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.

Fight for the Cure

Every single person reading this and every single person they know and love this has suffered greatly from this epidemic.

It can strike you down no matter how many hot yoga classes you attend or how organic your food is. Every moment of every day this beast is lying in wait to attack your healthy body and turn you into an immobile lump in your bed. Today I am calling BS on public enemy #1: the common cold.

Worse than cancer, the recurrence factor is 100% certain and it affects everyone on the planet.

We cannot--should not--rest until this demon is quelled once and for all. Who’s with me?

Spider Woman

For the past couple days if you put a Geiger counter next to me it would beep like in the movies. So, I recommend the slippers for sure.

Foolish

At this moment the Fool has the support of the universe to make this jump into the unknown. Adventures await her in the river of life.

Small Plans

Spoiler alert – the following post contains mention of vomiting, hair loss and loss of taste and not in the context of the morning after a long night in Vegas. You have been warned.

Since having cancer I have never had so many people openly comment on my breast size, “Since your breasts are so small, we will have to do this rather than that.” This is said at pretty much every appointment.

I heard it yesterday from my medical oncologist. He said, removing a 3cm section from a larger breast wouldn’t really have a cosmetic effect. However, removing the same section from small breasts, such as yours, will most certainly have a cosmetic effect.

Which is why, along with the Tumor Board in my town, he recommended that I have chemo first to shrink the size of the tumors. Chemo will also off-set the little trip this cancer has taken into my lymph nodes (plural). Thereafter, surgery will take out the effected tumors and nodes. Then, for good measure, I’ll get zapped with Radiation.

Chemo is scheduled to start the day after my birthday. Maybe I’m being petty, but I don’t want to have my first treatment on my birthday. Remember Jesus? Even he decided to have a last supper. I’m going to do the same while I can still taste the food I’m eating.

Yea, you read that right. Chemo is like a nuclear bomb to your body. Pretty much any pleasurable physical experience you can think of is eliminated by the application of chemotherapy. This includes turning off those little bumps on the tongue that allow taste to happen. Out of all the things the doctor went over yesterday, this one was the most disturbing to me: not being able to taste.

I’m also not all that excited about the hair loss. Don’t get me wrong, I love bald heads (hey baby!); I just don’t love that my head will be bald. I guess I can just be thankful that I get to shop for scarves, hats and a couple wigs. Maybe I should be like Mr. Potatohead and get angry hair? (If you’ve watched Toy Story 2 you know what I’m referring to.)

Last but not least on the list of sucky things: vomiting. When I was 30 I basically decided to stop drinking because every time I had even one glass of wine, I would vomit. I don’t know what was up with that, but for a year I made that adjustment and viola! no more vomiting. Then, fast forward 5 years. During the 1^st trimester of my pregnancy I projectile vomited on what seemed like every block in New York City. I’m sure my neighbors thought I was a complete deviant. It was awful. Truly.

All of this is to say, when taking chemo every enjoyable thing about having a body is replaced by almost every pain you can imagine. And then a few more, just like the cherry on top.

Dormant

For a seed or a spore the period immediately before germination is known as dormancy. It’s a time when the seed seems as if it’s sleeping, waiting for just the right moment to sprout.

These past days I have been in my own kind of sleep. Resting, gathering information and waiting for the right moment.

Soon…flowers.

song

Just Be Negative

The results are in: the genetic test is negative for cancer. My genes are clean.

Because of this, the chance of recurrence is much lower and the treatment might even be tolerable. Ok, rose colored glasses on that last one. But this is very welcomed good news. 

One point for me.

Remember that lymph node though? That thing is full of cancer. As are those other two lesions. 

Doh ~ one point for cancer.

Does this mean me and cancer are even now?

Afloat

Did you know that the ballast of a ship acts as a righting device? Without the ballast, a heavy weight at the bottom of the ship, the vessel would sway this way and that, and eventually capsize. The sails on your ship might allow you travel far and wide but the ballast keeps you at an even keel so you can get where you intend to go.

Today, when I heard the pathologist say the cells from my lymph node are cancerous, I teetered. I nodded to her letting her know I understood. She said more words, which I can’t recall, and then she left the room.

I laid back onto the table, turned onto my side in the fetal position, closed my crying eyes and thought: I’m going to die. This may kill me. Soon.

I was capsizing.

As I turned over, Bryan got up from his chair, to stand next to me and hold my hands. That’s when I realized I was actually shaking. Have you ever shivered out of sheer terror? It’s different from shivering from being cold, when I shiver from the cold, the shaking starts in my belly and radiates outward. This shivering originated in my hands and feet and moved inward.

We were like that for awhile, me shivering, sobbing. Teetering on the verge of a shipwreck. All the while, he moved closer to me. Until finally there was that one moment, his arms were all the way around me and everything inside me just relaxed. The tears stopped, as did the shivering. I just knew it would all be ok.

I was righted again.

The ballast of a ship can be made from quarried stone, sand bags, metal weights or water. I suppose if you’re a person, your ballast can be made from just about anything. Glad I had mine with me this morning.

I don’t want to do this alone, and I don’t need to. So, I’m not going to.

Easy-Peasy

The good thing about cancer is that  it makes everything else seem really easy.

Remember that important presentation at work? It’s a snap! That big interview for your dream job? You got this! That speaking engagement at the Nudist Colony? Whatever!

Cancer: better than toastmasters. A wee bit more painful long-term, but works instantly with no practice necessary.

Shall we dance?

Woke up with this song in my head.

If you're looking at this on a phone, you can check which song I'm grooving to here.
 

 

poems

The Cancer Poetry Project

 

Here is a little more about finding poetry in cancer.

those things we tap into

When looking, finding, hoping, seeking...in times of need...we look around, or not look around, but pieces come to us either which way...so I will throw those pieces at you...to you...around you...in your sleep...and all around...you take what works for you, and only you...the mantra we have spoken in those mama support groups together, in the past...and now, here we are...in other ways...gathering...

...pieces for you, my friend...

The China Study...a book with info, on nutrition and how this relates to healing the body...

Stink Stick...yes, you heard right...a deodorant, with a chemical charge, that not only keeps the stink away...but, detoxifies the lymph nodes in the underarm area...Duggan sisters from Chicago company are founders...check the web...get rid of that stink!...

How do we get there from here?

Almost everything I thought I knew about cancer, and illness in general, turns out to have been very different from the reality of living with a disease. It’s way worse in some ways and more ok in others.

On the nuts and bolts side, what makes it tricky is that cancer isn’t neat and tidy; and doesn’t seem to fall into the trajectory of diagnosis, treatment, recovery. Cancer, like every other crappy thing in life, reveals the complexity of its devastation incrementally.

For me, the diagnosis phase of this experience has been pretty protracted. I would say energetically, this phase began when I went for the mammogram a month ago. Since that time the layers of my illness have been revealed (or not) with subsequent tests, retests and scans. All of this gathering of information though is vital in order to understand the scope of what is happening with my body. We need to know: what, where, how much.

This is what my surgeon reminded me of this week when she ordered that I have another biopsy on the 2 newbie tumors and the shifty-eyed lymph node. That will happen next Wednesday.

She didn’t seem at all concerned though about the 2 new tumors. They’re in the same area as the others and they’re all small, all under 2 cm. The lymph node didn’t seem to rattle her too much either, they don’t like to see that, she said, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that the cancer has taken the express train to other areas of my body. Having the cancer on the local train means I have a little time to get to the treatment phase.

I believe though, that there are limitations on just treating the tumor.

Although very different, this experience reminds me a little of pregnancy and birth. There is the physical side of growing a baby and then there is the work of pregnancy. That one question every woman has and must answer for herself. It’s that mysterious process of calming fears, finding yourself, and preparing to have your life inexplicably changed in an instant. I’ve seen this process in myself and many other women. This type of preparation is critical to the mother’s wellbeing throughout the childbearing year. It puts her in the driver’s seat of the experience, no matter the type of pregnancy and birth she has.

I’ve found myself returning to this idea many times in the past few weeks. Asking myself, if everything in life acts as a teacher, what is my cancer here to teach me? What is the work of this cancer? And why in this particular form and not another?

When I said I love the "pop in" cancer isn’t exactly who I had in mind would swing by. But, that’s who came. Someone yesterday shared with me that since cancer is here I could consider inviting my cancer in for tea. Have it sit, stay for a chat, see why it’s come over. This idea was shocking, but somehow makes perfect sense. Am I so afraid, that I can’t hear, even for a few minutes, what my cancer has to teach me? Or what my body is trying to say?

And this journey feels no different from a long, difficult run. (Which, incidentally for me is around 5 miles, don’t laugh people, I’m 40 over here.) When a run gets tough I don’t fight the pain or lack of air. I lean into it a little, see it there and then intentionally relax at the pain point. If I try to push it away, or get tense/angry/critical, the run is over.

BUT, if I can see the pain and/or be ok with a little gasping for air, I usually break through to the other side. That’s where the magic happens. My breath becomes even and the volume on the pain goes way, way down. My body moves like the perfect machine that it is. I feel like I’m flying. I free myself and in that moment I can do anything.

For me, the cancer conversation has to be broader than cells and mutation and genes and radiation. Much, much broader. It has to encompass figuring out the work of this disease. My body is trying to tell me something, teach me something. I won’t fight her on this one, I am going to listen. I trust that she will give me all the information I need to know in order to heal.

And when the pain points present themselves, whether those are physical or emotional, I won’t fight those either, I will lean in. I will surrender. I will let go in the deepest way possible so the magic can happen and I can fly.

Healing Blessing

Bless this day with healing, 
bless it with radiant sun energy,
fill each cell of the body,
bringing a flood of healthy energy to all the body,
banishing illness and disease, 
as healing grows.

May the abundant powers of health flourish within,
each day, may they expand and grow stronger,
bringing the gifts of vitality, strength and wellbeing,
Blessings flow now with ample energy and happiness.
~ Author Unknown

Thank you for sharing this, Brooke. I really love it.

At this point in my life, I have renounced fighting. In all of its forms. But I embrace healing with my whole being; with an open heart and open arms. I invite healing into every part of me, every corner. I wish to be so full of healing energy that it spills over into all of you. Making the sharp edges of your lives seem less so. And so that you, being full of healing energy can send it back to me. Or, to whomever else should need it. May it all be so. For everyone.

Bad things do come in 3's

The MRI and mammogram results are in: the scans are clean. Yea, you read that correctly, no tumor in sight.

I don't know about you but when I heard that, I secretly thought, "that was the easiest case of cancer I've ever heard of. It lasted about 2 weeks and I really didn't feel a thing. Wow, that wasn't so bad." Big sigh of relief.

Not so fast. 

As it turns out, some tumors won't show up on a mammogram or an MRI. Its rare, but it does happen. It happens more commonly in women with small dense breast tissue. Let me clarify something here, dense breast tissue is common in young women. Old women, not so much. 

At the ripe old age of 40 you would think I wouldn't have such problems, namely the breasts of a much younger woman, but there you have it. The tissue in my breasts is so dense that its more or less opaque. 

Getting an image of what's going on inside such dense breast tissue is kind of like driving in fog. Your lights are on and you know there's a car ahead, but you can't really see it. Get closer though, and there it is. Kind of like it appeared out of nowhere. 

Well, in this case, when the doctor pulled her car up to my tumor to get a better look via MRI and mammogram, she couldn't see anything. She was still too far away.

When she hopped into her ultrasound though, out of nowhere she saw the original tumor and two additional ones. A little off to the side, she saw something else which she very scientifically labeled as suspicious. The suspicious thing is one of the lymph nodes under my arm. 

I'm not sure if it was the shifty eyes of that particular node that made her feel so uneasy, or if it looks like it's filled up with cancer. Either way though, having a body part labeled as suspicious is never a good sign.

And, just to cheer this post right up, it became clear to me this morning that having more children will not be an option for me. My insurance doesn't cover the cost of freezing eggs and eggs don't like being hard boiled by cancer treatments. 

AND, on top of all this, I really need to go to the grocery store. 

I'm at a low point right now. I freaking hate shopping.

Far, Far Away

Bucket List

Vizsla puppy dog. Look at that face

Room at the inn?

You may not know this about me, but I'm a wiz at logistics. Getting something here or there or getting something done efficiently and then getting it to work over there, that pretty much sums up my professional life. 

It's helped with my personal life to because I live far away from my family. Usually, that's easy enough to manage. They all live in Florida so visits with them a couple times a year become my convenient excuse to get in a healthy amount of beach time (hi family!! Love you guys:). But taking this cancer to the beach isn't going to happen. My treatment has to be in the little Midwestern town where I live. This time, I need them to come to me.

One other thing you may not know about me is that I just moved in June into a lovely little house. I could go on and on extolling it's virtues and those of my neighborhood, I will just say, I love it. I love everything about it. I especially love the fact that my newly minted kindergartener's school is right across the street.

The one issue I have with my house though is that it's small. In its last life I think it was a doll house. I don't hold this against my house really, its easier to clean because its small and its also really cozy. It does become an issue though if we want to host an overnight guest. Forget about an overnight guest for 5 days to a week. Chaos ensues with routines when a blowup bed is in the living room. Shutter.

So, my peeps are coming and unless they have a deep love of power tools and want to sleep in the garage, they really can't stay in my home. That's where you come in. I'm putting out the call to those I know and love in this little corn field who may happen to have a guest room. My mama and my best friend Callie (hey Callie!xoxo) need a place to sleep when they come. We can discuss specific details in full but I'm just putting it out there to see who may be up for it.

I'm thinking either that or maybe those ladies do actually love power tools? Hmmm.

Update

I saw my surgeon today. What she told me was, I can survive this. That was nice to hear but then she got down to business: We are in the information gathering stage.

I've got more tests tomorrow, I'll give you a hint about which one I have to get first thing tomorrow morning (check a couple posts back). If genetically predisposed to cancer, then the treatment will be aggressive. If not, it will be more simple. Those test results take 5-10 working days to come back. The surgeon strongly suggests not doing anything until we have this information. Measure twice, cut once and all of that.

The other thing I'm having tomorrow is an MRI, the results of which will be returned tomorrow. In that test, they are looking to see if there are any more tumors and to get a good look at the one that we know is there. One report says its 1.1 cm while another says 1.5. She needs good data in order to know where to cut and how much to cut. I want squeaky clean edges all around where she cuts because that means she got all the cancer.

So, we are still in a holding pattern. Until all the information is compiled, I won't know some important things:

• Date of the surgery
• The nature of the surgery: just the tumor (my preference), or the whole breast
• If the cancer is isolated or if it has migrated outside of the breast into the lymph nodes (this information determines what 'stage' the cancer is)
• If having chemo would be helpful (radiation is extremely likely for my type of cancer, so that's a sure bet)
• The extent of just how shitty this whole thing will be

Here's what I do know for certain right now:

• I am feeling the love and support from you all
• All that love is sooooo helpful for me, you have no idea
• I love you guys to
• Really and truly
• I do not however, love pink. Sorry about this last one, but I've gotta keep it real.

Love and Muah

Blissful Ignorance

These past 7 days have been such a roller coaster of emotions I can't begin to explain.

Slowly, after reading and researching everything that I have to do, I realize that I have to do this the same way I do everything - my way. 

I know how that sounds, but that's not how I mean it. What I mean is this: how a person survives and recovers from this is as individual as everything else in this life.

I haven't figured out everything yet but I do know that at some point very soon I will have to end my long-term relationship with red wine. 

The breakup will go something like this I imagine, "It's not you Red Wine, it's me. There are plenty of women out there who will love you for exactly who you are, really. This is no reflection on you..."  

I'll improvise a little to, I guess, but our parting is pretty much inevitable after this weekend. 

There are other things to, but for now, since I don't know anything, I am blissfully ignorant. Guzzling Red Wine, eating naughty food and sleeping a lot. 

In other words, I'm on holiday. Ignorant Bliss for one more week. 

Then - it's game time. 

Is it dusty in here?

Just wanted to do a little blog housekeeping this morning. I wanted to let you all know that from time to time there will be other contributors on here. Let me tell you a bit about them:

Nicole - she's got a little blog of her own she tends to, so she agreed to hop over here from time to time when the inspiration strikes. If I had to guess, she'll be putting up everything from alternative healing info, special diets and the random inspirational posting. She may also be putting out the call for help when the shit hits the palm tree, as they like to say in sunny Florida. I'll let Nicole give you more of her bio when she posts but I think you're gonna like her.

Jen - a super mama and woman that I met while wiling away the hours in my kaki's answering phones when I would have rather been out noshing oysters and cosmos. In other words, she totally gets it. Totally. She's going to be rallying the troops when needed, so keep you're eyes open for posts from her for sure. Also, Jen is a person who is connected to her heart and intuition in such a beautiful way and always seems to know what to say. So, if I was a betting woman, I would place my bets on seeing those kinds of things from her as well.

Bryan - you all know this guy already. He's going to be my ghost writer to update you on things when I am otherwise indisposed. He's a man who operates almost completely from his intuition, has an amazing heart, a sense of humor that gets me every time and an eye for art that doesn't suck. Plus, he naturally exudes a zen like quality rarely found among regular humans. Its extremely likely though that he will convey very little (none?) of these here, but I had to get out there how awesome he is.

As an aside, I would love to hear from you on here. So leave me comments if you are so inspired.

Lastly, and this one confidential to my brother: dude shut up. Also, I still don't like talking on the phone. And, just want to alert you to the existence of time zones. That is all.

Love and muah.