Lately

As of late I've been so critical of myself. Why you ask? Because I no longer look like this:

Bryan and I were going through our old photos this weekend and when I saw that beautiful woman, I cried, a lot. I wanted to run away and hide in a cave. I felt sorry for myself. Like everything's been taken and changed by this horrible disease. I don't even recognize the woman I see in the mirror. People I worked with 2 years ago don't recognize me. None of my clothes fit. I don't look like the woman my boyfriend fell in love with....and on and on.

As shallow as this may seem to you, it’s been a huge adjustment for me. Why? Because I went from that to this in 3 months:

When humans age, they have time, lots of time, to accept the gradual changes that occur within their bodies and minds. Cancer changes that equation though. Overnight it robs you of that element that allows you to continually evolve into your new and ever-changing body and spirit

My body has endured so much in this past year. My strong body. My body that now has extra curves, pounds and wrinkles and not nearly enough hair, breasts or estrogen.

When I look this photo I get back a little of what cancer took: the sense of time passing. And maybe, if I look long enough I can figure out how to be ok with where I am today. Alive, feeling well and doing the best I can to care for my body.

Easier / Not Easier

Getting Easier - having warm cookies delivered to my house at 9PM, spending time with colorful freshwater fish

Not Getting Easier - not having a breast, no longer having periods

Staying the Same -  keeping butter out of the jelly jar

Survivor

If only I were referring to that TV show.

Early on in my treatment I went to a support group at the cancer center. It’s a spiritual support group designed to help women effected by cancer release some of the strong feelings that accompany this illness. You can cry, shout, sing, kvetch, do pretty much anything within reason to express whatever you need to.

The first time I went I was really surprised to discover that women who had been healthy for over a year were still attending the group. There I was, bald, nauseous, and pissed that I had to go through cancer. Right in the thick of my treatment, I sat next to these women and listened to their stories.

Honestly, I couldn’t relate. From where I was sitting, they had what I most wanted: hair. They also had a clean bill of health. And yet, they were having trouble adjusting. Trouble dealing with the residual feelings cancer left them with when it vacated their bodies.

The thing I heard the most was anger, followed by confusion. The kind you feel when you wake up from having napped too long on a summer afternoon. You look at the clock and it says 6:30, and you panic, thinking you’re late for work. It takes a couple minutes to sink in that evening has come, and you didn’t get the notice.

Not having cancer is a little like that. You know you’re well; your cells are working, humming like bees, and yet, there is worry, because an essential part of you didn’t get the memo that you’re cancer free. In other words, in spite of the fact that I look healthy, I don't feel it. I  still feel very much like I'm recovering from something big. Like my mind is just now sorting out all details of what my body has been through this past year.

In playing catch up, I wonder: How long will I live? That question is the scary one. Recently, I was talking with a woman, maybe 75 years old, maybe older, I’m not sure. She was old though. I could tell she was old because her hands were gnarled with bulbous knuckles. Looking at her hands, I felt a sadness wash over me. Followed immediately by an acute jealousy, she had something I might not get: a long life. Then, I felt sad again. There are no guarantees in this life for any of us, but, having been though cancer, I feel acutely aware of this fact, and it scares me sometimes.

Beyond the worry and possibility of a shorted lifespan there are other unknowns, specifically about my body: What is this body now? How does it feel? What does it need the most?

My body is very different than it was a year ago. There are scars. Too many, I think. Parts are missing, big parts. Important parts. I’m heavier to. Medications that cured me also made me gain weight, kind of a lot of it. On top of that, I ate whatever I wanted. When you’re in treatment for cancer, and feel so shitty, sometimes simple things, like a chocolate croissant and a nap, are the best part of your day. So I have curves now, the first one’s ever.

Also, what can my body do now? There are risks, since lymph nodes have been removed. I could contract swelling in my arm that will never go away. At first I thought about that every day. Now, it hardly comes up, but later in the fall when approximately 3.5 million leaves drop from the trees and onto my lawn, I can rake only for a little while at a time. Because, I like my arm the way it is now.

Raking in short stints isn’t so bad, not something that really hits home. Menopause though? That hits right where it hurts. Did I mention am 41 years old? The old ladies weren’t kidding about hot flashes. Those suck. Cuddling is challenging at times because of them. My body runs hot, and having a little critter on my lap, makes me break out in a sweat. There are other fun and exciting things that happen to the female body during menopause. I will spare you the details and just say, between that and the anti-cancer drugs I take, it will be a miracle if I have any bones left by the time I’m 65.

The chemo induced neuropathy is still with me as well. Its mild, but it’s still kicking around. I am still healing from the chemo, its clear. The damage from those drugs was system-wide, but slowly, I’m healing. I can tell when I peddle my bike as hard and as fast as I can. I feel energized, joyful even, because I can move fast. I can tell when I’m dancing with Bryan, the Rumba never felt so good. The foxtrot on the other hand, is a brutal dance. Either way though, I’m electric and excited at joining the human race again.

I know that it has to be at my pace. I have to meet myself where I’m at. I do what I can to listen to my body. Push myself, just a little, to get my body moving. Nourish when needed and sleep when tired. Hugs are good to, the best actually.

Knowing all this, I’m taking my cancer-free self, back to the support group. I’m going to sit there, with my head full of hair, and kvetch, complain and most likely cry some. I’ll keep going to the group to, until that deep down part of me finally gets the cancer-free memo.

Until I know what healthy means for me as my body is now, after having been on this long journey.

Let's talk a little more about my breasts

When you're diagnosed with breast cancer what you don't realize is how much time you'll spend talking about your breasts. I have, in fact, spent so much time talking about my breasts that its a subject I'm rather tired of. 

Today however I will have to spend just a little more time on this topic. This may be the most important conversation that I'll have because I'm seeing a woman who will, hopefully, reconstruct my body after I've had my breast removed next week.

You know what they say, when life gives you lemons, made lemonade. Or, you know, grapefruit-ade, or melon-ade. Or whatever. 

Slow and Low

                                     

On more than one occasion I've found myself realizing I'm done with chemo. Then, right after that, I realize I'm smiling. Then after that, I realize I need a nap.

Mainly because when you finish chemo it doesn't finish with you. The side effects may last up to a year. 

Yea, you read that right, one year. The nastier ones last much longer but hopefully that doesn't apply for me.

So friends, I'm taking it easy and will be for a while.

 In other words, if you can't find me, I'm outside laying on my lounge chair with my priorities straight. 

What I Want

I want to run a marathon,

or maybe,

do a century bike ride,

or maybe check in with my trainer,

'what up fool?'

I want to go to the city,

drink champagne,

dance all night. 

I want it to be hot

so I can wear my summer skirt

on a date to an outdoor show.

Then go for a drink,

then home for dessert.

I want to learn to:

embroider, 

Swing dance, 

find the good stuff. 

I want to go out to dinner, 

with you,

to a place we both like.

I want to listen to how you love

your passport photo,

sun ripened peaches,

and sea stones.

Instead, I'm at home.

Looking out the window,

wearing a brown hat.

The calendar says spring, 

but the sky is grey.

The heat clicks on now and then.

My body was sick.

It's better now, I guess. 

But the drugs take me away,

and I'm afraid I won't get back in time

for all of it.

Maybe I won't come back at all.

In which case, send me a postcard.

With a photo of you on the front,

eating a peach, standing by the ocean.

Ho-Hum-Hibernate

As you may have noticed, things have been pretty quiet here. Treatments every week have been a bit of a slog.

It's been going like this: chemo, recovery, catch-up, repeat. It feels like I'm in a kind of hibernation. Keeping it simple; focusing on those things in front of me which are most important. All while trying to ignore the myriad of shitty side effects brought on by the chemo.

I do have a couple posts rolling around in my head though. Those may make their appearance if they get insistent enough. We'll see.

Do check back on May 24th, the day after my last treatment, so you can read all about how happy I am do be done with chemo.

Until next time, Love and Muah


Image Source

Apropos of All of This and Some of That

I finally updated this little About Me page. 

Eventually, you'll see a list there of what I've been doing to heal from this illness, but for now its more like a bio. A bio of a person who is ready for summer. Big-time.

I got inspired to update it when I came across this blog. You might like that one as well.

Yum Yum and Love

This is a shout out to everyone who brought my family a meal over these last 3 months.

A meal is such a simple thing, in a way. But for me, during what's been a very challenging time physically, even a simple thing like dinner felt like way too much.

So you all kept showing up. With your smiling faces, well wishes, prayers and warm, delicious meals. Food that fed us dinner, was the perfect mid-night (or mid-day) snack for me. Something ready to fill my belly which has been on the verge of being sick for 3 months.

One or two bites of something delicious at the right time can be so soothing. I felt your love, care and prayers in every bite, as did we all.

So thank you. You took the time out of your schedules, away from your own families and to-do list to do something that was so very needed and I am so grateful to you. And you, and you.

Love and Muah.

Down the Rabbit Hole

Went down the rabbit hole with this last treatment. Thankfully, I didn't go alone: Bryan, Karin, Sally, and Beni helped me as I was falling.

Foot rubbing, fetching tea, loving, supporting, hand holding, making meals, cleaning the bathroom; bringing an annoyingly specific lunch order, spreading love, cheer and sweet coconut aromas; bearing gifts of the most useful kind - dinner, desert (evil, btw), and a treat bag for my little; and a critical trip to the grocery store when I really needed it and didn't want to be alone.

All that helped me make it through yesterday and for that I am so grateful.

For now, I'm not nauseous or throwing up and for that I am grateful as well. But if I go down the rabbit hole again I know that many hands will be here to lift me out when its time.

photo source

The Fall

Every year my physic soul sister and I trade tarot readings in January to see what may be up for the rest of the year.

This year, as you can imagine, my reading was a mixed bag and it started off with this card:

Now you don't have to know anything at all about tarot to see that this card is intense. Simply put, what it symbolizes is - sudden, unexpected, painful - change(s).

The people in this card, who we can only assume were happily standing atop the tower admiring the view a few moments earlier, are now tumbling down to an uncertain future after their cozy spot was hit by lightning and then proceeded to catch fire. Yikes.

When I saw this card for January I must admit, I wasn't all that happy to see it. I've pulled The Tower many times before in all the years I've been reading and I know what it means for me. In the end, I always land the water, dog paddling and content, but the fall itself can be tricky.

This time around, the fall has been filled with physical ailments, side effects from the chemo that is curing me of this disease, and a side bonus of a cold, which has knocked me flat into bed.

Mostly though, its been about control.

To describe what I mean, let me direct your attention to The Secret. You may have heard of it from a person named Oprah. The Secret proposes that as individuals "we create our lives, with every thought every minute of the day."

I happen to love this concept, it taps into all the fluffy new age thinking that can be very inspiring and just plain practical. Not much can shift if you focus only on a problem, focus on what's working though, and what could work with that, and you can move mountains. (or Towers maybe)

The only flaw I can see with The Secret though is that it puts the individual in complete control, and I think it goes beyond the seize your destiny type of thing. Taken to its furthest point The Secret posits that we can be in total control if only we visualize correctly and think correctly. If we don't, we're up a creek without a paddle with only ourselves to blame.

In the last 3 months since my diagnosis, cancer has taught me just how not in control I am. The day my doctor wrote the order for my mammogram to have a look at that lump, she told me that I was in perfect health. She went on to say that my diet, exercise routine and lifestyle were all perfectly aligned for a healthy, disease free life for many, many years. Whew, in the clear, right?

Well, that your reading this says otherwise. Because no matter what good health my diet, exercise routine and positive thinking manifested within my body, at a cellular level, I wasn't in control.

The cancer cells did their thing while I ate heirloom tomatoes from the farmers market and plucked herbs from my garden. They danced with me at the jazz fundraiser and even went to see Wynton Marsalis with me. The cancer continued to grow as I have continually created a life I love living, surrounded by people I love beyond measure.

The cancer is there. It must be dealt with, so I'm dealing with it.

Physically, the treatment is rough. Not completely unbearable, but rough. Mentally, its no picnic either. I have walked though a door which I will never be able to return from. Concerns about recurrence, will always be a part of my internal conversation with myself now. Rightfully so, I want to be here for another 45 years or so, but still. Its there.

I've fallen out of that tower.

This time though, my face has that peaceful meditation smile. My hands are in the prayer position. I know that I'm going to land in water so warm its going to feel like a bath. I know that wholeness, radiant health, and the experience of love will wash over me and I am open to it all.

If it so happens, that the water isn't quite as warm as I imagined, I'm not going to blame myself for not visualizing hard enough, or long enough. I'm going to remember that the only thing in this life I can control, truly control, is my own attitude about things.

That's it.

My cells will do their thing. Life is gonna do its thing. People will do their thing.

I'm going to do mine, in the exact way I know how.

So that's what I'm doing, in spite of the fact that behind me, my tower is burning. Or maybe, just maybe, this new perspective is possible because the tower is burning. In which case, pass me a marshmallow and a stick.

And the award for the most irritating chemo side effect goes to....

...drum roll please....

My constantly running nose.

Bryan said my nose is making up for all the work my feet aren't doing as of late.

But I'm not buying it.

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)

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. 

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.

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.