Why do you dream?

I have always wondered…why do we dream? Is it because of deep seeded fears (rational or irrational)? Fears that just fester, but don’t really culminate? Like why do I constantly dream of missing an exam when I haven’t been in school for over 10 years? Is it baggage from my academic years, or am I afraid of missing events in my future? Either way, no big deal right? It was all just a dream.

Except for the recurring dream that one day I would get lung cancer like my mom did. But even that dream makes no sense, because well, they have yet to show that it is genetic, and there is absolutely no screening for someone like me. The only screening is my own paranoia and fear that statistically makes me at an elevated risk. How elevated? Who knows. At what point in my life? Who knows. It’s all just a dark, dark hole…except for my dreams.

My dreams have been talking to me since my mother died of stage 4 lung cancer 10 years ago. My instinct told me to get fit, to run, to be strong and healthy. My dreams told me to be fearful, and watch over myself. So in 2019 when a second bout of a lengthy bronchitis was lingering for about 6 months, I decided it was time to see a pulmonologist. I mean I needed one anyways right? My sole purpose in seeing someone was to make sure I didn't have a lingering infection that needed treatment, but then I could inquire about lung cancer screening. Fantastic I thought!

In Spring of 2019 I walked into UCSF Pulmonology and said diagnose my bronchitis. The doctor kept focusing on my mom’s history, and I was almost offended. Sure, yes, she died of lung cancer, and sure yes, I had nightmares of having cancer too, but these were all just wounds coming out in sleep. Nothing was anywhere close to reality. And then my chest x-ray showed a blurry spot, and then a CT scan showed a very small “ground glass nodule,” and then the doctor said “let us just watch and wait to see if it grows over time.” At that point my approach shifted, and I basically said “with all due respect, if YOU doctor are SO concerned about my inheriting lung cancer, then should you not just take it the F out?!”

I got nowhere with my pulmonologist or UCSF despite their fear of what it could ultimately be. I took matters into my own hands and thanks to my husband was able to get into a hospital in Colorado that specializes in lung health. That summer we flew to the hospital for 2 days of comprehensive testing (CT scans, MRIs, of the entire body), and who knows how many highly skilled physicians (probably 10+) diagnosed me with an AVM. They freed me from my fears, wished me well in life, and said congratulations.

Life moved on. I recovered from my trauma of the whole experience. I went through 2 egg retrievals, multiple transfers, and got pregnant with Kane at the end of 2019. I carried him and birthed him, all in a pandemic. We moved our entire lives from San Francisco to Seattle. And then just as we were getting settled and out of newborn/pandemic/relocation/winter stress, the Colorado doctor emailed me (summer 2021) to get a follow up scan just to be sure all was unchanged. At this point life was pretty great. We had just done 5 weeks in Iceland as a family, and had arrived home to a glorious Seattle summer. I didn't rush the scan at all, because we had no reason to be alarmed, and finally had it taken a couple months later.

“Lauren, the spot is larger (albeit is slightly). We still think it’s an AVM, so you might need an embolization. Please go see my friend at Swedish Seattle for next steps.” Cue appointment with new doctor. “Hi Lauren, I admire the doctors in Colorado who took care of you and they are some of the best in the nation. But I respectfully disagree with their assessment. You need a PET scan immediately.” Cue PET Scan and normal result, then follow up call. “Lauren, PET was normal which is great, but fact remains the spot is larger, so it grew, and your mom had lung cancer. You are young, let’s take this bullshit out of you.” Cue 2 weeks later and lung surgery (wedge resection of the nodule). Cue surgeon coming in the next morning. “We are shocked Lauren. Pathologist saw adenocarcinoma immediately. We will have full biopsy results in a week, and decide then if we have to go back in to remove more or not.”

October (2021)

And so here I sit, writing this real time, recovering from major surgery with 3 incisions on my side, awaiting my final pathology report and next steps. Part of my brain wanders into trauma land remembering my poor mom. About 75% of my brain reminds myself I am young, this is early, I am fine. And in full honesty, I do think I am going to be fine. No one seems to think I would need treatment beyond surgery, my scans have all been clear (crazy, right?), and so this must just be so early the nodule has been growing slowly and only within itself. I can crush another surgery as I did this one. And what a small price to pay for the rest of my life.

It’s Fall. The trees are turning neon red and yellow. The leaves are falling down. Maybe these moments in life are meant to shake us up so that we can better prioritize our minds and decisions. I spend so much damn time worrying about tiny little details of my kids’ lives, many of which probably won’t matter in the long run. I spend so much damn time telling my husband I am too worn out to get dressed up and go out. I am “all in” on an international vacation, but I shy away from more local trips because it’s all such a pain with 3 kids. I constantly tell myself I am a failure because my 3.5 year old who has been perfectly potty trained since before 2 now delights in going in her pants. I am a failure because I have my 5 year old in so many beautiful activities, but she’s too busy and doesn't have enough time to just relax at home or get really, really good at ONE thing. I am a failure because my 3.5 year old doesn't do enough activities. I am a failure because my newly minted toddler sometimes doesn't get out of the house, and misses me all afternoon when I am a chauffeur for the elders. I am a failure because I love my husband so much, but I often ignore what he says out of exhaustion and turn down dates. I am a failure because I don’t work, so how can I show my kids the value in a career when they never saw me practice as an attorney or do business development for startups/Facebook? I am bad at making friends and finding hobbies, probably because so much of me is just focused on the kids still. They are young, I tell myself, and I have so long to get back into me.

But here’s the thing. Just like I don’t wait to travel, I shouldn't also wait on myself while my kids grow. The time is always just now. The kids are happy, healthy and loved. My husband just wants to hang out with me. And I have been wanting to make new friends and take on new hobbies for so very long. So now is the time.

Because I do have cancer. Early? Yes. Stage 1? Yes. Well, likely. Confirmed in full detail soon. But I have it. I have a beautiful, beautiful life, and I will not let this inject negativity into it. Rather, it has to be a message from the universe that dreams can be real, and that challenges arrive to shake you up in the best of ways in the long run. I am going to be done with this. Then I am going to train for a half marathon, force new friends to hang out with me, take piano lessons again, let the kids just be kids (and laugh about the struggles), and say yes to my husband more. Easier said than done as we all know, but at least I’m all stirred up ready for some change in my life.

Going through something like this also makes you realize who your rocks are in life. Who keeps you whole? Find them and hold onto them. And for those who don’t believe that the universe talks to you, let me serve as proof that it does. Someone was telling me to watch my health. Maybe it was my mom, maybe it was my grandma, maybe it was God, maybe it was just the “universe.” Whoever, and however, I listened. I F listened.

3 weeks later…9 days post op from surgery 2

It has been a while since I have touched this narrative now. I got my full pathology report, and although the cancer was minimally invasive, it had spread to “airspace,” a relatively new concept. As a result, I needed a lobectomy pretty immediately. Although no one suspected they would find cancer elsewhere, they needed to take the lobe out to be sure as well as lymph nodes. I spent most of the time between news and surgery 2 worried beyond belief but hiding it as best I could. I was determined to enjoy my time with my family (including a trip to Mexico!) leading up to the surgery, which would be much bigger than the prior one. But my brain could not turn off, and some days while I felt OK, other times I would sit on the floor of the shower crying hysterically. What if?

The day quickly approached. I woke up at 5 am and went straight to surgery. Un-F-believable. I was nothing short of terrified. Doctor said surgery would be 2.5 hours, he would call Matt, and they rolled me away. For over 5 hours, Matt sat alone in the main lobby of the hospital with 0 information. For him, this was the first time he actually thought something may have happened to me. It had, sort of, but clearly I made it through. He thought I might have died…in reality, I had massive amounts of adhesions around the lobe that had to be removed and another doctor had to be called in to assist.

When I awoke and was off the surgical meds, it was like a horror film. People started panicking I might need a blood transfusion because I was losing so much blood (I did not end up having one), I had 2 (not 1) chest tubes in me, my left side of my body was numb and tingling (side I was laying on during surgery), I had an air leak in my lungs, and my pain was through the roof. If I thought it was going to be bad, it was worse. I spent 6 days in the hospital, and the air leak persisted, so eventually I convinced them to send me home with 1 chest tube. As someone who prides themselves on feeling and experiencing, I refused all pain meds about 2–3 days in. Now 9 days post op at home, with a chest tube remaining, and the pain is still pretty bad. I keep telling myself I just have to make it to tube removal in 3 days (but who’s counting).

As I have been laying here recovering, all that has been on my mind other than the pain is that new pathology report. Plan was to wait until my post op appointment to discuss, but thanks to MyChart and doctors being forced to use it, I found the report. They removed 12(!) lymph nodes. No sign of anything anywhere, final staging is stage 1. Cue MASSIVE sigh of relief. I should be popping some champagne, but I just can’t. Let’s get this tube out, let’s hear this from the doctors themselves, and let’s hear them tell me that although I will be monitored 99% of people in my situation do NOT have recurrence. That is the level of confidence that I really need to try to move on from this trauma, and even then it is going to take me a very very long time. You can be assured that before every scan, I will be a wreck. Before every result, I will think bad things and good things and bad things. And then I will move on, and repeat. Because still, I cannot fathom how this all happened, and to me.

As I await my final big appointment, I am left pondering what has been easy, hard and surprising for me. Easy? Recovering from a wedge lung resection compared to a lobectomy (ha!). Letting my family and friends love me and help me. Hard? This second surgery. Sleeping. Nightmares. Panic attacks. Taking care of a 1 year old who I can’t lift. Being present with the kids when I am scared shitless. Expecting a couple people to care who didn’t really seem to (just a reality of life). Surprising? How F amazing I think I handled this whole thing from its inception. How proud of myself I am for managing my emotions throughout this process, when I am a glass half empty kinda girl who worries incessantly. How proud of myself I am for researching all of the medical information on my situation, and asking all of the questions I could to best understand my body (I wish I had become a physician to be totally honest with you). It’s these endless surprises that really kept me going through the journey, many of which came from within.

The Kids. Fears, anxieties, yes. Mostly Sadie who is the most inquisitive. But overall, these kids have been MY rocks. They are gentle with me, they help me and love me, and they are just happy to see my face. The tube doesn't scare them. I try to share as much as I can medically with them so that they can begin to appreciate the power of medicine, doctors and nurses. I try to show bravery (although I have cried in front of them) and confidence even when faced with so much fear. I hope they remember this time as one when Mom was a badass. Because I am!

Present time

I never quite finished my story because after that first post op nothing seemed to really go my way. So finally, here I am in April 2022, with the energy to tie up loose ends.

The day after I wrote my last entry above, I walked into the office for my post op. I was REALLY excited, expecting this F tube to finally come out. I knew immediately it was not based on the nurse’s facial expression. When the doctor joined her, I collapsed into tears, and turns out so had my lung. The lung had collapsed from not sealing, and they wanted me to go back into the hospital. I refused…until I hugged my kids one more time. I rushed home to Kane and loved him until his nap, then rushed to school pick up to see my girls, then feeling pretty F horrible had them drop me off at the hospital.

I spent another 7 days there, counting every day/moment I was missing with my kids. My emotional state plummeted, as the leak persisted. And finally, they sent me home ONCE AGAIN WITH THE SAME CHEST TUBE, for another 7 days to see if it would finally close. I spent Thanksgiving at home, with a chest tube. My mental state broke. And then right when I could handle no more of anything, on Monday Nov. 29, 2021, the tube came out. I was ecstatic…until a 102 fever hit me due to an infection and had me bedridden for days. After an immediate ER visit, and an in office visit, and 2 rounds of antibiotics, I finally, was on the mend.

To recap… October, 2021 wedge resection…November, 2021 lobectomy…chest tube in for 1 whole month + 1 bonus hospital stay in addition to the 2 surgeries.

Fast forward to March 2022. Each week I got better. I trained and ran my half marathon, 8 minutes faster than 8 years ago (which was pre kids). My right side is pretty F’ed to be honest. It’s tight, difficult to lift weights compared to my left side, and I have ongoing nerve damage and pain. But my heart and lungs feel great, my activity is back to normal, and I feel like I crushed this disaster. The scars and pain are constant reminders that it still has not been very long, and I need to be gentle on myself. I appreciate that.

In January I was blessed to spend 1 week away processing and decompressing. My biggest takeaway was that this experience wasn't so so bad. Most of my pain was tied to my mom’s trauma, and I needed to let that go. And in fact, she is one of many who saved my life. So to my beautiful mother, thank you. To my doctors, thank you. To my family, thank you. My journey has only begun (first scan is in May), my recovery has only begun, but my heart has found peace and love. Be safe out there friends, and always open yourself up to the sounds of the universe. Life is quite the ride.