The End

This blog was born in July 2010 to document my crazy-ass midlife crisis/adventure in the U.S. Army (the first post aptly being titled "WTF?").  It then morphed into reporting on my war with cancer, while still serving in the Army.   Today, the Next Little Adventure ends.  I have been medically retired from the Army, and its time to start the next chapter of this precious thing called life. 

The past two months have been a whirlwind - finishing up my medical treatment, attending all the required transition briefings, filling out forms about forms to request a form to fill out the required form, returning all my Army gear, celebrating my 48th birthday, getting the RV organized, and planning a party to celebrate my promotion and retirement.  

Leaving the Army is bittersweet.  On one hand, I'm so excited to be going off on this adventure with Doug.  On the other, I was just promoted to MAJ, and with that would have come the opportunity to lead groups of junior officers and senior NCOs.  It feels a little bit like I let cancer win because I didn't fight back against the Army's decision to medically retire me.  But I knew that physically, I'd never be able to keep up with my Soldiers, and I absolutely did not want to be one of those officers!  I also came face-to-face with the truth that every minute of life is precious, and I didn't want to spend another one of those minutes away from what I love most:  my pack.  

I'll be working part time while we are on the road, teaching two online undergrad courses for my alma mater, State University of New York at Oswego.  I can do that any time of day, from anywhere that I have internet access, so its a pretty sweet deal.  Oh, and I enjoy it a hell of a lot more than I ever enjoyed my work as an attorney!  

Here's some pictures from all the celebrations the past month.  

With my two favorite ladies in the JAG Corps and Doug after the ceremony.

With two of my JAGC mentors - LTC (Ret.) Frank Rosenblatt and LTC Keirsten Kennedy.

LTC Lisa Satterfield and LTC Keirsten Kennedy - phenomenal leaders and forever friends. 

"Attention to Orders" - making my promotion official.

Doug replacing my CPT shoulder boards with MAJ rank.

Recognizing Doug for his contributions to the Army as a spouse.

Celebrating with James & Brookes, who came to San Antonio for the festivities.

Birthday cocktails - 48 years young!

So now my Army adventure is finished.   It was an amazing adventure and I have zero regrets.  Now I am a retiree with a DD214, no deadlines, no BlackBerry, and no more Sunday-night dread.  Doug always said "retirement is about 'want to' not 'have to'".  That's us now.  We'll be documenting our new adventures over at the Nomadic Norvells blog - follow our adventures there! 

MAJ (Ret.) Jennifer Norvell.  Out.    

Port Be Gone!!

Today, I got my chemo port removed.  This was the last physical remnant of all the chemo.  They just cut me open (with local anesthesia) and yanked it out. 

Not to gross anyone out, but this is what was in me:

Every time I got a chemo infusion, or needed blood drawn, or needed anesthesia, they'd just poke it right there in the center and it would go straight into my veins.

When the surgeon (same guy who cut off my boobs) yanked it out, he said "well you had a purple heart, but now I'm taking it away".  No really, it was all in good humor, so it was OK. 

Because we've shared so much the past year an a half, I'll show you the scar from taking the port out:

Yep, that's it.  I'm done.  Of course, since the port came out, that probably means the cancer will come back STAT.  But, the surgeon did say it was no trouble to put it back in, so I think that balances things. 

I am now FREE of all things cancer.  Woohoooooo!  Bring on the retirement celebrations!!!

Survivor!

Last winter, when I was in the thick of battle with the ChemoPoison monster, I read a post on a fellow Survivor Sister's blog in which she described walking a 5K fundraiser wearing a pink Survivor sash and cape!  In those days, I couldn't imagine walking to the other end of the RV, nevermind doing a 5K.  But I promised myself that if I made it to May 2018, I was going to do one of those 5Ks and wear my damned Survivor shirt with pride.   Today was that day.

No cape, but I got the shirt!

I walked the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure in San Antonio with the Miracle Mile Steppers team from SAMMC (the hospital at which I got all my treatment).  There were two other survivors on the team and a whole bunch of doctors and nurses from the clinics.  I didn't think it would be emotional, but damn, being with all those fellow survivors really hit me in the feels.  Most of the team stayed together and it made for a fun, almost leisurely stroll through downtown SATX.

One highlight was being able to spend time with Bianca, Breast Nurse Extraordinaire at SAMMC.  During the diagnosis and surgery phases of my treatment, that woman saw some seriously messy crying from me; there was at least one full-on meltdown that made her run to get the doctor (who, upon seeing that there was no blood, rolled his eyes and went back to other patients).   I never knew nurses could specialize in just one body part, but now that I know how much stuff gets thrown at you all at once with this diagnosis, I sure am glad she was there to help me navigate it all.

Breast Nurse Bianca (yes she's wearing pink butterfly wings and antennae!)

Of course, Best Husband in the World was right there with me,
and didn't complain a bit when I draped him with a pink scarf!

Even Sunday gussied herself up for the event!

After the walk, Doug and Sunday walked over to the Riverwalk with me for breakfast and a mimosa.  I realized later that not only was today my survivor-tshirt-wearing-day, but it is also the one year anniversary of the final dose of the full-blown ChemoPoison (a/k/a Triple Cocktail).  Hey, some people celebrate Cinco de Mayo by getting drunk and eating tacos; I just kick cancer's ass.  😄

One year since chemo = SURVIVOR!

So with that, I'm considering this chapter of my little adventure closed.  Cancer has been a journey that I never thought I'd take, and one I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.  But it sure did teach me how to appreciate the little things and really be alive.  And for that, I'm grateful.    #alive

All the things they don't tell you

"It's temporary", they said.

"The worst part is over in 18 weeks", they said.

"Herceptin doesn't have any side effects", they said.

"Oh hell, I can stand on my head for a year - let's do it", I said.


They didn't tell me that the chemo would damage the nerves in my feet so badly that I would never be able to fully enjoy a long walk ever again. 

They didn't mention that the chemo would damage the connective tissues in my joints so badly that I would forever be in some degree of constant pain or discomfort.

They outright lied to me when they said the "brain fog" that keeps me from concentrating on my work, or remembering simple things like why I walked into a room, would get better after the chemo stopped.

They promised my hair would grow back, but they forgot to mention that my fingernails would be so soft they would routinely tear off, or that my skin would forever be so dry that it cracks and bleeds.

But I'm alive.  So that's something, right?

I'm not sure if this will get better.  The oncologist tells me his job is to kill the cancer, which he did, and these are issues for my PCM.  My PCM looks at me with fear, writes a bunch of useless referrals, and hopes my oncologist will fix what he broke with his poison.  And I dig deep, trying to find a way to grit through the pain, to focus through the fog, all while keeping a positive attitude and fighting spirit. 

But, I am tired.  Tired of the pain.  Tired of medical appointments.  Tired of being out of shape.  Tired of being constantly tired.  The whole #alive thing only gets me so far.

Oh, and did I mention that the Army no longer wants me in its ranks (despite selecting me for promotion to MAJ) because I'm simply not fit enough to deploy again.  Or run a PT test.  Or stay awake at my desk. 

Luckily, I have Doug in my corner.  Not once has he ever suggested that I should just "fight through it" or "put mind over matter".  Not once has he complained when I had to cancel plans, or spend half my day sleeping.  I know how lucky I am to have a partner who accepts the new me, and loves me (and my newly acquired "muffin top") despite the fact that I'm not the same person he married. 

This is reality.  Cancer doesn't get "cured".  I'm not "healed".  Just because the hair on my head (but not my eyebrows or eyelashes) has grown back doesn't mean I'm back to normal.  My joints hurt.  My feet burn.  My scars shoot lightning bolts into my armpits.  I can't remember your name.  This is the new normal.  This is the reality of cancer. 

#alive #reality #fuckcancer