messages, text messages, phonecalls, Instagram comments, blog comments and tweets. It makes my heart feel positively full that so many people care about what happens to me.

I have to be at the hospital at 11a.m. and I'm scheduled for surgery at 1p.m. Dustin took the next two days off to be with me and my MIL is watching Roman and will be taking care of me for the next week here in our home. Upside to surgery? I get a free pass out of doing housework for the next week! Score. Ooooo! And I get to be fed. Nothing like not having to cook, either.

I'm sneaking my last bit of food in before I go to bed. I hate feeling hungry (it reminds me of the time when I had that huge tumor in my belly and COULDN'T eat and was literally starving to death), so the whole not being able to eat anything tomorrow rule is hard on me. Probably more so mentally than physically. Once they get me all hooked up to an I.V. and get the GOOD DRUGS flowing, I won't be missin' food. I can already tell that I'm going to be missin' my baby, though. It just hit me that I don't have any recent pictures printed out to take in the operating room with me.  They won't let me take my phone in, that's for sure.  Annnnddd.... I'm fighting tears now.

Whew.

I think it should be protocol that the doctors send me a dose of the GOOD DRUGS to take the night before surgery to calm my mothering ass down.  I'm not even allowing myself to think about what might happen tomorrow and that when you're reading this on Monday morning, it might (very teeny tiny possibility) be the last time I ever see my child or Husband. Seriously makes me want to simultaneously vomit and call up my Doctor and tell him that he gets to take a long lunch because I'm not coming in.

But, I must do this. I must do this for me. For my boys. For the girl that I hope to someday have.

But.... just incase. (Pardon my dramatics.)

Dustin,
You are and always will be love of my whole life. You are the part of me that was missing, even when, at 16, I didn't know I was missing it. Your ornery laugh and ice cream-grinch dance makes my life complete. Even when you have smelly armpits and a big piece of spinach in your teeth, you are perfect to me. Perfect for me. Thank you for your unwavering, loyal love and heart. Mine will always be yours. I love you, so very much.
-Wifey

Sweet Baby Boopy,
Thank you for teaching me what it really means to live. What it really means to be brave and have  peace in my heart. Thank you for showing me that having your drool on my clothes is the most beautiful, wonderful, amazing gift on the face of the Earth. YOU are what I was meant to live all these years for. You, little boy. I love you.
-Momma

To my Family and Friends,
There is not enough space on the vast universe of the internet to tell each one of you what you mean to me and how you've each changed my life. Just know that its a lot and that I love you all from the bottom of my big thumpy heart. (God, please help my heart to be thumpy this time tomorrow.) I hope I've left a little mark on your hearts, too.
Love always,
Queenie/Gopher/Violet/Creep/Mama/Steph

 

Please think good thoughts for me today.
Please, please, please let me be okay!

Sending so much love to you all.

xo,
Violet

 

p.s..- You can follow my surgery adventure today on Instagram, Twitter or Facebook. I'm gunna teach Dustin how to post for me!

New News

Hi guys!

Big news today.

Nope, it's not a baby. Sorry!

It's something equally as amazing and life changing... Next Monday, April 30th, I will be going to the hospital in Oakland for part 1 of 2 in Project: Violet Walks Again.

                   
     When I was younger, I used to wear a prosthetic leg and walk around like you and he and she. Dustin didn't even know that I had a "fake leg" until I told him, and he thought that I was joking at first. I wore a fake leg from the time that my leg was amputated in November of 1995 until right after my first dose of my second go-around with chemo in 2005. After my treatment, my body was too swollen, so I kept it off most of the time. After I healed from my lung removal in August of that year and finished chemo in April of the next, I wore my leg again. The fit was terrible, but I toughed it out for the next few years and eventually needed to use a crutch as a support.  I was in constant pain and despite many (half-assed?) attempts on my prosthesis' part, the comfort never came back. The end of my limb where the surgeon had removed the lower part of my leg had grown long over the years. Like most people, how tall you were at age 11 is much different from where you stand at age 25. After the cancer came back for the third time in 2008 and I eventually overcame that terrible time in my life, I said "screw it," and just decided to use a wheelchair. I was alive and was comfortable being in a wheelchair, both mentally and physically. I once had a guy say that he didn't know that chicks in wheelchairs could be hot until he met me. Boo-yeah!

    I put the idea of getting surgery out of my mind, despite many attempts of persuasion by a few of those around me. It wasn't worth the risk of dying on the table just to walk. I was okay with being in a wheelchair for the rest of my life and even liked how... truthful it felt going out into public obviously missing a leg. Obviously handicapped and in a wheelchair. There was no staring with looks of "why is she limping?" or "What's wrong with her?" It's easy. You see I'm in a chair, look at my legs, notice one of them is missing and then look away quickly before I notice that you're staring at me. I always notice. It doesn't bother me, though. I like displaying my truth.

    Well, after the many pushy "Just get a leg," "Just have the surgery," and "Don't be so selfish - do it for your baby," comments were stifled with teary explosions, I had some quiet. Some peace in my head. No longer did I turn my head against the thought of surgery (because I'm stubborn and don't like having anything pushed on me over and over again). I was free to do my own thinking. Make my own choice. Own the decision. And I did. I made the decision to walk again and it was 100% mine. I am doing it for nobody but myself and  my child(ren), but I know that Roman and any future babies we have would love me even I had no legs and HAD to be in a wheelchair. This is mine and I've been feeling very empowered and proud of myself lately.

    I've been going to doctor appointments, making plans about my future prosthetic leg and talking with surgeons for a little over  two months now and we have a plan.

    I have two things that need attention in order for me to walk again. The first is a medium sized Osteochondroma, which is a fancy name for a NON-CANCEROUS bone tumor that people  sometimes develop towards the end of long bones. Well, I've had one on my upper fibula ever since I was 11 or so. At first,  my pediatric oncologist feared that it was the cancer growing in another spot, but after the scans and fear, it was determined to be harmless. Well, this awesome tumor (hey, anything that's not cancer is awesome!) effects the way that my prosthetic leg will fit since it sits right below my butt-cheek and gets in the way of my weight bearing, leg-wearing bone, the ischium. Plus, it hurts when it rains and gives me little nerve zaps if I sit on ground that's too hard (prosthetic legs are made of rigid material, so my "leg bump," as we call it, needs to go). Plus there is a tiny, less-than-one-percent chance that it could eventually turn into a cancerous tumor, so yeah. It has to go. I won't take any chances with THAT crap again.

     The second surgery, which will take place around one month after the first, will be to shorten my little leg. As it stands (har har har, no pun intended), the tip of my limb looks a bit like the tip of your elbow. Skin over pointy bone. In the prosthetic leg wearing world, that is no bueno. Can you imagine having lots of feeling in your elbow and then having to squish it down in a socket (see the picture above, to the right) and put all your body weight on it? It hurts like a mother effer. Constant, stress inducing, blood-pressure raising, make-your-heart-beat-fast-from-the-pain pain.

 

    There is more to it than happiness and dreams of walking, though.  This will be the first surgery that I've ever had that wasn't pressing. Wasn't needed to save my life. With these two surgeries, I am risking my life. Risking everything that I've fought so hard to attain. Everything that I hold important and love with all of my soul. Some sick little voice in my head says that if something bad were to happen to me while under then knife, how ironic my death would be. After fighting so long and so hard for a normal life, I'd lose it all in the name of something so luxurious as walking.

 

    I need your help, sweet friends. Send me courage and hope and thoughts of safe surgery. Pray (if you do) for my safety and my Husband who will be waiting in the waiting room for me. Pray for Roman. Oh sweet friends, pray for Roman. I can't even form the words with my finger tips, can't capture what I'm feeling. My sweet boy. He needs his Momma. He needs me. I need to wake up from this surgery and be there for him. See him turn one and see him walk. I need to bring Miss C. (our girl, if we get pregnant with one!) into this world.

I'm so scared and so excited, guys. I'm full of hope and plans and dreams and pure fear. I need you guys behind me. Hold my hand, will you? Pretty please?

With so much love,

 

 

Did I Make This Video?

This is the funniest thing I've seen all year.
I swear to gosh I didn't make this video, although anyone who knows me at all would beg to differ!

    

...it led me to the conclusion that...

Are you?