unabashedly uncorked: your daily dose of EPH!

“To whom much is given, much is required.” ((quote found via Maggy))

I sit here, typing with my heart pounding out of my chest and an unfamiliar ringing in my ears. I realize with every peck of my keyboard that the words I’m dictating onto the computer screen before me are about to float out into the real world. Then they become live and once they do, I can’t take them back. That this- more than anything I’ve ever written- makes me vulnerable. And that’s scary; being open and honest is terrifying. 

But that doesn’t change this. That doesn’t change my situation or my illness or my perspective. 

In November I was diagnosed with a tumor. 

There- I said it. And at 29 years old, my world was rocked. Was flipped upside down. Was rattled to the core. And yet, here I am. I’m okay. I will be okay. I have no choice. There are people counting on me. After all, when we found out that I was sick, Blake immediately turned to me and said: “You will be okay. You have to be. I need you to put the angel on the tree at Christmas.”

I guess I should start with a backstory. Remember me mentioning the “potentially serious health issues” after we lost the baby? Yeah, well- it happened. What I have is called Non-Metastatic Gestational Trophoblastic Disease. A mouthful, no? The easiest way to describe this is to say that a tumor developed in my uterus. 

Treatment for this [oh, the fun part] is chemotherapy. Thankfully, it’s not the big, scary chemo that most Cancer patients face. My drugs are a single strand version of chemo given via injection and don’t have the same nasty side effects others do. (ie- hair loss, major nausea, etc). Luckily this thing (effing tumor) is 100% treatable- it’s just the process that’s mind numbingly, painstakingly tedious. 

So there you have it. When I mentioned my breath of fresh air on Monday (and my “7” via Instagram)- I was referring to my HCG count [how the docs track the effectiveness of my treatment] which had fallen from 231 to 7 (in less than one week). A celebration of sorts ensued in the chemo room. & that purple bracelet I’m rocking- my hospital band. 

I know some of you asked if I was pregnant again. Unfortunately no, I’m not. And the sad part about this disease [and subsequent treatments] is that we must wait a full year before trying for another Baby H. The chemo strips my body of all folic acid and we have to be 100% sure that all toxins are out of my body before we even think about venturing down “Route Baby” again. Because after all of this, we realize now more than ever what a blessing a happy, healthy baby is. And I know that when our time comes, we will be the best parents. This whole ordeal will make us love that precious child so much more. 

I told my Momma H last night [as she was delivering a pile of goodies for the 6th week in a row- bless her soul] that I finally feel like I can let go. Of all of it. I was pushed right into worrying about my health right after the loss that I haven’t had time to focus on just what I’ve been forced to cope with. Losing a child and the subsequent cancer that followed is tough shit; more than enough to deal with on their own and doubly difficult when dealt together. I pray every night that we stay “in the clear” [as my nurse deemed us Monday at my appointment] and that my HCG levels fall negative [5 or less] very soon.  

My results on Monday were just the way I wanted to end 2012- with a little bit of closure and so much hope. 2013— I just know you are going to be a great year!  Thank you all for your well wishes, your thoughts, and your prayers. Let’s cross our fingers that with a couple more treatments this chapter will forever be sealed

making way for fonder memories.