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