Double or nothing

What a week.  My little Ford Flex drove into the city and back four times.  Thanks to Mother Nature, Wednesday's trip was a little more difficult than the other days.  It took us over three hours to get to Northwestern due to icy roads and a few jack-knifed trucks.  That was the day of the actual RAI dose, and I wasn't allowed to eat before I drank it or for two hours afterward.  Thank goodness Trevor is a patient man because I am certain I wasn't super peachy to be around.

Fast forward to Friday.  I drove back into Northwestern for my WBS, whole body scan for all of you non-medical people.  I'm pretty sure I have an honorary degree in endocrinology at this point, so I know what's what.  The scan itself was easy: I got to change into gorgeous hospital clothes, including some lovely non-slip socks, and lie down on a table for ninety minutes.  I had a blanket that came straight from a warmer, and the technician tucked the blanket in all around my arms.  I was like a snugly warm burrito, and I'm pretty sure I fell asleep, even with a large machine one inch from my face.

I imagine I looked something like this.
(Credit: distractify.com)

I felt very light and free driving home that day because I had made it through the worst of the week.  That feeling went away as soon as I got a phone call from my endocrinologist.  I wasn't even home yet, so I didn't think it was a good sign.  I mean, she's not the kind of gal to just call to say hi, you know?  Apparently, the WBS had gone well.  Score!  However, some rogue thyroid cells showed up.  Boo!  There is no way to determine if these cells are cancerous or not, so we have to get rid of them.  You may be asking yourself how this will happen.   I get to do the RAI once again!  Double down, baby!    Next time, the dose will be a full treatment dose instead of a small test dose.  Once again, I'll get to hum some Imagine Dragons to myself.  Get it, y'all?  "Radioactive, radioactive..." Good stuff.

Anyhoo, that's the scoop.  The first week of June, I'll do the whole injection/RAI/WBS dance again.  I also get to do a low-iodine diet for a month before the next RAI as well as going off my Synthroid.  The idea is to starve my cells of iodine so they gobble up all the RAI that will consequently take them all out.  There's something really creepy about that if you stop to think about it.  If you had any plans to stop by to say hi, I would say to avoid most of May and the beginning of June.  I'll be tired from the lack of meds and glowing after the RAI.

(Credit: loyarburok.com)

Despite being terribly lonely for my family this week, it hasn't been all bad.  I have done a lot of reading and even gotten some organizing done.  Quite frankly, I'm humbled by all of the kind thoughts people have sent to me, and the kind things people have done for me.  I thank you all so much for thinking of me!  Lots of thanks have to go out to my parents for hosting 75% of the Wellses overnight as well as keeping them fed, entertained, and out of trouble.  Mostly.  Trevor has been incredibly supportive and patient, even sharing a twin bed with Dallas one night.  But I'm counting the minutes until tomorrow afternoon when I can hug my family members again.  I need, NEED, some super snuggle time, and I need it soon.

Just because I miss them and they're so stinkin' cute.

All in all, it wasn't the news I was hoping for, but I'm not discouraged.  I'm über-confident that we can hunt down and kill all the straggler-cells that have felt the need to stick around.  Too violent?  Nah, just perfect, I think.  Sorry, thyroid cells, but you're not welcome anymore.  Be gone!  Good day, cells.  I said good day!

Call it what you will

Until recently, I didn't know that quarantine and isolation had two different meanings.  Quarantine is separating healthy people who have been exposed to a disease to see if they become ill, and isolation is keeping sick people away from others so no one else becomes ill.  Fascinating!

Isolation, solitude, sequestration, seclusion...no matter what you call it, it's happening next week.  As of Wednesday, I am going into isolation after getting a test dose of radioactive iodine (RAI) at Northwestern.  As Lottie would say, don't freak out before I finish my sentence.  Nothing is wrong, but this is a follow-up test as I reach the second anniversary of my thyroid cancer diagnosis.  The RAI is used to see if any thyroid cells survived the total thyroidectomy; if there are any still around, we have to get rid of them so the cancer doesn't return and/or possibly spread.  No biggie, I promise.

I foolishly picked an endocrinologist in Chicago (although can you really blame me?) and so I get to put plenty of miles on my car next week driving to and from the city.  I visit my doc Monday and Tuesday mornings for injections of Thyrogen, a drug that basically makes me hypothyroid without having to skip weeks and weeks of my Synthroid.  Score!  I'm always exhausted and achy as it is, so can you imagine how I would be sans thyroid meds?  It's probably best not to think about it.  The downside to the Thyrogen is the crazy price tag.  Let's just say when the Humana representative told me how much of a co-pay I had to pony up, I found myself wishing I had a Victorian fainting couch and some smelling salts.

Me without meds
(Credit thebabycupcakes.blogspot.com)

 So that brings us to Wednesday.  I have to start fasting Tuesday night at midnight; considering I got to bed around 9 most nights, that shouldn't be an issue. Then, Wednesday morning, I go to the nuclear medicine division of Northwestern Hospital to get my very small dose of radiation.  After I drink that cup of loveliness, I have to come straight home so I don't infect anyone else, and I still have to fast for two more hours after that. Me without food is maybe worse than me without meds.  I return to Northwestern Friday morning for a full-body scan that will take approximately ninety minutes.  And thus ends my visits to the big city for the week.

Due to my radioactive status, I have to go into an isolation of sorts.  I can't be around the kids from Wednesday through Sunday, and I can't be around any adults for 48 hours.  Trevor and the kidlets are going to be spending quality time at my parents' house while I fly the yellow flag from home.  I wish Godspeed to them all.  Although I often find myself longing for time alone where I'm not interrupted every six seconds by the call of "MOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM," I am going to miss all of their faces so, so much.  I have mad love for the minion at Apple who invented FaceTime so I can at least give virtual kisses goodnight.

I have been selfishly and greedily hoarding books and magazines to keep me company during what I call The Incarceration.  I have loaded up my Kindle with cheap titles that I found on BookBub, and I have a certain series on Netflix that I am dying to finish.  I have grand plans to organize the storage area of our basement as well, but the books and the general sloth sound far more appealing.  However, I guarantee that I will not feel good about sitting around the house like a bump on a pickle, so it may be the perfect time for spring cleaning to begin.  Visions of uncluttered surfaces run rampant through my head...

(Credit: crappypictures.com)

Basically, this is just a heads-up for all y'all in the Region.  If you see me out and about on Monday, March 17, and I'm glowing or more frantic than usual, you can blame it on the radiation and The Incarceration.  However, if I'm looking suspiciously like the Incredible Hulk or Spider-Girl, back away slowly and do NOT make eye contact.  Maybe that's how you escape wolves and not superheroes, though.  In any case, I have a feeling it'll be a very happy wearin'-o'-the-green for me this year.  

Random doc a go-go

Last week, we headed back to Lexington for a few days.  Trevor had to work, and I had my next blood test to look forward to at the endocrinologist's office.  As I mentioned in a previous blog, my regular doc was out of town, so I was going to be seeing his partner.  I had never met the guy before, and I was worried that he wouldn't take my symptoms seriously.

The nurse drew my blood, and I waited in the packed waiting room for over an hour while the lab was getting my results.  There was not one free seat available, so I never got up once for fear of losing my comfy plastic chair.  I had my Kindle to keep me company, but I think I did a lot more people-watching and eavesdropping than reading.  I'm only human.

As soon as I was called in to see the doc, I could feel my heart start to race.  What if my levels were great and the exhaustion is from something else?  Worse, what if the exhaustion is all in my head?  Fortunately, sort of, my TSH levels were down significantly from my previous reading, but they were still no where near where they should be.  The doctor wants me between a 0.1 and a 0.2: I'm currently at a 22.  I was happy that the levels are dropping but frustrated that they're still so high.  The random doc said he would up my meds - again- and see if we could get the levels down.  I was a little taken aback because everyone who knows anything about thyroid meds is surprised by how much I am taking.  I asked the doc if I was a total freak for needing such a high dose.  After he stopped laughing, he assured me that I was not a freak at all.  Apparently some people metabolize the meds quicker than others, and my body needs what it needs.  Whew.  I'm not a total head case.  Well, not for that.

The doc said he didn't need to see me again for six months, but that doesn't work for me.  I cannot and will not feel like this for six more months.  SIX months?  No way, no how.  I need my energy, I need to not be fat as Jabba the Hut, and I need some relief.  Word.  So I booked an appointment with a doc here in town so I could get the test done sooner.  Plus, even though I really like the practice down there, I don't want to do the six-plus hour drive every two months until this is all fixed.

The doc did an ultrasound while I was there to make certain that there had been no regrowth of my cancer since the surgery.  After making the obligatory "It's a boy!" joke, he said that the ultrasound was clear: no cancer.  Even though I'm still not feeling 100%, I was relieved to hear that I'm still cancer-free.

The moving plague

If you saw my last post, you'll know that Lottie was really sick the day we moved into the new house.  After a day on antibiotics, she was feeling back to her normal self.  I was happy that she felt better, but I was a little sad in a way because she was back to being loud, loud, loud.  I was particularly annoyed with her constant talking as I tried to unpack boxes, but I didn't know at the time it was because I was also getting sick.

On the Sunday after The Move, I started feeling a little under the weather.  I chalked it up to all the stress of dealing with the shiftless movers and the constant exhaustion from the thyroid issues.  But when I woke up Monday morning, my throat hurt and my ears were hurting.  I had to take Lottie back to the doctor for her follow-up appointment that morning, so I figured I could call and see the doctor myself while we were there.  Au contraire.  When I called to get an appointment for me, I was told that because I was a new patient, there was no way I could be seen that day.  I was already on the edge, and hearing that news didn't sit well with me.  I hung up the phone and promptly burst into tears.  I wasn't sixty seconds into my tantrum when my cell phone rang with a call from a Lexington number.  It was my endocrinologist's office calling to say that my next appointment had to be rescheduled because both my doctor and his assistant would be out of town.  Uh huh.  GREAT timing.  I had been waiting for this appointment because I know that my thyroid medication still isn't working, and I need some answers before I start Hulk-smashing everything in sight.  Already in tears, I explained to the nurse on the phone that I was driving six hours to get to the appointment, and there was no way I was going to give up my slot.  She was very kind and said I could keep the appointment and see another doctor in the practice.  Crisis averted.  But I was still sick and feeling worse by the minute.  I visited a Minute Clinic at a local CVS and was diagnosed with an ear infection.  I left with a prescription and the hope that I would be much better the next morning.  You know where this is going, right?

Credit: http://www.rolemommy.com/sore-throat1.jpg

Tuesday morning arrived, and I felt worse.  My best friend Tiffany was coming from Colorado that day with her daughter Frankie, and I was willing myself to be instantly well.  I ended up sending T to pick them up from O'Hare because I didn't trust myself to make the drive.  I was so happy to see them that afternoon that I think I psyched myself into thinking everything was okay.  I continued to take my antibiotics, but by Wednesday afternoon, I knew something was still wrong.  I went to an off-hours clinic here in town out of sheer desperation, and wow, that was an experience.  The nurses were mean, the exam room was dirty, and I'm pretty sure there was blood on the wall.  That doctor said that if the antibiotics weren't working, my problem was probably viral.  He did a strep test and a mono test, and he promised to call in THREE DAYS with the results.  Three days?  Was he kidding?  (And, by the way, I never heard back from him.)  He sent me on my way with a prescription for cortisone pills and the advice to gargle with watered down Benadryl to ease my throat pain.  There were more tears from me, though this time I waited until I was alone in the car to lose it.  I was, as always, exhausted, I was in pain, and nothing was helping.  The next morning, my mom called and told me to get up and get dressed: my dad was taking me to another doctor.  I guess even when you're almost 40 years old, you're still your parents' baby.  My dad drove me to Franciscan ExpressCare where I filled out more forms and waited for someone else to dismiss my pain.  I was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by a great nurse and seen by a very kind doctor.  The doctor did another strep test and mono test, and I had immediate results: both tests were negative.  The doc was at a bit of a loss since the other antibiotics hadn't worked, so she decided a shot of something from the penicillin family was the way to go.  I was skeptical but I also knew I had nothing to lose.  By that afternoon, my sore throat was 90% gone.  I was thrilled but also waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Friday morning dawned beautiful and pain-free.  Yippee ki yay!!  I was able to go to the fair that afternoon with my dad, Tiffany, and the three kids and FINALLY truly enjoy their visit.  I don't know what my ailment was or why the oral antibiotics didn't work, but I'm grateful that I finally found someone who knew what she was doing to help.  Thanks, Dr. Pumputis!

There is no way I would have made it through the last few weeks without my family and friends.  My parents have been indispensable: they have helped with the kids, the house, and meals.  My brother and sister-in-law have moved furniture, watched the kids, and made us laugh and feel at home.  My buddy Jim Long came from Indianapolis to help unpack boxes and kick-start the organization process.  And Tiffany watched the kids while I napped during all of the sick, organized my kitchen, and kept me company while I was super-crabby and miserable.  T knows when to make me laugh, when to hug me,  and when to buy me chocolate. It can't get much better than that.  Thanks to all of you who have helped make the last few weeks bearable.

Now would be the perfect time to rest and get into a routine, right?  Negatory.  We're leaving for Lexington tomorrow morning for four days.  Trevor has some work to do there, and I have the appointment with the random endocrinologist Monday morning.  All I really want to do is finish putting things on the walls in my house and get fully settled-in, but I suppose that can wait until next week.  All that AND kindergarten registration.  Should be a typical few weeks to come.  :)

Boxes, tape, and a Sharpie

I have been spending an awful lot of time lately with my BFFs: boxes, packing tape, and a Sharpie marker.  The sound of ripping tape has become music to my ears because it means things continue to move (pun intended) along.

It has been a crazy couple of weeks for all of us.  We drove up to Valpo for my niece's graduation open house on June 16.  After staying a couple of days, we came back to Lexington and moved into my parents' condo so I could pack up the house without living full-time in the chaos. We went back to Valpo on June 27 and returned to the condo in Lexington on July 2.  It has been fantastic to have another place to stay, and I'm grateful to my parents for letting us take over their place.  But, man, it's exhausting running around town all day, every day.  Two days a week, I drop the kids off at summer camp at their preschool then go straight to the house to work.  At 1:00, I pick up the kids, hang out with them for a while at the condo, then take them to their grandparents' condo, conveniently located in the same subdivision as my parents' condo, for the afternoon.  The other days of the week, Nicole has the kids until noon, and then from 2:00 on, the kids go to their grandparents' condo again.  My in-laws must be exhausted from all the kid-time, and I'm so appreciative of their help.  Without them, I would have never gotten as much done as I have at this point in the process. 

I would say I'm about 75% finished packing up the house.  Then again, I tend to be hard on myself, so the percentage might be a little higher.  I am throwing things out and donating other things like mad, but we still have an insane amount of boxes.  Make a box, pack the box, tape the box closed, label the box, make an "x" with the appropriate color designation -red, white, or blue- for which floor it will go to in the new house, and repeat.  My mind is starting to go a little numb.  (And, yes, I am being that kind of packer, the kind who has color coding for each floor of the new house.  You know why?  Because the day the truck is unloaded, things are going to be crazy enough without me having to look at every single box and tell the movers where they go.  If that happens, I. Will. Lose. My. Mind.  So mock the big X's of red, white, and blue tape if you will, but I think it's pretty awesome.)

We returned this week from closing on the new house in Valpo.  Woohoo!  We got the keys on Thursday, and we immediately noticed that it was a little warm inside.  At first, no one was worried because it was 100 degrees outside, but when it was still warm on Friday, we knew there was a problem. My dad called an HVAC guy, and indeed, the air-conditioner was broken.  Kaput.  Gone.  Done.  Buh-bye.  At least we're starting our Hoosier adventure with a bang!  And did I mention that during the majority of the most recent trip to Valpo, Trevor was in Vegas for work?  Uh huh.  That's how he rolls.  And it was either raining or a squadzillion degrees? Thankfully, the new AC is scheduled to go in tomorrow, and I know that the guys who have been painting every room in that house will be grateful when it's finally less than 85 degrees inside. 

So, it has been a little overwhelming, and I know it's not going to get better anytime soon.  I'm still exhausted from the thyroid issues.  I'm not great at waiting under normal circumstances, but waiting for the Synthroid to kick in while I'm trying to get The Move underway is almost impossible.  The doc won't do another blood test to check my levels until the first week of August, so we'll be trekking back to Lexington then.  My poor car has had enough of the 6+ hour drive and being covered in Skittles, M&Ms, and the cries of "Why does it take so long?"  But the Flex has to suck it up and return me to the doc so I can try to get my groove back. 

But when I really look at it, things have gone pretty smoothly so far.  The kids have adjusted well to the constant travel, the new living situation, and the general schedule upheaval.  (Hey, Karma gods, don't feel the need to punish me now by making them go crazy, okay?  I'm teetering on the edge as it is.)  I hate that I'm not spending as much time with them as I'm used to doing, but the house has to get packed.  The truck is coming in less than a week, and I want to be ready.  I think we're all ready to start the new chapter. 

Packing and dragging

I have been just the teensiest bit busy lately.  Go figure.

The kids are out of school (boo!) but summer school starts a week from Monday (yay!).  Don't get me wrong: I love them and love spending time with them.  However, trying to get the house packed with them around is a Sisyphean task, and the time is drawing closer to The Move.  Things have to get done, and they need to be done soon.  I want to pack as much as I can now so I can have at least a little bit of time before The Move to have fun in Lexington with the kids and see some friends as well.

All of this is made more difficult by my own fatigue.  Since I had the total thyroidectomy a couple of months ago, I have been really tired.  I don't mean the normal end-of-the-day tired; I mean I-can't-make-it-through-the-day-with-a-clear-thought-or-without-a-nap kind of tired.  Having two little kids running around makes the nap situation impossible, and loads of caffeine haven't helped, either.  I wake up after a full night's sleep feeling utterly unrefreshed and unwilling to start the day.  I have never been a morning person, but it's really getting ridiculous.  My follow-up appointment with my endocrinologist was scheduled for the first week of July, but I knew I couldn't make it that long without seeing him.  I was able to get an appointment to see his Physician's Assistant, and when I got off the phone, I wept with relief.

As soon as I got to the office the day of my appointment, the nurse took a blood sample and sent it off to the lab.  I had to wait an hour for my results before I could see the PA, so I was glad I had my Kindle with me.  (And, by the way, what's up with that scheduling?  My appointment was at 1:00: shouldn't I have arrived at noon for the blood test so my appointment could really be at 1:00 instead of 2-ish?  Call me crazy, but that just might have worked!)  As soon as I finally saw the PA, she asked me to describe my symptoms.  That wasn't difficult because there were almost too many to list.   After my litany of complaints, she told me that a normal TSH (thyroid-stimulating hormone) level is 0.4 to 6.0.  The doctor is actually trying to keep my level to the lower side, around 0.4, because too much TSH in my system could trigger regrowth of the cancer.  The PA studied my lab results and let me know that my TSH level was at a 42.  So, yeah, things were pretty out of whack.  I cried then, too, because I was relieved that the fatigue wasn't just in my head.  The PA upped my dose of Synthroid immediately, but the meds take a long time to work.  She said it could be months or even over a year before I feel like myself again.  Hey, thanks, PA.  (There may have been more tears at that point, but I don't want to embarrass myself further.)

Synthroid, cruel mistress of my fate

I totally understand that my body has been through a lot, and as my awesome hairstylist Justin said this morning, apparently the thyroid just isn't something to mess around with.  Logically, I know it's going to take time and adjustment to get me to the level where I need to be.  Emotionally, though, I am totally OVER it.  I don't have time to be exhausted: Mama has a house to pack.  I want to see my friends before we move, get pumped up for my niece's graduation party (and have I mentioned she's going to play volleyball at Purdue next year?  Squeeeeee!), finish packing, play with my kids, and not feel like I'm living in a dense fog every moment of every day.  This isn't who I am.  I do everything at warp speed, and I love crossing things off my daily to-do list.  I do not love feeling sub-par at best.  I had faith before that everything would turn out okay after the surgery, and I have faith now that I'll return to normal again someday.  But, man, I really wish that someday could be today.

Okay, I'm done whinging.  (That's a little Harry Potter reference for y'all.)

By the way, does anyone out there want to buy my house?  Please?  :)

The Blight

Last Friday afternoon, I got a phone call from Amy, my surgeon's assistant, with the results of the biopsy.  The conversation only lasted a few minutes, and I really only heard one word: cancer.

I spent the rest of that afternoon in a sort of fugue state.  My mind sort of went all blank and fuzzy; it wasn't entirely unpleasant, to tell you the truth.  Amy had assured me that the doctor got all of the cancer when he removed the left lobe of the thyroid and that I shouldn't worry.  Uh huh.  Thanks, Amy.  I had so many questions, but I knew I had to wait until my follow-up appointment on Thursday to get answers from my doctor.  I didn't think about it too much the rest of the weekend because we were busy and I didn't see the point in worrying.  After all, the cancer was gone, and considering I didn't find out about it until after the fact, there was no point in getting all worked up about it.

That worked pretty well until today.  My surgeon called this afternoon, and as soon as I heard him identify himself, I knew something was up.  My appointment with him was in less than 48 hours: why call me now?  He said that the pathology report showed signs of capsular invasion, and he said the other lobe of my thyroid needs to come out.  Soon.  The good news is that there is no sign of the cancer in my lymph nodes, so hopefully the removal of the rest of the thyroid will make certain that never happens.

The woozy feeling returned; again, it wasn't a bad feeling.  There may have been a teeny bit of denial thrown in for good measure.  As I made the kids dinner, I thought, "Huh.  I have cancer."  Although I know it's real, it doesn't seem real quite yet.  In fact, it seems downright surreal that in a couple of weeks, I'll go back to the same hospital to have the same incision opened and wake up in the same recovery room.  As much as I don't want to go through it all again, I know that I don't have a choice.  I need to get this out of my body and start healing.

The doctor wanted to do the surgery next week, but he agreed to wait two weeks so I could go on a planned trip out of town.  I made sure that waiting won't jeopardize my health in any way, and I'll reconfirm that on Thursday.  I need this trip, though.  I'm going to visit my BFF in Colorado for a few days of fun, visiting with friends, Chinese food, trashy TV, shopping, more Chinese food, a stay at the famed Stanley Hotel, and a lot of laughing.

The Stanley Hotel where Stephen King got the inspiration to write _The Shining_.  Squeeeee!!!

I'm really not too freaked out, all in all.  I have faith that everything is going to turn out just fine.  And I can't let this consume me, my family, and my life.  Plus, my badass scar will be even more badass the second time around.  I didn't think I could get much cooler than I already am, but apparently, I can.  And I will.

Inconclusive

So, a week ago, I had a hemithyroidectomy.  Before you rush to google, a hemithyroidectomy is when half of one's thyroid is removed.  And I have a pretty badass scar to flaunt.   

You should see the other guy...

 

During the surgery, the left lobe of my thyroid was removed and sent to pathology.  The initial results looked good; there was no invasion of bad cells.  The sample was then sent off for a more thorough test and was to be returned within 48 hours.  I spent Friday night in the hospital - ugh - and was able to go home Saturday late-morning.  I felt pretty good, albeit hungry after a diet of beef broth and gelatin.  I took a 3 hour nap (!) on Saturday afternoon, and by Sunday, I felt almost back to normal.

Monday and Tuesday came and went without any word from the doctor about the second pathology report.  I started calling on Wednesday, and I finally got someone to call me back Thursday afternoon.  Apparently the results were inconclusive and the sample was sent somewhere else for a second opinion.  Okay.  When I asked the nurse who called me what that meant, she said, "Well, inconclusive means the doctor couldn't make a determination one way or another from the sample."  Gee, thanks for the vocabulary lesson.  So now I wait until the second opinion comes back.

I think everyone else around me is far more freaked out about the inconclusive result than I am.  I'm surprisingly Zen about the whole thing.  I mean, there isn't anything I can do about it but wait.  No matter what the new results are, everything is going to be fine.  I figure that the universe wouldn't mess with me after it waited so long to send me my beautiful family and my beautiful life.  

The only problem now, other than the waiting, is the fatigue.  Holy cow, am I tired.  And it's not just the kind of tired after missing a few nights of sleep.  This is the kind of tired that makes me completely unable to function.  I have headaches with the fatigue, and all I want to do is lie on the couch.  That's not the kind of wife and mother I want to be. 

I have an appointment with an endocrinologist, but I can't get in to see him for two weeks.  I called my GP and basically begged to be seen, and I have an appointment with her today at noon.  I can deal with a heck of a lot, but I can't deal with being so rundown that I can't interact with my family and friends.  Keep your fingers crossed for me that we can find a solution to get me back to my former energy level.

I wouldn't have been able to do all of this without the support and help of my family and friends, especially Trevor, my parents, and Nicole.  Knowing that I have people behind me and cheering me on is the best thing in the world.  And thanks to all of you who have asked how I am and sent encouraging messages.  You guys rock!!!!