Rob has been coughing and hacking like a veteran smoker. This is more than his usual lung-cancer-coughing-fits.
Friday afternoon and evening, Rob could hardly breathe, his left ribs hurt so much. Every breath he took was painful. After many hours of this, we asked his Dad and our neighbor, Forrest to come and give Rob a priesthood blessing. He was able to get a little sleep (in the family room on the cancer chair).
Saturday, we went to the doctor. The doctor gave him a good work-up and ordered an x-ray. About an hour later, the doctor told us that Rob has pneumonia and a cracked rib (presumably from said hacking).
We left there with three prescriptions: heavy-duty antibiotics, steroids, and an inhaler to help open his airway.
Today, Sunday, the steroids seem to be working. He can cough without being in excruciating pain (just a lot of it). He is exhausted from lack of sleep and very worn out from lungs working overtime, but hopefully, will be well soon.
We will be making an appointment to see his oncologist (per the family doctor's request) to make sure that the medicine she gave to Rob is correct for his 'situation'.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
October's Scan and an Incredible Man
Yes, I am aware that it is November. I am uncertain as to why I haven't updated Rob's blog to post an update on his latest scan. Maybe I am just tired. Hmmm.
Before I proceed, my sister-in-law's father, Phil, was diagnosed with the same cancer as Rob back in February of this year. He was unable to have surgery because of the stage the cancer was in. He, instead, chose chemotherapy. For a little while, he was doing well. In just seven months, he started declining. He died in October. We drove to his funeral with heavy hearts. I didn't know him well, at all, but to many, he was amazing: husband, father, grandfather, County Sheriff, Utah Highway Patrol Officer, neighbor, and friend.
The funeral was incredible. There was such an outpouring of love for this man. There were so many uniformed officers, we thought that if there was a time to wreak havoc in a small town, that would have been the day, since all the police force seemed to be at his funeral. At the grave site, a 21 gun salute was heard, bagpipes were played, a police helicopter flew overhead and then nearly landed, and then there was a last call. A woman's voice was heard on the walkie talkies (not sure if that is what they call them) to salute Phil.
It was heart-wrenching to see the sorrow from Phil's family. He was so incredibly loved by so many people.
Maybe that is why I haven't written. Too many emotions. Needed time to process...
So, Rob had a scan the first week of October. Essentially, the cancer is growing. Not doubling, but thirding (is that even a measurement???). So that is terrific news! Growing, yes. Doubling, no.
Most things in life you want to grow...your garden, your children, your bank account. Cancer? Not so much.
One thing that is interesting about his last scan is that several of the cancer blobs are starting to join together. Siamese twins? Perhaps they are lonely and just feel the need to touch one another. I don't know. Wacky...
For the last four weeks, Rob has had a fantastic headache. Just one that is annoying enough to notice that it is there. Like a mosquito buzzing around your head, but every time you turn to swat it, it flies beyond your field of vision.
A week ago, we were going to run to the grocery store and Rob got out of his 'cancer chair.'
Let me tell you. That was very, very exciting. It scared me to death! (No pun intended.) As he was falling, apparently, he caught his little toe on something and managed to dislocate it. (It is bruised still!) At any rate, after my heart rate slowed a bit, we were able to access any damage. Other than the toe, he was fine.
I rang his oncologist's office on Monday. They wanted him to go in for a scan of his brain. (Lung cancer often metastasizes to the brain and/or bones.) We checked the report later that day. Luckily, there is nothing special about his brain (and I mean that in the nicest way).
Again, this just solidifies my opinion of the man. He is A. B. Normal. There is nothing wrong with him, but he faints. Maybe too much excitement at the prospect of going grocery shopping.
By the way, two weeks ago, we celebrated his 40th birthday! We are so incredibly grateful for the 5.5 extra years we have been given with him. We are so blessed!
Before I proceed, my sister-in-law's father, Phil, was diagnosed with the same cancer as Rob back in February of this year. He was unable to have surgery because of the stage the cancer was in. He, instead, chose chemotherapy. For a little while, he was doing well. In just seven months, he started declining. He died in October. We drove to his funeral with heavy hearts. I didn't know him well, at all, but to many, he was amazing: husband, father, grandfather, County Sheriff, Utah Highway Patrol Officer, neighbor, and friend.
The funeral was incredible. There was such an outpouring of love for this man. There were so many uniformed officers, we thought that if there was a time to wreak havoc in a small town, that would have been the day, since all the police force seemed to be at his funeral. At the grave site, a 21 gun salute was heard, bagpipes were played, a police helicopter flew overhead and then nearly landed, and then there was a last call. A woman's voice was heard on the walkie talkies (not sure if that is what they call them) to salute Phil.
It was heart-wrenching to see the sorrow from Phil's family. He was so incredibly loved by so many people.
Maybe that is why I haven't written. Too many emotions. Needed time to process...
So, Rob had a scan the first week of October. Essentially, the cancer is growing. Not doubling, but thirding (is that even a measurement???). So that is terrific news! Growing, yes. Doubling, no.
Most things in life you want to grow...your garden, your children, your bank account. Cancer? Not so much.
One thing that is interesting about his last scan is that several of the cancer blobs are starting to join together. Siamese twins? Perhaps they are lonely and just feel the need to touch one another. I don't know. Wacky...
For the last four weeks, Rob has had a fantastic headache. Just one that is annoying enough to notice that it is there. Like a mosquito buzzing around your head, but every time you turn to swat it, it flies beyond your field of vision.
A week ago, we were going to run to the grocery store and Rob got out of his 'cancer chair.'
(for those of you who don't know, that is a Lazy Boy recliner that Rob's brother, Gregg gave him right after his first surgery - so he could lie in a semi-horizontal position at night and breathe)As he got up, he held onto our big curio cabinet and then proceeded to faint. After he fainted, he passed out.
Let me tell you. That was very, very exciting. It scared me to death! (No pun intended.) As he was falling, apparently, he caught his little toe on something and managed to dislocate it. (It is bruised still!) At any rate, after my heart rate slowed a bit, we were able to access any damage. Other than the toe, he was fine.
I rang his oncologist's office on Monday. They wanted him to go in for a scan of his brain. (Lung cancer often metastasizes to the brain and/or bones.) We checked the report later that day. Luckily, there is nothing special about his brain (and I mean that in the nicest way).
Again, this just solidifies my opinion of the man. He is A. B. Normal. There is nothing wrong with him, but he faints. Maybe too much excitement at the prospect of going grocery shopping.
As a side note: he hasn't fainted before that incident nor has he fainted since. No worries, he will not faint during staff meeting. He is NOT a ticking time bomb.
By the way, two weeks ago, we celebrated his 40th birthday! We are so incredibly grateful for the 5.5 extra years we have been given with him. We are so blessed!
Monday, July 26, 2010
Do You Know What Today Is???
It was five years ago today that we received the news that Rob had cancer. What a monumental day.
All I can say is that it has been a glorious and beautiful and fantastic five years. (A little scary at times, to be truthful.)
We have been given a HUGE miracle. Most lung cancer patients rarely live past two years. Even fewer live to five years.
I know that I am incredibly grateful for Rob and his life and example - I think that there might be a few others as well. May he live another five (or so) more years.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Slowness in Updating
I am a little slow in the uptake. Rob had his scan two weeks ago. I know. I haven't fallen off the face of the earth - I have just been abnormally tired. I am sure that you have been waiting with bated breath....
As you are well aware (or not), every scan Rob has had over the last year - his tumors have doubled in size as well as new tumors developing.
You may not know that Rob and I ran a little experiment during the three-month hiatus. We swore off refined sugar. No, this was not something that the doctor recommended. I was doing a little thinking about those pesky tumors. When he would go in for his PET scans, Rob had to drink glucose prior to the scan. The glucose would then head straight to the tumors - they love it. So, it made sense to me that tumors like sugar.
It was not sensible to exclude all types of sugar, so we just kept it to refined.
We got the scan results back from Rob's doctor. The cancer grew, but didn't double - it was more like 60% instead of 100% (that is good, right?). Additionally, there were no new growths. He still has all the previously grown tumors, but nothing new (that is good, right?).
So, since nothing earth-shattering happened with the cancer growth (or lack thereof), Rob decided he wanted to go back on the sugar wagon. He has been dying (no pun intended) for a chocolate bar for some time now. Needless to say, we have been getting a few sugar-related headaches. I think that I felt better when there was no refined sugar in my body. It is not fun to come back down from a sugar-high.
We are thinking about the possibility of chemo in the future. However, we have to think about the statistical possibility of it doing nothing and weigh it against the side-effects. (It will not cure him, but it could slow things down.) We have a whole-lot-of-thinking to do in the next while. If you have any extra Thinking Caps, send them our way! : )
As you are well aware (or not), every scan Rob has had over the last year - his tumors have doubled in size as well as new tumors developing.
You may not know that Rob and I ran a little experiment during the three-month hiatus. We swore off refined sugar. No, this was not something that the doctor recommended. I was doing a little thinking about those pesky tumors. When he would go in for his PET scans, Rob had to drink glucose prior to the scan. The glucose would then head straight to the tumors - they love it. So, it made sense to me that tumors like sugar.
It was not sensible to exclude all types of sugar, so we just kept it to refined.
We got the scan results back from Rob's doctor. The cancer grew, but didn't double - it was more like 60% instead of 100% (that is good, right?). Additionally, there were no new growths. He still has all the previously grown tumors, but nothing new (that is good, right?).
So, since nothing earth-shattering happened with the cancer growth (or lack thereof), Rob decided he wanted to go back on the sugar wagon. He has been dying (no pun intended) for a chocolate bar for some time now. Needless to say, we have been getting a few sugar-related headaches. I think that I felt better when there was no refined sugar in my body. It is not fun to come back down from a sugar-high.
We are thinking about the possibility of chemo in the future. However, we have to think about the statistical possibility of it doing nothing and weigh it against the side-effects. (It will not cure him, but it could slow things down.) We have a whole-lot-of-thinking to do in the next while. If you have any extra Thinking Caps, send them our way! : )
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Amazing Friends
Yesterday was a lovely day. My friend, Ann, took me and our friend, Penny out to lunch. We walked over to the Lion House and had a terrific lunch. Afterward, Ann said that she wanted to show me something in her office. We walked into it and she said to me that she and Penny had something for me. Of course, I started crying the second I saw what it was. Click on the picture to get a closer look...
Penny had asked me for some pictures of my family about six months ago. She told me not to ask questions. Honestly, I forgot about it. This is why she wanted them. Ann purchased the material and Penny pieced and quilted this AMAZING quilt together! The colors are PERFECT! They are bright and cheery. Orange is Rob's favorite color, so not only the pictures be a great reminder of him, but the colors will be, too!
Words cannot even express how much I appreciate this amazing gift. This is something that our family will cherish forever! I am blessed to have such thoughtful friends. Ann and Penny - you rock!
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
April 2010 Update
Cancer is lame. It is no respecter of persons. It doesn't care whom it attacks. It doesn't differentiate between hair, skin, or teeth color (hehehe).
It can be all-consuming, if one allows it to be such. One can focus all of one's energy on this nasty disease and make it the center of one's life. Conversely, one can choose to not allow the cancer to spread through every facet of one's life and only take days at a time to mourn the reality of what it means.
The latter is what we really try to do at the Finlinson household. I really do have my days (really). Rob has his days. Our beautiful children have their days. However, the best thing that we do is pick ourselves up and try to not focus on this hiccup we are having (you know, the cancer).
Some of those days rotate very strongly around when Rob has his scans. Well, let's be honest here. About three weeks prior, I get very anxious. A few days before the scan, I am even more anxious (is there even such a thing?). He gets the scan, we look at the results (thanks Intermountain), we wait a few days, we see the doctor, we schedule more appointments for another three months down the road. We then relax for a time. Then the whole process starts up again. Wheeeee! Isn't this fun?
There is a great song by Tim McGraw (no, in case you are wondering, I am not a fan of country music, but someone told me about this song) called "Live Like You Were Dying." The basic message of the song is that we don't know when this life will end, but we need to take it by the reigns and make the most of it. Enjoy our moments whilst we have them; don't look back on our lives with regret. This is what we have been attempting the last 4.5 years.
Something I tell my kids (much to their annoyance): "make your own magic." (Well, mostly, I tell them this when they tell me they are bored, but it works for this illustration.) We are making our own magic. We are spending time together, limiting our outside distractions to only what we want, playing a lot of games, talking, reading scriptures, praying, snorkeling, cross country skiing (well, Rob and the kids and their aunt Tarali - I have been too cold lately to go). We are making the magic that will be remembered (hopefully) by our children as happy times. We are living like we are dying.
We have had such an incredible blessing. This cancer has been a blessing. Can we even say that out loud? It is has been hard, don't get me wrong. Heart-wrenching hard. We have been given a gift of seeing our mortality and choosing how we want to spend our time. Our family has grown so close. Our family, our extended families, friends, church family, co-workers, and strangers have been touched by this cancer. Relationships have been strengthened. We have seen people band together in solidarity to pray for us, to make us meals, to pat our backs, hand us tissues, give hugs, and just listen. We are not the only people benefiting from this - those that are serving us are benefiting as well. I see the strength that comes to those that are trying to give us strength. The love, the caring, the empathy. We are blessed. They are blessed. You are blessed.
Our kids are all reacting to Rob's cancer differently. Jacob (13) is a bit angry. He is at a difficult age anyway and thinking about losing his dad is unthinkable. Gabrielle (11) just says, "This is life, there is nothing to do about it, so I am not going to think about it." Noah (8) holds on to Rob like he is going to be whisked away at any moment. The hugs he gives Rob would just break your heart. For the most part, cancer and their dad go hand in hand (in their mind). Jacob was Noah's age when Rob was first diagnosed. Gabrielle was six and Noah was three. Luckily, Rob has looked good for most of it. Not sickly...
Are you wondering whether I am going to update you on his scan?
If there is any new information between now and July (like pneumonia or someone yelling "Bring out yer dead" in front of our house), I will update the blog. Are you on pins and needles?
Have a fantastic three months - minus any stress and anxiety!
With love, gratitude, and appreciation,
j
It can be all-consuming, if one allows it to be such. One can focus all of one's energy on this nasty disease and make it the center of one's life. Conversely, one can choose to not allow the cancer to spread through every facet of one's life and only take days at a time to mourn the reality of what it means.
The latter is what we really try to do at the Finlinson household. I really do have my days (really). Rob has his days. Our beautiful children have their days. However, the best thing that we do is pick ourselves up and try to not focus on this hiccup we are having (you know, the cancer).
Some of those days rotate very strongly around when Rob has his scans. Well, let's be honest here. About three weeks prior, I get very anxious. A few days before the scan, I am even more anxious (is there even such a thing?). He gets the scan, we look at the results (thanks Intermountain), we wait a few days, we see the doctor, we schedule more appointments for another three months down the road. We then relax for a time. Then the whole process starts up again. Wheeeee! Isn't this fun?
There is a great song by Tim McGraw (no, in case you are wondering, I am not a fan of country music, but someone told me about this song) called "Live Like You Were Dying." The basic message of the song is that we don't know when this life will end, but we need to take it by the reigns and make the most of it. Enjoy our moments whilst we have them; don't look back on our lives with regret. This is what we have been attempting the last 4.5 years.
Something I tell my kids (much to their annoyance): "make your own magic." (Well, mostly, I tell them this when they tell me they are bored, but it works for this illustration.) We are making our own magic. We are spending time together, limiting our outside distractions to only what we want, playing a lot of games, talking, reading scriptures, praying, snorkeling, cross country skiing (well, Rob and the kids and their aunt Tarali - I have been too cold lately to go). We are making the magic that will be remembered (hopefully) by our children as happy times. We are living like we are dying.
We have had such an incredible blessing. This cancer has been a blessing. Can we even say that out loud? It is has been hard, don't get me wrong. Heart-wrenching hard. We have been given a gift of seeing our mortality and choosing how we want to spend our time. Our family has grown so close. Our family, our extended families, friends, church family, co-workers, and strangers have been touched by this cancer. Relationships have been strengthened. We have seen people band together in solidarity to pray for us, to make us meals, to pat our backs, hand us tissues, give hugs, and just listen. We are not the only people benefiting from this - those that are serving us are benefiting as well. I see the strength that comes to those that are trying to give us strength. The love, the caring, the empathy. We are blessed. They are blessed. You are blessed.
Our kids are all reacting to Rob's cancer differently. Jacob (13) is a bit angry. He is at a difficult age anyway and thinking about losing his dad is unthinkable. Gabrielle (11) just says, "This is life, there is nothing to do about it, so I am not going to think about it." Noah (8) holds on to Rob like he is going to be whisked away at any moment. The hugs he gives Rob would just break your heart. For the most part, cancer and their dad go hand in hand (in their mind). Jacob was Noah's age when Rob was first diagnosed. Gabrielle was six and Noah was three. Luckily, Rob has looked good for most of it. Not sickly...
Are you wondering whether I am going to update you on his scan?
- All three remaining lobes still have cancer in them: (check)
- Tumors doubled in size from December: (check)
- New spots showing up: (check)
- Scan in three months: (check)
If there is any new information between now and July (like pneumonia or someone yelling "Bring out yer dead" in front of our house), I will update the blog. Are you on pins and needles?
Have a fantastic three months - minus any stress and anxiety!
With love, gratitude, and appreciation,
j
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