Rebound from treatment #2

...Is taking longer. No vomiting this time though, but lingering hangover. Goodie.

Lost my hair and my taste for coffee. In other words, my head is cold and aching.

In other news, my post-Christmas house is very untidy. 

Until I feel better though, you can find me on the couch. 

Love and Muah.

Hair me out

A little trip through cancer as displayed by my hair.


Once upon a time I had perfect hair:

See:

This cut is courtesy of the amazing magic of Angie. After searching for many years for someone who understood my hair, I finally found her.

Angie held my hand and lead me down the path of embracing my hair and my quirks. (While at the same time I held her hand through the birth of her 2nd born, but that's another post for another time.)

 At one point a few years ago, Angie gracefully asked, "Are we to the point in our relationship were we can talk about mousse?" I just laughed and laughed. Right there in her chair, wearing the cape, with a wet head and half cut hair. Guess what I left the salon with that day?

I busted out crying the day Angie told me she was moving away. Not only is she an awesome person, she was my hair queen.

After I learned about the cancer, I got really protective of my hair. Cutting it was out of the question until absolutely necessary:

One week later, it became necessary:

This awesome cut was given to me by Jenn at Indigo Salon. For you local folk, Jenn is not only a wizard at hair but a super cool lady. If you need to get your hair cut, call Jenn. She'll have you looking fab in no time.

Did you know that hair can actually hurt when its about to fall off your head. Hence:

It looks cool enough, I guess.

Problem is, this bad ass style isn't work friendly. So, I have a wig for work:

Which, is ok. Its itchy though. And I'll never rock this style as well as Jenny G. Like, never.

I have mixed feelings about my flurry of new styles. On one had I like trying different things. On the other hand, I really loved my hair. Its a mixed bag.

Good thing it will grow again once this is all over. Who knows what it will be like then.


Confidential to my cancer crew (you know who you are): I'm writing a post for you girls. Been thinking about things since our last dinner and want to share some thoughts. Spoiler: I love you girls.

Remember Me?

Whenever I do busy work, data-entry, the dishes, folding clothes, I have to listen to music. Music seems to help my hands, body and brain all sync up to do the work that I need to do, but am not terribly excited about.

Today it was data-entry with Sea Wolf. Old World Romance is an album that reminds me of this last summer. All the fun things I did with my family, which kind of culminated in a quick trip to the Indiana Dunes, sans kiddo.

I’m not proud to admit it, but the trip came about not from careful planning or even by consulting Bryan. It was the result of the following, “I’m going. Would you like to come?” I’m one of those people that have to get away sometimes.

It starts with a little tic in my left eyebrow, which rises at pretty much everything I hear. After a while, this tic transforms into an irritation in my brain, like an itch that won’t stop being itchy. Then, every CVS or grocery store I see makes me want to ram my car through the double glass doors of said establishments. Thereafter, the breathing of other humans seems to be a personal attack against my inner peace.

It’s then I know, without a doubt, I need a change of scenery.

And that’s how we got to the Dunes. I pried my Introverted home-body away from his beloved home and into the driver’s seat of a car. I packed our camping gear but had no plan and no real clue about where we were going. I just wanted to go, so we pointed the car north and we went.

When we got there, I hoped that the fresh dune air and the seagulls would act as a kind of salve to the forced spontaneity and summer traffic. And it did. It was one of those rare weekends this summer where it was hot enough to feel like summer during the day but still chilly at night, perfect for camping. Once we had our fill of the dunes on that first afternoon, we went back to our camp. Bryan, who was a devotee of Vulcan in his last life, set to work on the fire. Once it was going, he got me a glass of champagne, cracked open a beer for himself and turned on Old World Romance.

Thinking about it now makes me smile. That trip will stave off that twitch in my left eyebrow for a long time. I felt so totally free. For that day I was: a solo trip with my man, sleeping under the stars, sand in front of a body of water that could be mistaken for the ocean out of the corner of one’s eye. No dishes. No chores, no screens. Not a care in the world, save how I might go about secretly consuming a cold beer on the beach.  Suddenly, the sound of other human beings was like music to me. Bliss, even. My plan worked.  

Fast forward to December; fast forward to today. Listening to that album brings all that back. I find myself smiling. Thinking, I remember that version of me: the carefree, cancer-free version. I miss that woman; things are so very different today.

Instead of thinking about how long pig-tails are the best camping hairstyle ever, I’m picking up my wig. Rather than reflecting on how champagne tastes just as good from a red solo cup, I plan my day around eating and drinking more cleanly. Rather than making a mini stone wall (from our chairs all the way down to the water) I’m resting in all my free time.

So many changes, I hardly recognize myself today. And tomorrow and Monday and Tuesday, when my hair is finally all gone, I will recognize myself even less. I miss that other woman. Maybe, someday, I can be her again, if only for one precious day.

Rebound

It’s been over a week since I had my first treatment. I can’t express how happy I feel to have passed that milestone.

Honestly though it wasn’t as bad as I thought.

When I’ve heard about or think about someone undergoing chemotherapy I have always imagined the worst. Namely, if they aren’t walking among us with their turban and pasty skin they are in bed on the brink of death.

Don’t get me wrong, chemo is certainly no walk in the park. It’s poison, there’s no way around that. After the chemo drugs leave your body, in about 2 days, your body is left to recover from the damage. And from what I know about these drugs, that damage is nuclear.

My body, the one who has been working tirelessly on my behalf day and night to keep this cancer contained in the best way it could, now has to deal with the effects of these toxic drugs.

These drugs though also happen to be what I have to endure in order to be cured. So I’ll take them. Willingly, lovingly and give my body every grace she deserves to help her, help me.

And what grace looks like today are the simplest of things: rest, nourishment and time with my family. Internally though it’s been about developing a practice of receiving love. In all its forms: meals, kind words, good thoughts, prayers, hugs, company and companionship. It’s not easy for me, but I’m soaking it all in. Letting you all help me and hold me in all these ways so I can heal.

The gratitude I feel and the love that I feel is indescribable. When someone shows up for you in the moment when you need it most, that is medicine; the best medicine. You all are my medicine and your love is helping me give myself the space I need to heal.

This time next year I will be cancer free and it will be in part because of you. And you. And you, and you. And for this I am eternally grateful.

Love and Muah and Namaste
(my spirit bows to the spirit within you)

The Invitation

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.

I want to know what you ache for,

And if you dare to dream of meeting

Your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are.

I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool

For love, for your dream,

For the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon.

I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow,

If you have been opened by life's betrayals,

Or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain,

Mine or your own,

Without moving

To hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy,

Mine or your own,

If you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes

Without cautioning us to be careful, realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true.

I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself,

If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.

I want to know if you can be faithless and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty

Even when it is not pretty every day,

And if you can source your own life

From its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure,

Yours and mine,

And still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon,

"Yes!"

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.

I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair,

Weary and bruised to the bone,

And do what needs to be done for the children.

It doesn't interest me who you are, how you came to be here.

I want to know if you will stand

In the center of the fire with me

And not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.

I want to know what sustains you

From the inside

When all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone

With yourself,

And if you truly like the company you keep

In the empty moments.

By Oriah Mountain Dreamer

Hangover

A chemo hangover is way worse than a regular one.

Sure, you have all the usual suspects: nausea, vomiting, headache, fatigue, and a general feeling of being unwell. 

With chemo though, it's like it's all turned up a couple notches, so all the usual hangover symptoms are a bit worse.

These first couple days have been rough. But now that I have the nausea mostly under control, life feels much more manageable. For the moment. 

I want to add, that all of your love, good thoughts, flowers, and little care packages have made so many hard moments easier these past couple days. And for that I am so grateful. 

living downstream

Another resource...

Living Downstream
by Sandra Steingraber
***cancer and the environment***

(and again LB, can you add the link?...thanks, that's not my thing ;). )

PETt'ed

Finally, the results from the PET scan are back.

Good news people: the cancer is isolated to my right breast and right lymph nodes; and hasn't spread into my organs or any where else.

In other words, I have lazy cancer.

Known Unknowns

There is a bank marquee in my town that is part buddhist, part christian and part banker. Its not a sign I pass by often, but when I do I find it to be pretty profound.

The day before Thanksgiving the sign spoke again: Give thanks for the Unknown, Blessings are already on their way.

Perched in the middle of two directions of traffic with my turn signal on, I stayed in that spot, waiting out the time (11:35) and temperature (29 degrees) to see the message again. Because, had I read that right? Give thanks for the unknown?

The unknown for me has always been something that's caused great concentration. There are many situations where specific questions arose about what I didn't know. From the mundane "Will what I ordered be as good as I hope it will be?" or "As good as yours?" to the important, "Will it be a boy or a girl?" or "Will I get the job?" In all of these situations the unknown seemed to be the enemy which I was trying to outsmart.

My #1 line of defense against my nemesis was worry. If I worried about something then surely what I feared would not come to pass. "Mmmm...my dinner is better than yours!"

My second line of defense is two-fold: be as self reliant as possible and be in control. If I'm self-reliant then I don't need you. If bad things happen and you bail I can take care of my own shit. If I'm in control and alone I can stay calm be more self-reliant.

As I write it all out now I can see how this magical thinking caused way more stress that it alleviated. I do want to point out though that there are good things about this two pronged approach. The foremost of these is that its made me into a very resourceful person, in so many ways. And I love that about myself.

The negitive part is that I closed myself off to peace, trust and blessings that were coming to me in all their beautiful forms. When your hands are clenched around one thing, then they are not open to receiving something wonderfully unexpected--unknown--that may be the best thing ever.

Since receiving my cancer diagnosis I've been reexamining my relationship to the unknown. With this disease there are a lot of unknowns, all the time, and they're huge. Life and death huge. Hardly a blessing right? And, the illusion of self-reliance is quickly shattered when you realized that you will need others to get through this experience. Gasp! I will be truly dependent on someone else. I can't take care of my own shit. I really can't. What if you decide to bail on me? Then what?

There are no answers to these questions. The test results come back when they come back and they will be what they are. They will be life affirming or really alarming. You will help when you can and be there for me when you can or you won't. And I just down know which will be which. So I have a choice. I can keep moving through my old system (see above) or I can give thanks.

I can be thankful for when I'm pumping gas and my favorite song comes on over the gas station radio. I can count my blessings when my love orders ice cream for himself and one of the two scoops happens to be my favorite flavor. I can open my arms wide to my friend who brings me milk when I can't find my car keys or sanity enough to get to the store.

I can love the friend who shows me her bright face and healthy body and then tells me all about when she had breast cancer. I love the laundry lady who's lazy and eats bananas all day and yet magically cleans my house.

I could tell you a million more things that happen all the time that make my diagnosis of cancer beautiful and completely livable and made me fall in love with the unknown. And I'll take it. Every last bit of it because that's what my Hero Journey is about: befriending the unknown. Opening up to everything I can't see or touch to find the real magic in this life. No matter if the cells are good or bad or if you ordered a better dinner than me. I will love it all.