The Kelley's are Organizing!

I'm doing a number of projects. Experiments on the subject of continuous improvement, if you will. I'm excited, but feel like I may be trying to organize too much too fast and will hit a wall pretty quick. Then again, I'm able to breathe easier, sleep better and have a sense of accomplishment everyday. Doesn't sound like burn out to me, sounds like I am "The Girl on Fiiiirrree!"Watch yo back Katniss. You may be able to kill me, but I'll organize the crap out of anything faster than you. 

Since my blog has been lacking lately, I'm going to start a post on each thing that I've done.

First off, I have extreme pillow envy when it comes to Houzz.com houses. I want colorful pillows to adorn my neutral couch! I love the flowers, stripes, eclectic feel to a couch full of puffy pillows. So, I took my inspiration and went to the $1/yd aisle of Walmart and went a little crazy. Here are the before an after pillows. Keep in mind I made 7 of those pillows for a total (including stuffing) $30. Eat that $15/pillow stores! Yes, I'm pointing at you TJ Max.

Ok, so by final I mean final...ish. The flowers need some rearranging, we have another lamp on the right hand side and that side table has been removed. But, it's coming a long really well and soon I'll have what the room REALLY looks like. The purpose of this post was to showcase the pillows. I feel that at least has been successful.

Next up: Menus and Shopping Lists.

Cancer Part II

Cancer Part II

It has taken me a long time to finally write this post. To be honest, I have been afraid to write in a way because the writing I did in Part I was so descriptive and full of emotion; I’m afraid I can’t duplicate it. But, it doesn’t matter. If I can or can’t in the end because the important part is that the story is told.

My beautiful family came to Logan the night of my surgery and stayed with me. My mom, Jarom and Jaisha made the unbearable bearable and fulfilled one of John’s very important goals…Fast and the Furious marathon. Yes. While suffering on the couch, wallowing in my own misery I was forced to watch all of the Fast and the Furious movies and you know what? I love those movies! I always will. End of story.

My arm was bandaged up really well and I was told not to shower for a three or four days just to let the stitches heal. After my family left two days later and instead of wallowing in misery I was stewing in my own post surgery nastiness…I decided that three days was long enough and got into the shower.

Letting the water rain down on me, washing away the grime of the past couple days and just standing there made me feel a small sense of comfort. I was warm, I was loved and I was getting clean. It felt like this was just a step on the way to my future. The bandage started to get soggy so I started peeling it back and started screaming for John. The stitches were black and jagged and my skin red and angry underneath. The string was actually plastic and just looking at it nearly made me throw up.  My arm looked like someone had carved a chunk out of it and then did a medieval hack job at sewing me up. John came bounding up the stairs to my rescue and I just stood there freaking out and pointing at this nasty on my arm, crying. He looked at it with disgust and told me it would be ok. I sobbed and got out the shower. I had never felt so ugly in my entire life. Not in middle school when I was fat and had a really hard ugly stage, not on my mission when I was taller and bigger than anyone in what seemed like the entire country, nothing. This was the pinnacle moment of hideous.

I decided that long sleeves were the order of the day. So, I had john help me into a comfy shirt and went back to the couch. I couldn’t lie on the side with my wounded arm so sleeping or lying was a little awkward but after a couple days, I got used to it. John was so wonderful. He brought down a mattress from our bed and made the living room into our bedroom for a week or two.

Having had surgery, but still being the breadwinner at the moment meant that taking more time off of work was out of the question. My pitiful salary had to stretch far and one missed day could mean hard times. So, Tuesday after my surgery I was back at work. I had medication and my job was very accommodating as far as patience and helping me with some basic tasks but I felt more of a burden than a help and really just wanted to go home.

Time passes and with it healing comes. When you can’t use your dominant arm, some things are harder than you ever realized. The prime example is using the restroom. Just try doing a decent wipe with your nondominate hand. It’s like a freakin’ yoga pose just trying! Also, ponytails were out. Hair is down all the time and blow-drying takes some talent. I had to sit and let my useless arm rest while my left and did all the work. Needless to say, my hair had seen better styles during the month of Feb. and into March.

Well, March rolled around and I was waiting for the results of my lymph node tests to come back. I had the arm chuck missing and also they took some lymph nodes from my arm pit. If the verdict came back and the cancer had spread to my lymph nodes, aggressive action had to take place. If it hadn’t, I was clear!

I was at work the day I got the phone call. I had started to fear my phone ringing at this point J. Anyway, I was there and I got the call from Dr. Bowles telling me that they found the cancer in one of my lymph nodes. I had a really hard time focusing after that. What I did hear her say that it was a small amount and would be taking my case to a group of specialists to analyze and see if we needed to do surgery or if chemo would start. I thanked her, hung up the phone and just felt completely worn out. Tears started forming and ran down their well defined course on my face.  I worked with a woman whom I know didn’t care for me and well, I didn’t care much for her either but in a moment like this, it didn’t matter. She came and gave me a hug and held me while I cried. We are after all sisters in the eyes of God and just that moment helped me see her as such.

I took my lunch and started making the calls. John was the first and hardest call of all. Next it was family and especially my mom. That was hard too. Then it was done. I had to wait.

This is part two. Part three will be coming out soon.

Blazzin' Challenge

A lot of things can make a person happy after a long day. Retail therapy, getting a massage, venting to a friend or even just taking a walk. Well, for Mr. Kelley, what makes him happy is food and food challenges! Last night we had to drop off our brand new car at the dealership to have the crankshaft point sensor replaced (thank goodness for warranties) and pick up our rental.

For those of you who have followed along our journey, we haven’t had the best luck with cars but I honestly feel like life is going to slow down and be a little nicer to us from now on. Just me but I really do think it’s going to happen. Is this the talk of a woman who has reached her breaking point and has finally drifted off into madness? No, this is a woman who has finally gotten her anxiety under control and can see clearly now the fog of dread has dispersed.

So, after dropping off our car and heading home, Mr. Kelley was feeling really frustrated and I wanted to ease his suffering so I took him to Buffalo Wild Wings for the Blazin’ Challenge!

12 super hot, super drenched-in-fire-sauce wings in under 6 minutes. He’s got this.

The first thing we had to do was sign a waiver that told him that the restaurant and its subsidiaries, etc, were not held accountable for sickness or death and basically you are on your own if you try this. Comforting. But, John’s blue eyes sparkled with Irish mischief and I knew he’d be fine. 

Once the waiver was signed, 2 waitresses and a waiter walked out caring a flashing red light and the platter of hot wings to a roaring crowd. It was a bigger deal than I had imagined that’s for sure.  The crowd cheered as the waitress put the wings in front of John and started counting down, 5..4..3..2..1!! 

John dug right in, licking every wing dry and didn't even seemed phased by the sauce that has caused lesser men to cry. The restaurant was cheering and while filming, kept shouting his name. I was so proud of him! 

1 minute passed and so did 3 wings. Still trucking along, John kept a solid pace. 2 minutes, 3 minutes and finally 4 minutes passed and all but three of those fiery wings had found a new home in John’s belly. At 5 minutes he was making his final chews and proving he had indeed devoured everything set before him with no water, no wiping and leaking eyes as the sauce finally got to him.

5 minutes and 11 seconds and John has a free shirt and a title claimed!

So, even though the day was rough, life has been hard, we are happy and finding joy in our journey.

Love you John.

Easter in Millard County

I am a true testament to the fact that if you don’t write something down right away you’ll forget about it, details wise. Now, having said that, I would like to tweak that fact just a little. Here’s my version: “If you don’t write something down, something else is  going to happen that’s dramatic and you’re going to feel overwhelmed at the idea of writing.” So, let’s start with the most recent turn of events and work backwards.

Easter weekend was not what John and I expected. While we arrived in Fillmore with no scratches, we left with significant body damage. Our family tradition is to go four-wheeling, picnicking, horseshoe playing and sun bathing. We always go to Sugar Loaf in Millard County. This is an old volcano that has been asleep for hundreds of years and is now more or less a four-wheeling track.

Sugar Loaf Volcano

The View

The Windmill Project a.k.a. stonehenge

The trail is not for beginners, but since John had come with us last year and nothing had happened, I figured let’s go for it again! We both hopped on a machine and took off with my cousins and brothers. My mom said “be careful” and looked me right in the eye. It felt like she was saying this more forcefully than usual, but I ignored the feeling I had off we sped into the great wilderness desert.

We took some hills, bunny rabbit is what I call them, and were having so much fun!

After a while, John wanted to drive so we switched places. He tried to do a U-turn and the four-wheeler started tipping a little. I was freaked out, but John said he’d be careful so we took off. He drives a little slower when I’m with him and for good reason. I don’t like to go fast on something that isn’t entirely in my control. That’s the reason I don’t like horses. I like to look at them and pet them but I do not enjoy riding them.

We started up the incline that leads to the old windmill project from the 30’s (people say it looks like Stonehenge and they are right). The project was supposed to provide energy for the people of Millard County and was going to revolutionize the town. Unfortunately, the designer took all the money and ran once the Great Depression hit and the project was abandoned. My dad told me the story last year.

Anyway, so the trail is steep and you ride along a narrow path with volcano on one side and a sheer drop on the other. I’m no judge of distance, but I if I had to put it into perspective, it’s like falling off a 4 story building. Maybe higher. Our four-wheeler didn't have the best brakes, but we figured we’d be alright. As we turned to face the hardest part of the journey, a large boulder is partially revealed and once you ride on top of it, you are on more level ground which makes the final stretch a level shot to the windmills. The boulder is treacherous though. Imagine a path that has loose rock and gravel all around it and your one hope of not falling off the side of a mountain is the boulder that is about 30 degrees higher than the trail you are already riding. You square up your four-wheeler, press the gas and hope that you have enough grip to climb the rock to the level ground above. My palms sweat just thinking about it. If you can’t make it on the first try, you have to squeeze your breaks and gently roll down the boulder until you are back on the trail and then try again. There is no turning around, no backing too far down because if you do, you fall. End of story.

Well, John went to square up the boulder and unfortunately didn't get enough grip the first time. So as he went to squeeze the breaks, they failed. We were rolling off the side of a volcano, 4-5 stories down a gravelly slope of mountain which I was certain would be the last trip we ever made. The four wheeler tipped and since I was on back, I went first. I slid off the machine, screaming for help and landed on my behind. My pants slid up, something really hurt my wrist and I tumbled until I managed to stop.

I turned around and saw this 900 pound hunk of metal roll on top of my husband as he waited helplessly for it to pass. I thought he was dead. I was hysterical, crying and screaming but not able to stay where I was because this beast of a machine was rolling towards me. I tried to run, tried to move but wasn't able to do more than scramble to one side. Time seemed to stop and slow as I watched in horror as this rolling mass threatened to smash me into the ancient rock. I felt I had angered the mountain or did something wrong. How could I have been so careless to assume that I was invincible? My body was not exempt from pain or mangling, my cancer had taught me that.

I waited for the pain to come, but it never did. Instead our four-wheeler was stopped by a tree that was miraculously growing just in the right spot to create a barrier not to be crossed. This miracle was viewed in hindsight because all I could see was my husband’s face before the machine rolled over his helpless body. Tears streamed down my face as I screamed in anger and defeat. Dirt was inside my mouth, eyes and stung a cut that had formed from my split hand.

Suddenly I saw John sliding towards me asking if I was ok. I was so shocked all I could do was cry and ask him if he was alright. I sat, stunned and just sobbing. John went to inspect the four-wheeler as Jarom, my brother who we had followed up, ran towards us to assess the situation.

I was useless as they and other men who had traveled the same trail came down to help us out of our predicament. The other men were just some travelers from a neighboring town who were doing same Easter tradition as us. They started the four-wheeler up (miracle) and John helped them guide it back up the mountain. Jarom hitched a wench to the back of John so that as they traveled down this cursed volcano, he’d have some breaks.
At this point, was still crying, wondering why this had happened. Hadn't John and I been through enough? I failed so see the hand of God blessing us with help and a random tree to stop the four-wheeler and not to mention despite being squashed by an 800 pound machine, John emerged with little more than scratches. I was angry and sad, not to mention bitter at the circumstance but having had time to look over this I realized how lucky we were and how so many angels must have been on alert to help us.

We are loved. Heavenly Father has not abandoned us and despite our trials we are better because of them. John and I are strong and we will continue to be strong because of the love and faith we have in our God. Not to mention the wonderful family I have been born into. You could not find finer parents and more loving siblings than what I have; though I wish everyone were so lucky. 

The Perfect Chocolate Chip Cookie

I suck at making cookies. It’s true. Don’t let the gorgeous cakes and the moist, delicious cupcakes fool you, I have no talent in cookies. Although, in High School I thought I was the “Cookie Queen” because I made these gigantic chocolate chip cookies for my family that tasted alright, but looking back they weren’t all that great. My mom was so very gracious and supportive as always and convinced me that they were delicious, but a little big. One cookie could very well feed 2 people easily.

So, I was living in this oblivion until I tried to make chocolate chip cookies for John and I. Turns out, the dough may taste incredible, but the cookies never came to the perfect morsel of sweet escape that I was hoping for.

Undeterred, I’d decided this Sunday was to be the day of all days! I was going to make the perfect chocolate chip cookie!

My quest started with this exact Google search: “perfect chocolate chip cookie”. This is what I found:

http://theperfectchocolatechipcookie.com/instruct.php

Now, this was more involved than I had originally hoped for. I didn’t normally use different bowls for my ingredients, mixing dry and wet at the end verses when I so pleased. Neither did I mix the chocolate chip cookies in with my sugars, vanilla and egg, but lo and behold it makes SUCH a difference! Also, for some reason, chilling the dough for 30 minutes before cooking actually works. Mind=blown.

The only thing is, I live in Logan Utah. Cooking anything sweet at 375 degrees is suicide. So, if you live here to, knock that down to 350 for only 11 minutes and then let he cookies sit on the pan for a minute or two before transferring them on to a cookie sheet.

Voila! The perfect cookie. 

Old blog post from December 12th

I came across an entry that I had written months ago and thought it was worth sharing still :). This was right after my car crash and I was starting to feel more myself.

"Welcome to December…12 days ago.

We are freezin’ up here in Logan and loving it! After my nasty car crash, going places has been a chore. Poor John has been so patient with me. I’m a nervous wreck in the car! Doesn’t help that Logan-ites drive like wild banshees in a Nascar bumper car race. Nice image right?

Luckily as time has gone one and my amazing chiropractor and massage therapist have worked me over, my paranoia has gone down and my love for driving has kicked in! I drove for the first time on Monday. 

I felt pretty awesome!"

Cancer: Part I

One phone call. That's all it took to take me from a feeling of calm happiness to a turmoil of toxic sludge running through my veins wanting to suck every piece of life out of me.

"You have cancer. The doctor will want to meet with you today to discuss your options".

Who says that so cavalierly over a phone call? This nervous nurse didn't know me from Adam and yet he had just ruined my life. I am 25 freaking years old! I don't tan, couldn't even if I wanted to, and I don't usually get to see sunlight. Let's not forget that I am not all that confident about my body so any chance I get to cover these flabby white appendages in a cardigan, I take it.

No. There is a mistake. I don't have cancer. I can't. Obviously this ridiculous excuse of a person has misread my file. All I did was get a couple moles removed because of vanity. Ok, maybe one of the two had me a little worried but that's it, worried. Not a death sentence. That's what cancer is, right? A death sentence. It doesn't matter if you are 8 or 80, you hear the words "she has cancer" you immediately start counting her breaths expecting that any minute she is going to be 6 feet under. It's sick. It's a sick joke. That's all it is.

Wrong. I'm sitting here in the doctor's office and he's looking at me telling me I have melanoma. I have the cancer that killed my uncle. The cancer that ripped a father from his children when they needed him most. I have the cancer that is so dysfunctional that you can't tell what it's going to do next. All you know is it kills and it doesn't even go about it in a polite way either. It attacks like a starved, caged lion that has just seen a gazelle for the first time in months. No holding back, no sense of regret, it just attacks and takes everything it can. That's what's inside of me. A ravenous monster bent on taking my life and leaving me with nothing.

The doctor has me talk to some other doctor in Salt Lake City. The infamous Huntsman's Cancer Institute wants to meet with me. Oh and by meet I mean they want to chop me into little pieces  scrutinize me and then dump me on the side of the road after the cancer has killed me and hopefully, just hopefully find something that can help the next poor soul who gets the phone call I just got.

These are the words I'm thinking but do you know how I'm acting? Just the opposite really. I am happy, almost nervously and unnaturally happy. I sit there stunned with a stupid smile on my face just looking at this room full of a Doctor, his 3 nurses and my husband. John is sitting there stunned and scared but masking it behind a supportive stare. These 5 people all expect me to die. Maybe not right now, but the initial thought I'm sure is "She is going to die".

So, what do I do? I try and lighten the mood. I smile, say I'll think positive, call my family for insurance information and just pretend that this will all go away soon. I'm ridiculous. I feel like I'm not allowed to be sad. I'm not allowed to show weakness. What will that do to my reputation? I have a testimony of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and by so believing, sometimes I think that means I can't be afraid. I can't be sad, I know the larger plan but you know what? Sometimes I do get sad. Sometimes I get really sad and really mad and I just want to scream and cry and beat my fists against a wall in defeat. I'm tired. I'm angry, I have faith and I know it will all work out but right now, I'm done. I'm done. You know that old story that says if everyone sat down at a table and showed the weight and demons they pack around and offered a trade, everyone would just take back what they brought? I would love to trade someone else right now. Nothing looks as bad as this does to me. But then again, who would want to trade me? Let's review shall we:

November: I get into a horrific car accident that required months of chiropractic visits and pain; lots of pain and no car.

December: I have a cyst that is at the end of my tailbone. I didn't know what it was so the chiropractor tried to pop my back to help what he thought was a knot get loose. This cracked the cyst and caused it to leak through my skin. I was in so much pain I didn't think I could physically take it any longer.  This got infected to I had to drop pants in a doctor’s office and have two needles jammed into my infected, painful skin to then have them cut me open and drain the fluid. This hole had to stay open for 2 weeks and my poor husband had to clean it three times a day.

February: Malignant Melanoma.

Sure doesn't get worse than that. Well, maybe it does. I don't want to find out.

My poor husband John. I know everyone says the first year of marriage is rough, but I don't think he signed on for any of this. Dating wasn't this hard, nothing really happened all that much when we were dating. In fact, all the "big problems" we had now look like a walk in the park. Did we even have problems? Pretty sure we didn't.

Now he's here and sometimes I feel it would be better for him to cut his losses and try again with someone who isn't such a fantastic mess. But at the same time I am so in love and so dependent on him I don't know what I would do without him. He is my best friend, my one true love and the man I had been hoping for since I was young.

Today is March 3rd. I got surgery on my arm to remove the cancer on the 1st.

On February 28th, John and I drove to the hospital to get a "mapping" done. What this means is they injected the site of the melanoma (my upper left arm) with 4 shots of radioactive material that would show up on a scan. The material would travel where melanoma usually travels and show my surgeon where to cut. The lymph nodes I guess would light up and *snip *snip she would take them out.

The doctor who was explaining the procedure to me said "This won't be bad, it's just like 4 little bee stings". In my head I was thinking "are you crazy?! bee stings? Those hurt! Really bad! I don't want them anywhere near me!"

Oh well. Remember my cyst? Those painful little needles they jammed into my skin? Well, I got four more. Not only does the needle hurt, the radio active crap lingers and stings as it moves. I cried, bit my shirt and hung onto John's hand for dear life. Call me a wimp, call me faint of heart, I don't care. No cancer, no opinion.

After that was done, they took photo after photo with this giant MRI looking thing. I have no other word for it. I'm not a medical student nor do I have any interest in the field other than an occasional Grey's Anatomy episode. It took 4 hours of waiting, scans and finally having a doctor come out and say we can leave.

That night John and I stayed at a quaint little place called "The Pavillion Inn". We swam, soaked in a hot tub and watched tv like any other couple. John gave me a beautiful blessing. The words of my Father in Heaven swirled around me a like a fleece blanket. I will be ok, financial burdens will resolve themselves, John and I have a lot to accomplish still, I am loved and will be fine...money couldn't buy these words. I clung on to them as I prepared myself for tomorrow. I have to face so many unknowns. I've never been under anesthesia. I've never had to have surgery and I don't like it. At all.

That morning, I woke up, dragged myself through the routine of getting ready and way too soon it’s time to go to the hospital. This hospital is huge! Building after building passes by as we look for number 5. I feel like grabbing the wheel and driving until I hit San Deigo and living forever on a beach. Yeah right, what am I thinking? I can’t see the sun anymore. I’m a vampire.

I check in, fill out some paperwork and am led back to a room where a nurse tells me to hop on a scale, takes my measurements, I pee in a cup and now I'm dressed in a hospital gown and pants. I feel so small and out of place. I don't want to do this. Someone please tell me I don't have to go through with this. I don't want to look at my gorgeous husband and see his eyes look back with fear. I don't want to pretend that I'm ok. I don't want to do this. Please.

No one comes to the door saying "Stop! It was a mistake! There's another Kayla that has cancer, not you!” No one comes to my rescue; just an orderly who tells me to put on a hair net and to lie down.

As I am wheeled down the hall, David Bowie's "Heroes" plays in my head. I wish this was a dream that I could just wake up from. We take an elevator, then I have to say goodbye to John. I’m lying there, looking up at my best friend thinking “what if this is the last time I see him? What if I never wake up from anesthesia?” These thoughts make little stinging tears come into the corners of my eyes. John just looks back at me, smiles, kisses me and says “See you soon, I love you!”

I miss him all ready. He is taken to a waiting room and I am rolled down a hall where one door says "Chemo". Comforting.

I am lying in my bed, rolling through my thoughts and all I can think of is a hymn. "I Need Thee Every Hour". I sing in my head, both in English and Italian and wait to meet my surgeons. I feel someone shaking my arm. I had fallen asleep and now had two smiling, masked faces peering down at me. Yep, there's that same look. "I'm sorry you are dying". They introduce themselves as my doctors, tell me I'm not going to remember a thing and that everything will be fine. Dr. Aden is my anesthesiologist and he comes, shakes my hand and then starts putting something into my IV. I know he's talking, but I don't understand what he's saying. Everything is getting kind of fuzzy.

I am just bawling. I can't stop. Everything hurts. My heart hurts. My tears sting and my arm is a butchered mess. I feel like Frankenstein's monster. I don't know where John is and whoever is trying to wake me up has got to STOP! Enough! I am done! Where is he?

I am so nauseous. I hear voices and I talk but what on Earth did I say? I have no idea. I try and wake up but everything is so fuzzy.

A machine is beeping. Ugh! It is so annoying!

"Breathe!"

Who said that? I think it's a nurse. Is John flirting? No. But in my head all I see is mascara and blonde hair.

The machine doesn't let my breath go beneath 98. What does 98 even stand for? Stupid machine.

I'm so tired. John tries to help me but I am so mad! Why do I have to breathe so hard! Enough!

"You have to move". This is barked at me by someone with a very thick accent.

Two people push me into a more sitting position and it HURTS! My arm is on fire! Can't anyone tell? What did they do to me? Why don't they give medicine? Have they no compassion??! LET ME ALONE!!!

Ok. I'm awake. I want to go home.

Gingerly and with no small amount to moaning and ribbons of pain shooting up my armpit, I get into a wheelchair and one of the nicest nurses I've been introduced to takes me outside to see John.

"Get better and eat a frosty".

That's all I remember apart from the delightful hug she gave me.

On the way home, I am so sick. And mad! Why am I so mad? I don't remember much of anything else but just being mad. We stop at a Wendy's in Ogden and I grab a cup and crush it, shooting watered down coke and ice all over John's car.

I'm crying again. John seems kind of afraid. I don't know why I just did that. Why would someone do that? That was so dumb.

Crap. Now I'm crying.

I cry and eat my stupid frosty as John goes in and pays for gas. Stupid frosty. Everything is so just STUPID! I'm mad again.

Oh no.

I'm going to throw up.

"BAG! Help!"

I just lost my frosty. And while trying to open my door with my hurt arm, I cry, am in pain and have just dropped my bag of barf on the concrete ground and watched helplessly as it splatters all over me.

This is not my favorite day.

John isn't even fazed. He just hops out of the car and starts cleaning my disgusting, second hand ice cream out of his car and off of me.

And what am I doing? You guessed it, crying.

I'm so tired. So, I sleep. Hoping it will just all go away in the morning.