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Susan Cornett

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  1. Like
    Susan Cornett reacted to LCSC Blog for a blog entry, An Idiot Servant No More   
    Given the extremely sad experience I shared with you all in last week's column: "Chino Lourie, Rest in Peace," this column will be an attempt to bounce back to my usual and customary reality, one oddly enough that has nothing to do with cancer (well, much, anyway). Instead it has to do with unexpected joy.
    The joy to which I refer has to do with a subject which typically provides me little joy: I refer to our two automobiles, a 2000 Honda Accord and a 2018 Audi A4. The former inherited from my parents, payment-free but  rarely hassle-free, the latter not free of payments, unfortunately, but free of hassle since its maintenance is covered by the warranty.
    Nevertheless, for the past few years, off and mostly on, both cars have had an indication that all was not right. Each had illuminated dashboard warning lights (aka "idiot lights"), constantly reminding the driver that attention to some detail was required. For the Honda, it was twofold, a "Main't Req" light and a "Brake" light " were dashing." For the Audi, it was "onefold," an icon which looks like an upside down horseshoe, sort of, which I learned, after thumbing through the owner's manual, meant low tire pressure, appeared directly under the speedometer. Since I felt no give or take with the Honda and saw no evidence of low tire anything with the Audi, I learned to take their reminders in stride and figured I'd wait until their respective next service calls to respond to them.
    Those service calls have now occurred. And I am extremely glad and relieved to say that their necessary/underlying repairs have been made. Glad/relieved not so much because the repairs/obvious safety issues have been addressed. Rather, glad/relieved that in making those repairs, the dashboard warning lights are no longer illuminating their disdain with the idiot behind the wheel: me, neglecting them.
    No more, after starting either car, will my initial focus be on the dashboard to see if miraculously the warning lights have disappeared and finally stopped their incessant, non-verbal badgering. No more will I be forced to ignore their illumination and attempt to compartmentalize their visual reminders that all is not well under the hood (so to speak). And finally, no more will I have to worry that one day - or night, the other mechanical shoe will drop and I or my wife will be left stranded on the road somewhere waiting for a tow truck to drag us to our car-repair maker.
    And though this dashboard-warning-light-turn-off is really a turn-on, I am still able to keep its effect in perspective. It's not a cure for cancer and neither it is a cure for my "stable" issue as written about multiple times recently ("Please Relief Me" and "Apparently, Not a Stable Genius"). However, as we say in sales: "I'll take a yes;" as they say on the high seas: "Any port in a storm;" and has been said for the last century: "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth." For the official record, I am not horsing around in the least when I say how thrilled I am now that every time I start our cars, I see no lights reminding me what an idiot I've been. As a cancer patient, I don't need that kind (or any other kind, quite frankly) of negativity in my life, or in my car either. Eliminating it from my activities of daily living adds a bounce to my step and a joie to my vivre.
    I realize I may be over stating the significance of this momentous occasion, but when cancer takes over your life, it does so emotionally before it does so physically. As such, finding relief is HUGE. Moreover, solving a problem, however insignificant in the scheme of things it appears to be, provides the building blocks of success that, as a cancer patient, help strengthen your foundation as you navigate your daily routine. A routine which is already filled with enough challenges. So yes, I am going to make a mountain out of a molehill. And I am going to fill myself up with as much positivity, nonsensical or otherwise, as possible.
    I need to be pulled forward, not dragged backward.
     
     
     
  2. Like
    Susan Cornett reacted to Tom Galli for a blog entry, Twice A Veteran   
    I’m an armed forces veteran. Also, a late stage diagnosed lung cancer survivor veteran. A smoker, I once had little doubt that smoking caused my lung cancer. Yet almost everyone in my immediate family smoked and none developed the disease. Could the unique hazards of armed forces training and warfare played a role in my disease? 
    Looking back, early in my career were demolition projects involving World War II era structures that were filled with asbestos. On deployment, burn pits predominated and everything was mixed with diesel fuel and burned in cut-down 55 gallon drums. As an engineer soldier, we trained extensively with demolitions and smoke and dust was a common exposure. I also directed fabrication of aluminum armored vehicles that included fumes and vapor from aluminum welding and superfine dust from machining. Lest I forget, there was the omnipresent smoke filled haze that lingered for months after Saddam decided to burn the Kuwait oil fields. I’ve inhaled a lot of stuff during the course of my Army career and maybe that played a role in the development of my lung cancer.
    Fortunately, there are new tools and programs for armed forces veterans that might help avoid a late-stage diagnosis.  The Veterans Administration has two important programs to early detect lung cancer: VA-PALS, a low dose CT screening program for at risk vets and the Gulf War Registry Health Exam for veterans. LUNGevity is adding its weight to support veterans. We’ve just established a Veterans Forum in the Lung Cancer Support Community that is now open as a support and information resource. A low dose CT scan is a good idea for those who served.
    Stay the course.
  3. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from LouT for a blog entry, Taking a page from Tom's book   
    Today I celebrate three years of survival! I am so happy to have found this community of people.  You all make this journey so much better.

  4. Like
    Susan Cornett reacted to KatieB for a blog entry, You are not always your own best advocate   
    Last week I took a local lung cancer patient and long time friend "J" to get his scans. This will be a very abbreviated account of what happened.
    Even though we are only an hour apart, I haven't seen "J" in a couple of years.  He has an incredible story of being dx in his 30s and some amazing heroic efforts when into saving his life.  He's even been in the news and media.  Since that time 10 or more years ago, he's struggled to live and battled a few recurrences.  
    They "think" he had a recurrence at the end of last year.  Several bronchoscopies yielded no detectable mutations and caused several complications for him.  He has lost a significant amount of weight (6'1 and 140 pounds) and he hasn't been able to stop coughing.
    His dr scheduled a PET scan.  Because "J" could no longer drive, he asked me if I could take him to the testing facility.
    I could not believe what I saw.  He was SO thin and his speech as a little slurred.  He looked glassy-eyed. The nurse had a hard time accessing a vein.
    Because he couldn't hold a conversation or drive himself- I borrowed a wheelchair from the testing facility.  I filled out his paperwork- dug into his wallet for his ID and medicare card.  He has been on oxygen and the machine that the company shipped to him was faulty.  When he called them they said they could come in 2 days.  TWO DAYS?  I drove him to a pharmacy that sold oxygen and had it fixed.
    The entire time I kept thinking...what would have happened if I could not have come today?  What would have happened if I wasn't here?  He would have tried to drive himself.  He would have been in serious trouble.  He would have been out of oxygen and maybe in an auto accident.  
    The PET nurse couldn't do his infusion because his blood sugar levels were frighteningly high- even though he said he hadn't eaten in about a week due to no appetite.
    I just felt like things were going sideways.  I asked him to call his oncologist.  He spoke with the nurse.  He asked her if she would order some fluid because he has been confused and weak.  She said no.  "Just drink extra water and mix in some gatorade."  He hung up and looked defeated.  He told me that the nurse said no.  He didn't have pain meds.  He didn't have medication to help with the cachexia, he didn't have medicine to help with his cough...he didn't have a working oxygen machine. Now this nurse was telling him he couldn't have a bag of fluids.
    WHAT?  ANYONE can go to the ER.  "I'm taking you to the ER for fluids!"
    So off we went.  I took him straight to the ER and he didn't argue.
    Long story a bit shorter- he ended up being admitted for some serious issues.  They transferred him from one location to another one downtown. He got his fluids.  The last time I saw him he was eating his lunch in his hospital room.
    He isn't out of the woods- not by a long shot.  But he is a better than when we started.
    Why am I sharing this story? Because "J" is college educated.  He has been in the lung cancer space almost a dozen years.  He understands the lingo and knows how to be an advocate.
    But what happens when  you are dehydrated, confused, malnourished, and in extreme pain?  How can you advocate for yourself?  
    If it's ever possible, please have someone with you- especially when you are feeling bad.  
     You are not always your own best advocate

  5. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from PaulaC for a blog entry, There are days....   
    Most days, the cancer is buried somewhere in my thoughts, my work, my hobbies - not at the surface.  But there are days when it hits me right between the eyes.  Cancer.  How the hell did I get here? Is this really my life?  
    Wondering if anyone else has experienced this.
  6. Like
    Susan Cornett reacted to Tom Galli for a blog entry, Cursin' On a Sunday Afternoon....   
    We are "locked and loaded" for our fifth Transatlantic cruise since I was diagnosed with lung cancer. This Sunday, we depart from Ft. Lauderdale and fifteen leisurely pamper-filled days later, arrive in Southampton, England. Along the voyage, we'll visit Bermuda (a first), the Azores (an other first), Lisbon (been there), Bilbao, Spain (a first), and Le Harve, France (been there). And best of all -- no jet lag! We are serious cruisers and are thrilled to cross the pond in a brand new ship (Celebrity Edge christened in Dec 2018). 
    Once we arrive in Southampton, we'll pick up a rent-a-car and proceed to get lost driving on the wrong side of the road as we explore England's picturesque Cotswalds region. We really do love getting lost in countries where we can almost understand the language! Then, after a week of land touring, we fly back home to usher in our summer.
    Vacations are important for everyone; they are vital for lung cancer survivors.  I find I need about 7 days of state change that removes me from day-to-day life and stress. On the eight day, I float in a mental sea of serenity and on this trip, I do hope for calm seas throughout our voyage.   
    Stay the course...we will!
    Tom
  7. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from KatieB for a blog entry, Taking a page from Tom's book   
    Today I celebrate three years of survival! I am so happy to have found this community of people.  You all make this journey so much better.

  8. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from Moname3D for a blog entry, Random thoughts   
    I'm in the middle of my quarterly scan appointments.  While I was waiting for my blood draw yesterday, I noticed a couple that was apparently new to the oncology clinic.  The wife is the patient and, when she was called into the lab, her husband got up to walk with her and she told him she was fine, just going for a blood draw.  I looked at his face and saw fear and I just wanted to give him a hug.  This is the part I hate the most - when we look into our loved ones' eyes and see their fear.  I just want to fix everything and I can't; we have so little control over this part of our lives.  I have no idea why she was there or what her diagnosis is, but I definitely said a prayer for them last night.  
     
  9. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from Curt for a blog entry, Taking a page from Tom's book   
    Today I celebrate three years of survival! I am so happy to have found this community of people.  You all make this journey so much better.

  10. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from PaulaC for a blog entry, Taking a page from Tom's book   
    Today I celebrate three years of survival! I am so happy to have found this community of people.  You all make this journey so much better.

  11. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from Roz for a blog entry, Taking a page from Tom's book   
    Today I celebrate three years of survival! I am so happy to have found this community of people.  You all make this journey so much better.

  12. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from Marianne1 for a blog entry, Taking a page from Tom's book   
    Today I celebrate three years of survival! I am so happy to have found this community of people.  You all make this journey so much better.

  13. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from Rower Michelle for a blog entry, Taking a page from Tom's book   
    Today I celebrate three years of survival! I am so happy to have found this community of people.  You all make this journey so much better.

  14. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from BridgetO for a blog entry, Taking a page from Tom's book   
    Today I celebrate three years of survival! I am so happy to have found this community of people.  You all make this journey so much better.

  15. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from Tom Galli for a blog entry, Taking a page from Tom's book   
    Today I celebrate three years of survival! I am so happy to have found this community of people.  You all make this journey so much better.

  16. Like
    Susan Cornett reacted to Tom Galli for a blog entry, A Picture is Worth 15 Years   
    I'm the guy who paints a toenail for every year I live beyond my February 4, 2004 diagnosis day.  This year our toes are LUNGevity Blue to honor the foundation that is dedicated to changing outcomes for people with lung cancer through research, education and support.
    There are many people who've been instrumental in my survival and making a life after; none are more important than my loving wife -- Martha Galli. If I can live, so can you!
    Stay the course.
    Tom Galli
  17. Like
    Susan Cornett reacted to Tom Galli for a blog entry, A Life Well Lived   
    A lady with lung cancer passed early this morning. I knew her well. She survived two surgeries claiming a lung, radiation, and many many infusions of chemotherapy. Indeed, her disease was being treated like diabetes or heart disease — a chronic but controlled condition.
    Lung cancer did not claim her and death is not a celebratory event, but living a full and meaningful life despite lung cancer is indeed praiseworthy. In characterizing the lady’s life, full and meaningful are an enormous understatement.
    In recalling our years together, I am struck by how few times we talked about lung cancer.  We shared a disease but talked about stock shows, cars, fashion, movies, politics, family, travel, ranching, tomatoes, and friends. That she would not achieve NED didn’t bother her a bit. “I’ve got things to do and doing nothing ain’t gonna happen!” 
    I will morn her passing.  I will also strive to emulate her lifestyle.
    Stay the course.
  18. Like
    Susan Cornett reacted to LaurenH for a blog entry, Don Fredal   
    I was diagnosed with Stage IV lung cancer in September 2014. Like many people, my diagnosis came as a huge surprise to me and my family. A friend told us about the Breathe Deep Kansas City Walk that was happening in our area. We called our team The Village People because we like to say, “It takes a village” to fight this thing. The Breathe Deep walks provide an opportunity to raise awareness and money in your own community. It’s very powerful.
    I attended my first National HOPE Summit in Washington, D.C. in 2015. Lung cancer is so isolating and overwhelming. Then you get there and meet other survivors and caregivers and experts. I feel like I always leave HOPE Summit with 150 new friends and then I don’t feel so lonely when I get home.
    The next year my wife and I attended the 2016 Hope Summit together, she finally understood how these friends I had been talking about for the last year could be so intertwined with my health and healing.  We made even more friends and keep in touch all year long through social media and other events around the country.
    Once you get to HOPE Summit, it’s so empowering that you want to get involved. I found out about the LifeLine Support Partner program at HOPE Summit. LifeLine is nice because you can work remotely and there’s an opportunity to give back. My mentor, Matt Ellefson, is one of those people who LF relies on to have multiple mentees and he was very inspirational for me because of our similarities and what we’ve been through. It was a very good fit.
    LUNGevity tries to match people based on age, gender, diagnosis and geographic location. It’s always felt very comfortable. I’ve had mentees assigned to me and we usually have a really good talk and maybe hear from them once or twice and that’s all they need at that time. We talk on an as needed basis. Hopefully, I’m encouraging people depending on where they are. A lot of the time, the person is newly diagnosed and it’s very fresh with them. As a mentor, you have to put yourself back in that frame of mind. It’s important to remember that you’re not there to fix their situation. You’re there to listen to what they need and let the conversation evolve.
    The most rewarding thing about being a volunteer is being able to help someone else by sharing my experiences and the ups and downs that I’ve had. If I give any advice it’s always to find a specialist who is an expert when it comes to your diagnosis type or mutation. It’s so important to be very confident in your medical team. Don’t be afraid to get a second opinion. If your doctor isn’t jiving with you, keep looking. It just feels good to help somebody through this because as we all say, it’s really hard for other people who haven’t gone through it to understand.
    When I was diagnosed, I was given 9-18 months. I’m coming up on 3 years and 11 months and my wife and I are going out to Los Angeles next month for the Stand Up for Cancer telecast on my 4th Cancerversary. I hope that my efforts as a LifeLine volunteer will inspire the people I mentor to do the same for others. I’m a big believer in paying it forward. It’s a big world and there are a lot of people affected by this disease.
     

  19. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from KatieB for a blog entry, Another recurrence, another call to Mom and Dad   
    I've said it before and I'll say it again:  cancer can be as hard, if not harder, on the loved ones than the patients.  Our family is very close  - I don't have any siblings and my husband and I don't have children.  Our family unit is small.  After 2.5 years, my husband and I have a process.  He goes with me to all of my scan result appointments.  As soon as Super Doc gives us the results, Neal steps out and texts or calls my parents with the updates.  I always want to be with them if we have to give them bad news. My parents live 4 hours away; otherwise, I think they'd crowd into the exam room with us.
    Although we had to give them bad news a couple of weeks ago, we actually had something in our favor.  A lifelong friend of mine was visiting with them on the way to take her daughter to tour a college.  She was able to keep my parents somewhat balanced this time.  I'd been preparing them for the results - figured this was coming.  But no one wants to have to call their parents and tell them the cancer is back.  Stupid cancer.
  20. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from Steff for a blog entry, Another recurrence, another call to Mom and Dad   
    I've said it before and I'll say it again:  cancer can be as hard, if not harder, on the loved ones than the patients.  Our family is very close  - I don't have any siblings and my husband and I don't have children.  Our family unit is small.  After 2.5 years, my husband and I have a process.  He goes with me to all of my scan result appointments.  As soon as Super Doc gives us the results, Neal steps out and texts or calls my parents with the updates.  I always want to be with them if we have to give them bad news. My parents live 4 hours away; otherwise, I think they'd crowd into the exam room with us.
    Although we had to give them bad news a couple of weeks ago, we actually had something in our favor.  A lifelong friend of mine was visiting with them on the way to take her daughter to tour a college.  She was able to keep my parents somewhat balanced this time.  I'd been preparing them for the results - figured this was coming.  But no one wants to have to call their parents and tell them the cancer is back.  Stupid cancer.
  21. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from PaulaC for a blog entry, Another recurrence, another call to Mom and Dad   
    I've said it before and I'll say it again:  cancer can be as hard, if not harder, on the loved ones than the patients.  Our family is very close  - I don't have any siblings and my husband and I don't have children.  Our family unit is small.  After 2.5 years, my husband and I have a process.  He goes with me to all of my scan result appointments.  As soon as Super Doc gives us the results, Neal steps out and texts or calls my parents with the updates.  I always want to be with them if we have to give them bad news. My parents live 4 hours away; otherwise, I think they'd crowd into the exam room with us.
    Although we had to give them bad news a couple of weeks ago, we actually had something in our favor.  A lifelong friend of mine was visiting with them on the way to take her daughter to tour a college.  She was able to keep my parents somewhat balanced this time.  I'd been preparing them for the results - figured this was coming.  But no one wants to have to call their parents and tell them the cancer is back.  Stupid cancer.
  22. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from Judy M. for a blog entry, Another recurrence, another call to Mom and Dad   
    I've said it before and I'll say it again:  cancer can be as hard, if not harder, on the loved ones than the patients.  Our family is very close  - I don't have any siblings and my husband and I don't have children.  Our family unit is small.  After 2.5 years, my husband and I have a process.  He goes with me to all of my scan result appointments.  As soon as Super Doc gives us the results, Neal steps out and texts or calls my parents with the updates.  I always want to be with them if we have to give them bad news. My parents live 4 hours away; otherwise, I think they'd crowd into the exam room with us.
    Although we had to give them bad news a couple of weeks ago, we actually had something in our favor.  A lifelong friend of mine was visiting with them on the way to take her daughter to tour a college.  She was able to keep my parents somewhat balanced this time.  I'd been preparing them for the results - figured this was coming.  But no one wants to have to call their parents and tell them the cancer is back.  Stupid cancer.
  23. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from Tom Galli for a blog entry, Another recurrence, another call to Mom and Dad   
    I've said it before and I'll say it again:  cancer can be as hard, if not harder, on the loved ones than the patients.  Our family is very close  - I don't have any siblings and my husband and I don't have children.  Our family unit is small.  After 2.5 years, my husband and I have a process.  He goes with me to all of my scan result appointments.  As soon as Super Doc gives us the results, Neal steps out and texts or calls my parents with the updates.  I always want to be with them if we have to give them bad news. My parents live 4 hours away; otherwise, I think they'd crowd into the exam room with us.
    Although we had to give them bad news a couple of weeks ago, we actually had something in our favor.  A lifelong friend of mine was visiting with them on the way to take her daughter to tour a college.  She was able to keep my parents somewhat balanced this time.  I'd been preparing them for the results - figured this was coming.  But no one wants to have to call their parents and tell them the cancer is back.  Stupid cancer.
  24. Like
    Susan Cornett reacted to Tom Galli for a blog entry, My Thoracic Surgeon Comes to Dinner   
    I've survived a lot of medical treatment. The most sophisticated and creative was while in the care of an extraordinarily gifted, courageous and talented surgeon. We invited him and his wife to dinner to renew our acquaintance and review the bidding.  The dinner was memorable.
    I could launch into the details of my 8 surgical procedures performed by this brilliant man but that story is told elsewhere. Of more interest to this community is what are the indicators of brilliance in a surgeon?  Unlike general medicine or oncology, surgical encounter time is brief.  One can ask about reputation, but thoracic procedures are risky and outcomes are variable involving heart, lungs, vessels, transplants and a myriad of complex procedures to the engine compartment of the body.  Using my surgeon as a model, it might be useful to develop a means test of thoracic surgical competence that a survivor might use to evaluate suitability during the span of a short pre-surgical consultation.  Here is my list.
    Is your surgeon friendly?  Is this man or women one you’d enjoy having a coffee or a beer with?  Does conversation flow easily?  Does the surgeon respond to your elements of conversation?  Does he or she listen?  Do other practitioners or office staff enjoy being around him?  A surgeon that is pleasant is likely to be a surgeon that is sympathetic, benevolent and a true believer of the tenants of the Hippocratic Oath. Is your surgeon inquisitive? Surgery is a melding of art and science. The art is “what” to do and the science is “how” to do it. Thoracic surgeons are a small tribe that practice in a complex environment. When something new is discovered, your surgeon should be very interested in investigating it for application. If your surgeon already thinks all the “what” questions are answered, find another. Is your surgeon respectful? In your pre-surgical consultation, you ought to feel like the important one. Your medical condition needs to be acknowledged as important and your feelings, fear, anxiety, and uncertainty should to be taken into account.  If your surgeon doesn’t use your name or look at you or attempt to help you relax during the consultation, find another.  If your surgeon makes a grand entrance, surrounded by a posse of assistants, and talks to them about your case, find another quickly! Is your surgeon decisive? At the pre-surgical consult, there is one key decision to be made: operate or do not operate.  This ought to be made then and there. If your surgeon feels the need to discuss your case with others, find another.  There is so much uncertainty in lung cancer surgery and each encounter will require a decision. Your surgeon needs to come equipped for making decisions, alone. Is your surgeon acutely intelligent? Compose a non-surgical question on the surgeon's interest or hobbies ahead of the consultation. Listen for passion and detail that indicates sincere interest and evidence of accomplishment. Intelligence starts with curiosity and leads to ability to assimilate knowledge and use it in cross functional ways.  A surgeon with a photography interest would know depth of field (the f-stop setting on a camera) is analogous to layers in skin, tissue structure, and visual focus precision.  Photography concepts relate to surgery yet it is a diverse field of intellectual pursuit. Avoid those who are interested only in surgery or who say they don’t have time for anything in their life but surgery.     We had a wonderful reunion made even more special by the attendance of my daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter.  My daughter met my surgeon 15 years ago while I was near death. She is also a beneficiary of his skills.  Ten years after my surgeries, I asked my surgeon to help find a skilled brain surgeon to remove my daughter’s complex meningioma. He moved heaven and earth to do so. Add compassion to my list.
    Stay the course. 
  25. Like
    Susan Cornett reacted to Tom Galli for a blog entry, The Cadence of Scan Days   
    "Count-off...One, Two...Count-off...Three, Four...Bring it on down now...One, Two, Three, Four, One-Two...Three-Four!" 
    My life is filled with counting.  As a young soldier on the march, we counted cadence to stay in step.  The rhythm of the cadence was an elixir to the mile-upon-mile-upon-mile of forced march in full combat load.  They always scheduled the forced march on the hottest day, or the wettest day, or the coldest day of the year.  One memorable march was the day after a hurricane!  Weather or not, we marched and counted.
    After diagnosis with lung cancer, my life embraced a different sort of cadence.  There was the countdown to scan day, then time stopped waiting for results.  One...what time is it...just ten in the morning...the clock battery is out...is it back...how bad...how many nodules...how big...ten-oh-two...mets in the bones...liver also...scan tech didn't smile...he saw something...ohGod....  Life just stopped waiting for results.  Time stopped!
    Waiting for scan results is absolute misery coupled with measured doses of agony and anguish, torment, despondency and gloom thrown in for good measure!  Each day was a twenty-five-mile forced march that started but never ended.  Cancer sucks but waiting for scan results sucks squared! 
    Stay the course.
     

  26. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from Roz for a blog entry, There are days....   
    Most days, the cancer is buried somewhere in my thoughts, my work, my hobbies - not at the surface.  But there are days when it hits me right between the eyes.  Cancer.  How the hell did I get here? Is this really my life?  
    Wondering if anyone else has experienced this.
  27. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from Judy M. for a blog entry, There are days....   
    Most days, the cancer is buried somewhere in my thoughts, my work, my hobbies - not at the surface.  But there are days when it hits me right between the eyes.  Cancer.  How the hell did I get here? Is this really my life?  
    Wondering if anyone else has experienced this.
  28. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from BridgetO for a blog entry, There are days....   
    Most days, the cancer is buried somewhere in my thoughts, my work, my hobbies - not at the surface.  But there are days when it hits me right between the eyes.  Cancer.  How the hell did I get here? Is this really my life?  
    Wondering if anyone else has experienced this.
  29. Sad
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from Tom Galli for a blog entry, There are days....   
    Most days, the cancer is buried somewhere in my thoughts, my work, my hobbies - not at the surface.  But there are days when it hits me right between the eyes.  Cancer.  How the hell did I get here? Is this really my life?  
    Wondering if anyone else has experienced this.
  30. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from PaulaC for a blog entry, Random thoughts   
    I'm in the middle of my quarterly scan appointments.  While I was waiting for my blood draw yesterday, I noticed a couple that was apparently new to the oncology clinic.  The wife is the patient and, when she was called into the lab, her husband got up to walk with her and she told him she was fine, just going for a blood draw.  I looked at his face and saw fear and I just wanted to give him a hug.  This is the part I hate the most - when we look into our loved ones' eyes and see their fear.  I just want to fix everything and I can't; we have so little control over this part of our lives.  I have no idea why she was there or what her diagnosis is, but I definitely said a prayer for them last night.  
     
  31. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from Laurel for a blog entry, Random thoughts   
    I'm in the middle of my quarterly scan appointments.  While I was waiting for my blood draw yesterday, I noticed a couple that was apparently new to the oncology clinic.  The wife is the patient and, when she was called into the lab, her husband got up to walk with her and she told him she was fine, just going for a blood draw.  I looked at his face and saw fear and I just wanted to give him a hug.  This is the part I hate the most - when we look into our loved ones' eyes and see their fear.  I just want to fix everything and I can't; we have so little control over this part of our lives.  I have no idea why she was there or what her diagnosis is, but I definitely said a prayer for them last night.  
     
  32. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from Leo for a blog entry, Random thoughts   
    I'm in the middle of my quarterly scan appointments.  While I was waiting for my blood draw yesterday, I noticed a couple that was apparently new to the oncology clinic.  The wife is the patient and, when she was called into the lab, her husband got up to walk with her and she told him she was fine, just going for a blood draw.  I looked at his face and saw fear and I just wanted to give him a hug.  This is the part I hate the most - when we look into our loved ones' eyes and see their fear.  I just want to fix everything and I can't; we have so little control over this part of our lives.  I have no idea why she was there or what her diagnosis is, but I definitely said a prayer for them last night.  
     
  33. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from Tom Galli for a blog entry, Random thoughts   
    I'm in the middle of my quarterly scan appointments.  While I was waiting for my blood draw yesterday, I noticed a couple that was apparently new to the oncology clinic.  The wife is the patient and, when she was called into the lab, her husband got up to walk with her and she told him she was fine, just going for a blood draw.  I looked at his face and saw fear and I just wanted to give him a hug.  This is the part I hate the most - when we look into our loved ones' eyes and see their fear.  I just want to fix everything and I can't; we have so little control over this part of our lives.  I have no idea why she was there or what her diagnosis is, but I definitely said a prayer for them last night.  
     
  34. Like
    Susan Cornett got a reaction from Judy M. for a blog entry, Random thoughts   
    I'm in the middle of my quarterly scan appointments.  While I was waiting for my blood draw yesterday, I noticed a couple that was apparently new to the oncology clinic.  The wife is the patient and, when she was called into the lab, her husband got up to walk with her and she told him she was fine, just going for a blood draw.  I looked at his face and saw fear and I just wanted to give him a hug.  This is the part I hate the most - when we look into our loved ones' eyes and see their fear.  I just want to fix everything and I can't; we have so little control over this part of our lives.  I have no idea why she was there or what her diagnosis is, but I definitely said a prayer for them last night.  
     
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