When I saw the headline and watched the Today Show video stating that Alaina Giordano lost custody of her children, partly because she has Stage 4 breast cancer, I felt a flood of feelings. It certainly didn’t seem right or in the best interest of her kids, for them to be taken away from their mother just because she had cancer.

Having had cancer while I was going through a divorce with custody issues, I can relate. Fortunately, at the time of the divorce trial, there were no traces of my thyroid cancer left, and my prognosis was excellent for survival. Divorce cases are hard at best, and to his credit, my ex-husband and his attorney never raised that aspect in our divorce case. However, it makes me nervous on some level for parents who are fighting for custody of their children and who may have a disease- terminal or not.

The Alaina Giordano case raises a lot of concerns.  While the case facts have not been made public, there are allegations of domestic violence, mental illness, and cheating on both sides. Ms. Giordano has admitted to cheating, while her ex-husband has not. Clearly there are other issues involved besides Ms. Giordano’s terminal cancer.

With all things considered- assuming half way between all the allegations, somewhere is the truth, or at least only the facts that Judge Nancy Gordon, could consider, there are two parents accusing each other of severe wrongdoing and behavior that could be damaging to their two children, Sofia, 11, and Bud, 5.  With a terminal cancer diagnosis for the mom, and testimony from a forensic psychologist, Dr. Helen Brantley, who Judge Gordon cited in her ruling saying, “The more contact [the children] have with the non-ill parent, the better they do. They divide their world into the cancer world and a free of cancer world. Children want a normal childhood, and it is not normal with an ill parent.”, and it seems like Ms. Giordano’s cancer was the deciding factor in this case.

On the surface, I don’t think any parent should be penalized with losing custody of their children for their health, as long as they can take care of their children, and children don’t see their parent suffering.

My kids saw me fight cancer. They knew what cancer was, they knew why I was going to the hospital. They saw me after my neck had been dissected and I was in the hospital. They saw me sick for months as I recovered. They knew why I didn’t have enough energy to be the mom to them for a while like they were used to. They knew why they couldn’t be around me for a week- because I was getting a pill that would kill the cancer in my body, but it put out energy that was dangerous for them to be around as kids. They saw me at my weakest- on days I could barely care for them and had to have family help me. They also saw me recover, gain my strength back, and beat it. When I told them in March, my cancer was gone for good, they lit up, because they understand, because I never hid it from them. When I was diagnosed with cancer, and while I fought the hard part of it they were five and a half and three. I obviously didn’t go into all the details with them, but they knew what they needed to know for their age.

I’ve written a lot about how the main motivation for me during this time was my kids. I could not imagine how it would have been if I had not been allowed to see them or my parenting time had been reduced, or they were ordered to be moved away from me to another city. It would be even more devastating if the only reason for this was because it would be better for them not to be around the parent of the “cancer world.” I am not a forensic psychologist, but I am a mother and Dr. Brantley’s statement seems ludicrous. Of course children want a normal childhood- don’t we all? But life happens, and sometimes parents get sick. Sometimes they have cancer, sometimes other diseases, and sometimes they die. But this doesn’t necessarily mean that kids want to reduce contact with their sick or dying parent. Most kids who can understand that someday Mom or Dad may die from cancer, I would imagine, would want to spend as much time as possible with the parent. It’s human nature. Kids aren’t any different.

I’m not saying kids should be there to the bitter end, or witness health conditions beyond what they can handle, but I was always keenly aware of how my health could be affecting my boys. I called my ex-husband one evening and told him I was not well enough to take care of the kids for a few days, and it wasn’t good for them to see me that sick. I didn’t try to keep my kids with me, and my ex-husband and his family made arrangements for care for the boys for a few days during this time. At other times, I stayed with my dad and step-mom so they could help and provide support. I have a hard time imagining any parent fighting a disease would think or do otherwise if their health started to jeopardize their children’s outlooks or feelings.

After thinking, discussing, and reading more about this case, and having gone through the divorce procedure in Colorado, with a judge at a trial to decide many issues in my divorce, I have a hard time believing the sole reason for the judge’s decision was only because of cancer. It appears it did come into play, but we frankly do not have all the facts. In my experience, (and the judge in my case was a woman) courts do not want to separate kids and parents. They are not looking to split up mothers and children, and fathers and children. But when there are circumstances that warrant it, they make their decisions with the information they have, and sadly sometimes, those decisions can only be based on information that is proven (such as a police report in the case of a domestic violence allegation.) If there is no evidence, then the judge can’t consider it.

I have not had to face the prognosis that my cancer was terminal. I don’t attempt to explain how that would feel as a mother with two children. Not knowing if you have a year, or six months, or ten years, would be agonizing. I did think about dying though, and what would happen to my children. If my children’s father lived in another state, and was not planning on moving back to the state where I lived, the reality is, when I died, they would be in the care of their father. For me personally, I would feel more at peace and feel like I did everything I could for my children if I helped them as much as I could with that transition with whatever time I had left. Cancer isn’t fair, and divorce isn’t fair. The toll it can take on children is the most unfair part of it all.

This case is definitely complicated, yielding a lot of mixed feelings for parents going through a divorce with custody issues, who have or have had less than ideal health. I hope the parties involved can come to some sort of compromise that will keep the children’s need for their mother in their lives, while she is doing well and fighting cancer, while also being realistic and planning for the future. Cancer or not, divorce or not, the children need to come first.

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It’s been a month since I’ve written a blog post!  I wish I had a great excuse for not doing so, but I’ve been busy.  Mainly with work.  I work in the accounting field, and this is always a busy time of year.

I’ve been well since my last post- finding out I was cured from cancer.  It is pretty hard to top that!  My doctor changed my Synthroid dosage slightly for reasons I mentioned in the previous post.  I now take a smaller dosage on Sunday, and I’m finding I’m very tired on Monday and Tuesday.  It’s amazing how such a small adjustment down in dosage can affect how I feel.  I’ve been trying to get more rest on these nights, and just hoping eventually my body will adjust.  But it’s always a process. 

The weather has been so windy here, and we’ve had lots of rain and cooler temperatures.  Combined with my being swamped at work, and extra tired two days out of the week, I’ve not been running as often or as long as I would like to.  I also had a hard time last year, around this time of year.  Everything with my mom being sick, dying, having her funeral, her birthday, and then Mother’s Day, started in February and goes until May.  It’s only been a year, and it’s still an emotionally hard time during these “anniversary” dates. 

I’m trying to let myself feel what I need to feel and not push myself physically too much.  I have been able to get out on shorter runs on tougher routes during my lunch, and that feels like the extent of what I want to do with running for now.  I hope as the weather gets nicer, I can start running longer distances again and get out on my bike.  I was going to try to run a half marathon in April, but I hadn’t been able to build up the mileage, and I didn’t want to risk running that distance and get hurt.  I’m not going to pressure myself to run in any races for the time being, but am just going to enjoy running when I can for now. 

Ryan and Cole are doing great.  School is almost over for them, and they are excited about attending a school / day camp program where they will be learning and going on field trips this summer. They have both learned how to ice skate, and enjoy playing hockey- on ice, and in our driveway.  Ryan is finishing up Cub Scouts for the year and they both started karate lessons a few weeks ago.  They love it, and are already talking about earning their next level belt. They don’t want to be white belts anymore!  Here’s a picture of them from their first lesson:

I’m looking forward to summer- the warmer weather and spending time with my boys.  They are growing so fast, and after this summer my “baby” will be in school full-time.  Cole is going to be five next month, and in full time kindergarten in the fall.  It seems like those years from when he was a baby to now, have just flown by.  I hope we can slow down a bit during the summer, relax more, and I can savor what is left of my youngest child’s pre-school days. 

My 20th (gulp) high school reunion is planned for July. I helped plan our 10 year reunion, and am helping out as much as I can on planning the 20th.  If I thought my kids were growing too fast, it seems crazy I’ve been out of high school for (almost) two decades!  It will be fun to see everyone in person, and see all of our kids- new ones, and see how the babies have grown into pre-teens and teenagers from the last reunion.  Seems like we were just kids ourselves, and now we have kids- when did that happen?

I am planning a special post in June, to coincide with the two year anniversary of my thyroid cancer surgery.  I’m excited about it, and I think it will help so many cancer patients looking for resources and answers.

This is some of what has been going on- of course there is more, but I’m trying to get to bed earlier, so the more will just have to wait.  I post shorter updates on my FaceBook Fan Page.  I hope you will stop by there, and even though it’s been a few weeks, thanks for continuing to read A Mama’s Blog.

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Twenty three months ago, I was diagnosed with Stage 2 papillary thyroid cancer. I had a feeling before I was diagnosed, even though the odds were only 1 in 10, the nodule on my thyroid was cancer.  I can’t explain why, but in the back of my mind, I knew.

 A month later, I found out the cancer had spread to my lymph nodes, and not only was I going to have my thyroid removed, but an extensive neck dissection removing cancerous lymph nodes. 

Reading back on these posts brought back a lot of emotions for me; uncertainty, fear, sadness, and the unknown. As I faced the surgery, I did the only thing I could do, and that was deal with everything.  My surgeon, Dr. Peter Schmid, was able to save the lymph nodes in the right side of my neck.  The biopsies he performed during surgery on those lymph nodes were not testing positive for cancer, so the surgery was not as invasive as originally thought.  It was still as he warned me though, “brutal.” 

The recovery from surgery was a nightmare, because of some mistakes made by my then endocrinologist’s office.  I went for three months without Synthorid and was extremely hypothyroid.

After the radioactive iodine treatment (RAI) was complete and I could start on Synthroid in August, 2009, things started to improve.  I felt better every day.  I started running.  I felt like the cancer was gone, but as I’ve written before, cancer changes your outlook on life. What seemed secure isn’t, what you take for granted before, you don’t.  It has always been there I could still have cancer, or it could come back. I started the recurrence tests two weeks ago, having had to delay them several months due to insurance issues.

Last week I had numerous tests including a full PET body scan, and blood labs work done.  I have felt poorly for the past week, from side effects from Thyrogen, used for the tests. At the scan, I received initial good news- the tech performing the scan, along with the radiologist said my thyroid area looked good.

But nothing could prepare me yesterday for the official results with my new endocrinologist, Dr. W.  She confirmed the scan had come back clean, and looked great.  Dr. W. told me my thyroglobulin level (Tg) which measures for thyroid cancer had come back undetectable. It should be at zero if there is no cancer.  Before my surgery, Dr. Schmid had told me my Tg level was 37, which was very high for someone my age, indicating cancer had spread from the thyroid.  With the Tg level undetectable that was the proof in my blood, the cancer was gone-for now.  Then Dr. W. told me the words, I was not expecting, “…I’d say the cancer is cured.  You are cured.”

I got through the rest of the appointment, trying to listen to what is next.  Dr. W. told me I don’t have to do the recurrence tests again. She suggested since I’ve met my insurance deductible for the year, to have a neck ultrasound done now, and then I won’t have to have one for two years.  I will need to come in for blood work once a year.  She needs to adjust my Synthroid down slightly, because there is risk of side effects developing later in my life if I stay at the dosage I’m on. But other than that- it’s over.  I’m cured.

It seemed surreal as I walked out of her office, which is across the street from the hospital where I had my surgery two years ago.   I sat in my car, and started to shake.  And then I started to cry.  I cried tears of relief, tears of joy, and I cried all the uncertainty and doubts away I’ve carried with me for the past two years.  This ordeal was over.  I beat cancer, and I was officially cured. 

The first person I had to tell was my dad.  I don’t know how I would have survived that summer after my surgery without him.  When I was so sick from not having thyroid medication, he did more than I ever could have asked him to do for me.  He took care of the boys and I, when I couldn’t. I didn’t have to ask, he just did.  When I was scared, he wasn’t.  When I couldn’t drive myself to my doctor’s appointments, he did.  I only found out later, how scared he had been for me too.  I called him first and told him. I could hear the relief and happiness in his voice.

Then I called Dr. Schmid.  I left him a message and thanked him for his skill and expertise in my case. He had promised me I would live to see my boys grow up, and he was right.  Throughout this entire process, every doctor who has worked with me, has remarked how amazing it was that Dr. Schmid had been able to get out so much of the cancer from just the surgery.  Even yesterday, Dr. W. made that comment again, that he did a magnificent job.  She also confirmed there were no traces at all of cancer in the right lymph nodes- the ones Dr. Schmid had left in place.  He had been correct about that as well. I feel so grateful to him.  In a sense, he gave me my life back, and I don’t have to worry about cancer because of his thoroughness. He also always treated me like a person first, and a cancer patient second.  Two years after the fact, I wanted to thank him again for the crucial part he played in my hearing those words, “You are cured.” 

I called my very good friend, Amy, next.  Like my family and so many of my other friends, Amy’s been there every step of the way for me.  She went with me last week to my scan, just so I wouldn’t have to be there alone, while another friend, Heather, watched her kids, so Amy could come with me.  She texted me before and after the appointment yesterday. She was in the hospital visiting me after the surgery, and organized help for me. She entered and we were finalists in a contest for a trip to New York, because I missed going to Chicago with her after I had surgery.  Whenever I needed anything, Amy either did it, or asked another one of our friends if they could help me. 

Then I called my family. Like my dad, they did whatever they could to help me out and the boys.  They were all terrified for me, but were strong and told me I was going to beat this.  They believed in the outcome, when I didn’t.  When I found out I had cancer, I had to leave them a message to call me back, and some things never change.  No one answered their phone yesterday. :-)  They all called me back throughout the evening, and I was able to give them the good news.

I sent messages to my friends- the ones who have been my extended family, and did whatever I needed from cooking meals, to cleaning my house, to watching the boys during my doctor appointments, to mowing my lawn.  I am still so thankful for all of their help and support.  

I didn’t call one person though right away, I wanted to tell him in person.  When I was at home, quarantined after my RAI treatment, he would send me happy, funny, normal, run-of-the day messages.  He talked to me as his friend from school, not as though I was sick.  He’d joke my super power was now being radioactive.  When I wrote him back, I didn’t feel like I had cancer, and my neck had just been dissected.  I felt like myself. I didn’t have to talk to him about being sick, cancer, and all my fears.  It was a sense of normalcy, and it was a beginning. A beginning that showed me I was still the same person with or without cancer. Our conversations brought out the healthy, happy side in me, not the scared and sick side.  It wouldn’t matter to John if I had been told yesterday I wasn’t cured.  He’d still be there, but I was very happy to tell him I didn’t have cancer anymore. 

The two little guys I want to hold, hug, and kiss, will have to wait. They went to their dad’s for a week for Spring Break.  They gave me so much strength-strength I didn’t know I had.  When I was at my lowest and weakest points, unable to even walk up a few stairs at my dad’s house, I’d see them playing outside, and knew I had to make it up the stairs, so I could see them play.  They deserved a mom who could watch them play.  And I would find a way to walk up the stairs- something that had been impossible to do, until I saw them.  

I told my friends other than the boys being born; yesterday was the happiest day of my life.  I was wrong.  When I can hold Ryan and Cole and tell them Mommy’s cancer is gone- that will be the happiest day yet.  I get to see my boys grow up, and I can finally give them that reassurance. 

To all my family, friends, and blog readers, thank you all for being here with me. Thank you for helping me fight and beat cancer.  From the day I was diagnosed with cancer through yesterday the support has been overwhelming.  I feel like you are all a piece of the puzzle and you all fitted in to help me exactly when and how I needed it. 

To all my blog readers who are battling thyroid or any cancer currently, don’t give up.  All the fears, pain, and doubts, you currently have are only temporary.  Draw on whatever gives you strength. It is easy to lose your spirit with cancer. It took mine for a while, but it only wins when you give up.  Some days you have to fight with everything you have and then some.  But at the end, when you beat it, and you hear the words, “It’s gone,” or “It’s in remission,” or the sweetest one of all, “You are cured,” it will all be worth it and then some.  I promise.

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I am being tested this week for any traces of thyroid cancer that may be remaining, or for a recurrence.  I’ve had to put this test off for 6 months, so I’m very glad I’m doing it now, but with any type of cancer test- it’s a little scary too. 

I wasn’t sure what to expect or really what the process was while I was scheduling it.  The nurse at my endocrinologist kept telling me it was a week long process. I am finding out as I go along.  I wanted to share the process for others who will be facing the same test.

On the first two days, Monday and today, I had an injection of the drug, Thyrogen at 8 in the morning.  Thyrogen is used to test the blood for a hormone called thyroglobulin (Tg), which can indicate cancer.  Before Thyrogen, to test for  Tg levels, a patient would have to stop taking any thyroid medication such as Synthroid for six weeks, and become hypothyroid.  I was hypothyroid for almost thirteen weeks after my surgery, and it was one of the most difficult times in my life.  Needless to say, I’m very happy I was able to have Thyrogen.

The shots themselves weren’t bad.  Just more inconvenient than anything.  The nurse I was scheduled with on Monday was 3o minutes late, and I had a tight schedule that morning. I started thinking it was a bad sign, and worries crept in.  I forced myself to think positive thoughts.  The injections were given to me below the hip, pretty much in my gluteal muscles.  I had Cole with me on Monday, and he thought it was very funny Mom got a shot there. 

The rest of the day on Monday, I felt great. I felt like I normally do.  With Daylight Savings having just started, it was light out when I got home from work with the boys, and I ran a fast one mile.  A few hours after the shot on Tuesday, I started feeling sick.  I was very nauseous, and I had a bad headache.  I felt extremely tired too.  The nausea came and went.  I fortunately was off of work for the day so I was able to rest and take it easier. 

On Wednesday I have to take a dose of radio active iodine in preparation for the full body scan on Thursday.  The dose is very small and there are no restrictions on being around other people or children after I take the dose.  The letter the nuclear medicine department sent me said the radiation dose I’ll be taking is less than what is in a standard x-ray.  I am optimistic I won’t have any side effects.  I have a 15 minute appointment with the doctor, take the pill at the nuclear medicine department, and then drive back to work. 

On Thursday in the afternoon, I have a full body scan.  This is where they will be able to see any “hot” spots, or thyroid cells in my body which can indicate cancer.  The entire appointment is about 45 minutes, but I don’t like the scans.  I have always felt claustrophobic in the machine, and I hate sitting there waiting for it.  So this is the day I’m dreading the most in the process.  My good friend, Amy, is pretty sure she will be able to come with me, and I’ll be very grateful for her presence. 

On Friday morning, I have to have blood drawn, so they can do blood work. The nurse reminded me today how important this step is. She said she has patients all the time that do the entire week, but then don’t have their blood drawn, and she says it is a complete waste.  They won’t have accurate results without the blood work. 

After all of this, I have to wait until next week for the results.  I know I will be thinking of all the “what if’s” during this time, but I am going to try really hard to think of all the positives- like the type of thyroid cancer I had, has about a 3% recurrence rate.  I still feel better physically than I ever have in my life, have never had to have a Synthroid medication adjustment, and the last test I had the Tg level was undetectable.  The odds are definitely in my favor that I am fine, and these tests will confirm that. 

Please think good thoughts for me during the next week, as I do the same for myself.  If anyone wants to add their experience with their thyroid recurrence tests, feel free to do so in the comments.  I’d be interested in hearing how it went for others.

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My mother, Linnie, with my brother, Jeff, (her first child) in 1970.

One year.  My mom has been dead for one year today.  Some days it seems like she’s still out there- living her life and she’ll be calling any day to say ‘Hi,’ like she often did.  Then there are days where it seems like she’s been gone for ten years. 

When she died, I had no idea how to get through the next year.  I don’t think anyone does- you just do.  Life goes on.  There are kids, jobs, family, relationships, friends, hobbies, and all the other stuff that keeps life busy.  I have had all of those things this past year.  I’ve wanted to share them with my mom.  There have been days where I’ve cried for her. Days where I’ve been mad, days where I have peace, days I’m happy she’s not suffering, but most of all I just miss her.

I realized around Christmas, when I pulled out “The Night Before Christmas,” book she recorded in her voice the year before for Ryan and Cole, I was forgetting what her voice sounded like.  You don’t think about that- until you realize you are forgetting what their voice sounds like. 

All the things- little and big, I took for granted from her- parenting advice (sometimes asked for, sometimes not), Mother Day cards and wishes, phone calls, little odd gifts that would come from QVC in the mail to me because she thought I’d like them, visits, birthday cards, encouragement, someone who always had time for me, unwavering support, my boys’ Nana, and unconditional love, I noticed this past year, painfully, because those things are not here from her anymore. 

And yet, I still have a sense she’s with me.  As I have gone through the tedious process of keeping current my cancer follow up care, I hear her voice in the back of my mind, telling me to stay up on it.  I see her smile in Ryan, Cole, and my niece’s.  When I am baking or cooking one of her recipes, I remember the love she had for us, as she made the same dishes years ago.  When I feel like I really need to know she’s looking out for us, something happens- something unexplainable, which I can only attribute to her. Like Cole telling me out of the blue, that Nana visits him when he sleeps, and she tells him she loves all of us.  Or the pharmacy dropping the price on the very expensive cancer testing drug I need by the exact amount my insurance won’t cover.  It’s hard not to think she is out there somehow- making sure we know her presence is here.

Then there is the guilt and questions that are always buried beneath the surface.  Was I a good enough daughter? Did I spend enough time with her?  Did she know I loved her? Did she know how much I appreciated things she had done for me her entire life? I tried to make sure I told her these things during the few days we had in the hospice, but I can’t remember.  Much of that week is a blur.  I do remember when I told John my mom was very sick, probably was going to die, and I was heading to Minnesota with my sister, he told me the time I would have with my mom would be a gift.  I didn’t really register what that would mean at the time, but I thought about it while I was spending time with her in the hospital and hospice, after she passed away, and during this past year.

A gift.  A gift to watch your mother die.  A gift to be there.  A gift to say good-bye.  A gift to laugh with her one more time.  A gift for her to hear her grandchildren’s voices for a final time.  A gift for all of us to be a family one more time.  A gift for her to hug me.  A gift for her to hold my hand.  A gift for her stroke my hair one last time, like she did when I was little.  A gift to crawl into bed with her, like I did when I was little.  A gift to be her little girl, one final time.   A gift to tell her I love her.  A gift for her to tell me she loves me.  A gift to see her make the decision this was the end of her life.  A gift for her to see the outpouring of love from her friends.  A gift to hear her labored breathing, as it slowed down every hour.   A gift to know it was peaceful.  A gift to hold her hand, as she took her last breath.  A gift to see her suffering end.  A gift to see her spirit finally at peace-forever.

To have had and to have known these things in my mom’s final week of her life, even with the pain and heartache, -the comfort it has brought me- I can’t fully describe. The only words I have are: A Gift.

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