CANCER: Family ties that bind and gag...

You may recall in one or two of my past blogs, I mentioned something like how I was raised by wolves...Of course this can't be true as you all know just how much of an indoor cat I really am. Wolves my ass.

Instead, my family tree looks more like a clump of bushes. There are no linear lines as genetically I'm not related to those I call my family. In some ways there's some pluses- like not inheriting my father's overwhelming hairiness; and minuses- where will I turn should I need something like a kidney or bone marrow? I figure I'll cross that bridge when I get to it though. Probably wise of me, right?

But, growing up with folks I don't look like and can't get bone marrow from, has created in me this sort of dysfunctional concept of family. Basically anyone I meet, I regard as a potential family member- and I mean it.

Having undergone a recent divorce, this life skill has been called into play a great deal. I live 2,000 miles from my parents. My closest sibling is a two hour plane ride away. In other words, I'm out here, on my own for better and for worse. With two kids and a baby daddy in town, I need to stick around these parts for at least another 12 years. In other words, I'm all in. But where does this leave me in the cancer arena?

Sure, I could spend time licking my wounds and feeling sorry for myself. But c'mon you know me better than that. Instead, I decided that while I may not be able to make my marriage work, I can make the relationships with my former in-laws real and permanent. Partly this comes from a place of pragmatism. But the other part comes from real love and respect. I truly love and cherish the family members of my former spouse. Really! And let me tell you why- my sisters-in-law have shown up, uninvited, unannounced bearing trays of food that would seriously feed the inhabitants of a small African village. They don't care. They know what's good for me- even when I don't. And a NO from me is simply not an option. My niece, at 21 years of age and just as lovely as can be, stops by just to say hello and compare jeans and tee-shirts. And I can't help but love her for it.

(Yes, I have hundreds of amazing friends to boot. I have dedicated lots of words and time to you. So you know how much you mean to me.  So don't go there!)

But there's something to be said about family- made up, stuck together with tape, full of forgiveness, and stepping up when they know what needs to be done, even when I don't. Thanks! You make me a better person. And don't for a second think I take any of this or you for granted.

The saying goes that you can't pick your family. But guess what? I did. My life (and I hope theirs) is all the better for it.

CANCER: What doesn't kill you....

Friday night, while hanging with my awesome nephew Vinny, he made the following statement: "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." I replied: "Actually Vinny, it has been my experience that what doesn't kill you, doesn't kill you." And yes, I caught him off guard- which is a rare occurance with this bright, bright young man.

But I meant it. Perhaps I'm taking a dive into some potentially choppy water here, but bear with me. So hear me (read?) me when I say this: From this experience I don't want to be stronger. Truthfully, in the past two years I have handled the IRS, a divorce, single parenting, dating, putting my house on the market and now cancer- and my kid STILL made honor roll. Personally,  I think I have demonstrated to anyone paying close enough attention, that I am a pretty tough lady. Do I really need to be stonger? Nope, nope, NOPE.  Instead, I just want to be alive and have enough friggin' energy to get me back on track to God knows what.

I sincerely appreciate those of you who consider cancer patients heroes. Really. I do. I also appreciate those of you who call us fighters. Sure....But, here's the thing:  getting a cancer diagnosis is a lot like playing a really dysfunctional game of tag. Nobody in their right mind wants to be "it." And anyone with a soul wouldn't dare pass it on to someone else. So there you are- an unwitting participant in a game you didn't even choose. I mean, what ever happened to freakin' dodge ball? But being "it" does that make me a hero? Hell no! I would love to be able to rescue someone, leap from tall buildings in a single bound, run??? But that isn't what is going on here- at least not at my house.

And fighter? Well, the image is certainly a sweet one. Me rocking some pretty intimidating head gear and those shiny shorts in a boxing ring...Sure I can see it. But really- my opponent is silent and hits back in ways that no trainer can prepare me for. So instead, every fourteen days, I slap on some clothes along with some killer shoes, plaster on a smile and drag my ass into the "infusion" room where a seven drug cocktail drips into an artery in my heart. Where's the fight in that? I literally sit there and chat up the nurses and various Team Moy supporter for about three hours. Then I pop outta there and sit around alternating between sleeping and praying for my bowels to move- usually four days later. So really, I ain't fighting a damn thing.

Now look- if anyone reading this is a cancer patient and sees things differently, Lance Armstrong is your personal motivator- I say more power to ya! However, that philosophy just doesn't fit me.  Besides, I truly believe I could teach Lance a thing or two....

Instead what does fit is the following statement that just about everyone in the United States grew up with: "It doesn't matter if you win or lose, but how you play the game." Now that's a statement I would wear on a t-shirt....

I believe in dignity above all else and grace. Cancer is a shitty life partner- and trust me, I know from.....And I also know that there are plenty of "fighters" out there whose lives are claimed by this crappy disease. So I wanted to take some time to reflect on what other options exist out there in this cancer-mania universe for someone who didn't ask for this fight.

CANCER: My emotional rescue....

The other day, while chatting with a few friends, someone asked me if I was participating in any cancer support groups. She stopped herself short by stating: "Yeah, you don't strike me as one of those group joiner types of people." And, you know what, she was right. I will be the very first to confess my absolute joy and pleasure at marching to the beat of my own drum. Seriously. I find the beat to be so soothing, so right, so good, I figure why continue the search? This, of course, probably explains the two divorces I have under my belt...just sayin'....

What I've been told- and all of the cancer literature backs this up- is that I will undergo a bit of emotional rollercoastering. And, you know- I figure that's kinda like normal life right? You have your ups, downs, all while working really hard to keep your lunch down. But my journey hasn't really lived up to that so far. Instead, I have a lot of downs- plenty actually- and am more than happy to share with anyone willing to take any of them on.....But there's no real opportunity for the ups. In cancer-free world, a cancer free person is able to seek out some soothing stuff, like eat a fine meal in a fine dining establishment, exercise, shopping, dating, reality TV,  vacationing, etc....Anything to get those endorphins pumping.....But, in my world where sleep is my daily headliner, I have narrowed it down to two things that might do the trick. They are: extreme couponing or cocaine.

Yet, the problem with extreme couponing, as far as I can tell is that there are no grocery stores in Seattle that offer double coupons. And, ya'll KNOW just how much I enjoy my Trader Joe's shopping experiences. Really, coupons just don't apply there.

Additionaly, my mom wisely pointed out that cocaine is illegal. Puh-LEEZE, I saw Blow....In reality, the deal breaker with cocaine actually lies in one of the more fun side effects of chemo. My nose runs like a freakin' faucet. Sure, it's gross and yet possibly endearing to some of you who are particularly close to me. But, seriously trying to get anything up there would require a degree in physics.  

So, what is a down chick to do?

Initially I bought shoes. I think I'm up to approximately 20 pairs. But, then I got sad because I realized that this little lady is all dressed up with no place to go....

Then I stopped buying shoes. It really was getting out of hand....

Instead I decided to hang out with friends who make me laugh so hard it makes my side ache. And, you know what? That did the trick. Sure, it ain't no group therapy. Let's be honest, if I attended group therapy, I would spend the entire time making fun of everyone there- and trying to convince them that "no, really! I was just being funny!"

But, to be surrounded by my lovely, no-holds barred friends who say shit like: "Bitch, please....I didn't give your silly ass cancer. Now get up and let's go...." has made all the difference in the world. The friends who swear, SWEAR, that it really isn't a problem that I fall asleep on their sofa's- barefoot, of course- have been godsends. The friends who take the time to bring me dinners lovingly made with only the finest ingredients, including organic this and that, have been priceless.

They have been my emotional rescue. The conclusion I've drawn is that no matter what the outcome, and regardless of my choices in marital partners, I am a really, really talented friend picker. I surround myself with only the highest quality friends and yes, even family members. And I can never, ever thank them enough for putting up with me.

Thank you! This is for you!

CANCER: She blinded ME with Science....

Here's something I KNOW will get a resounding AMEN from all the ladies in the audience: Possessing "girl parts" frequently makes for a bumpy career path....There is no simple way to say it, single ladies and otherwise, we got it bad! Sure, we all know the statistics- women make $.60 for every $1.00 a dude makes. And, yet instead of staging a revolution by NOT going to work, we get our asses out of bed every day, slip on our work appropriate, non cleavage bearing clothing, and do our very best to make it in what clearly is, for many of us, a man's world.....Now if you think this is a feminist tirade, well you'd be wrong. It is however, an update on what's going on with me in cancer world.

Last Thursday I met my new oncologist, Tanya Wahl. Yep, it's a lady folks. And, with my VAST experience in the medical world, I know one thing really, really well. Lady doctors are tough....That's right- I tend to avoid them like the plague. Where a male doctor can afford to be both compassionate and deferential, my experience with lady doctors is that they are "deciders" and compassion isn't high on their list of survival skills. And,  you know what? I get it. I've had many a nurse explain to me the rough road lady doctors have to travel while in medical school. They are forced to shut down all that crap that makes us, well, women. You know, engaging in gab fests about the latest, greatest shoes and the coveted September issue......as well as expressing any kind of emotion when working with delicate, intimate information that patients like me rely on. In other words, lady doctors aren't big on hugging. But they WILL always make eye contact! So, the way I look at lady doctors is akin to the iron fist in the velvet glove; because, well I like to believe they're "trying."

Let me outline my Iron Fist, Velvet Glove experience with the good Dr. W:

She was an hour late for our appointment. 

Velvet glove: "Oh I am so very, very sorry for running behind. I hate running late for my patients and it rarely ever happens."

Iron Fist: "So, has anyone spoken to you about your need for radiation? That tumor in your chest is really big. And, you're probably gonna need it." 

ME: "What in the Hell are you talking about?"

VG: "Well, I haven't read your file yet. But just from looking at it, I don't want you to be surprised in the next couple of weeks."

ME: "Um, well how 'bout you get some reading done and we'll pick it up at that point?" 

IF: "And as far as your menstrual cycle, that shouldn't be a problem for much longer. The chemo puts you in menopause."

ME: "Forever and ever? Well I guess I should have known that, but was under the impression it was a possibility, rather than a fact. However, I'm not using my uterus anymore, so I guess that's alright then....Yay! No hot flashes!!!"

VG: "But, here's the good news! Your trait of sickle cell anemia will prevent you from ever getting malaria."

ME: "Seriously. In the few minutes you've known me, do I strike you as someone who would be caught dead in a place where I could contract malaria?"

VG: "Are you always this funny?"

ME: "Why yes. Yes I am."

She also cleared me to eat just about anything I damn well please. Cushioned that information with: "Well, you know, if you feel "empowered" or something by being on a restricted diet, go for it." I asked her: "Who in the Hell feels empowered by refraining from eating what they want? Seriously- I want to meet that bitch- cuz she's no friend of mine!"

With that she sent me down the hall to chemo and more good times.

This is it folks! We're at the half-way point and boy am I dragging! PET scan is scheduled for Tuesday 9/11- no I'm not kidding....and hopefully the news I get will help make that date a little less gritty.....

Thank you for your support, love, prayers and meals. Keep 'em coming.