Today, after much anticipation and moments of disbelief, it happened. I earned the privilege of being a bell ringer.
Ok, for those of you gutter minded folks....cleaning it up. My parents read this blog for crying out loud.....
You see, there's a tradition at Swedish- and maybe other cancer treatment places for that matter- where upon completion of chemo and radiation treatments you get to ring the coveted brass bell on the wall. Unfortunately I was denied that chance with the completion of chemo, given that 1) I didn't get to finish my last treatment because 2) my lungs were crapping out on me...oh well...
But this time- today, in fact, I got to ring the bell as it was my very last day for radiation. And ring it I did. I was told by my awesome radiation team, Brea and Win, to not be shy or timid. As crazy as it may sound...I was a little shy as I approached the bell. I didn't want the entire facility to hear me.....what if it came off as gloating? But no....they wouldn't give me a pass. They walked me over to the bell, stepped back and said "Go for it." And well, I did.
What followed both comforted and surprised me. I cried. Finally. No, no....none of that nutty out of control boo-hooing......but I was seriously choked up and know there is more to come. In ringing the bell, I announced to the cancer community, myself and to cancer itself, that we were done- at least for now. Cancer never became a friend. But it was a companion for the past seven months. And even in the role of crappy companion, I know I need to take some time to say goodbye.
I also reflected on the amazing abundance of love and support coming from so many places around the world. I now know without a doubt that my true friends want better for me than even I can imagine for myself. Thank you.
As I bid a farewell and a little bit of an F.U. to 2012, I am proud to know that somewhere, somehow, I earned my angel wings because I got to ring that damn bell.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Sunday, December 16, 2012
CANCER: Mindful Presents
Yesterday I bit the head off of one of my friends. No....I'm not even talking about that kinda cool, preying mantis kind of way......More like that amazing-frog-swallows-a-fly kind of way. I was so annoyed and it happened so quickly I almost missed his, gentle, insistent apology that immediately followed. His transgression? He asked if radiation therapy was better than chemotherapy. Innocent question for someone who hasn't ever undergone treatment for cancer. But for me....the cancer patient....it's like asking which is preferred: Waterboarding or electrocution. The right answer- despite the commercials telling you otherwise- is that all cancer treatment sucks. And as I've warned you before, I am weary, weary, weary of it all....
I'm 14 treatments into my 17 treatment radiation therapy regime....That's right...three more to go. I finish up on December 19. And, yep I cannot wait. But wait....there's also something sad about that too. This stuff has taken up a huge presence in my life. And it's all coming to an end. No- I won't miss the indigestion, the bloated stomach or the scratchy throat. Duh! But I will miss the wonderful people who I see on a daily basis....The breast cancer patient who is really committed to getting that jigsaw puzzle put together. The kind elderly man who was learning how to text on his cell phone. And that really old dude who ALWAYS flirts with me. Love that guy.....And let's not forget about the amazing group of professionals who have been there, cared and joked with me; and also kicked me into the right frame of mind when my spirit dared to lag. The rhythm of my life is about to change again. And apparently the timing couldn't be better according to the Mayan calendar.
Many people have asked me what is next. And the one thing that comes to mind is that cancer ain't like a cold. No....A cold makes you feel like shit for 3-5 days. And once it's all over you get back to taste buds, clear nasal passages...back to your life.
With cancer, it's not the same thing. Sure, the front line treatment part is coming to an end. But like a dreaded monkey on my back, I have to look out for a blown thyroid, busted up lungs and an infected heart- all on the horizon in about eight to twelve weeks. And really...despite my blogging and blah, blah, blah-ing about this....it really isn't taking a up a lot of space in my life. Really.
But what is taking up a lot of space is the realization that coming out of this, I am not the same chick I was going into this thing. What I want, more than anything, is to regain a sense of normal. But I'm far from that, now aren't I? And really....when was I EVER normal?
Another friend pointed out to me that I'm angry. He's right; but, not the same raging way that he may think. Sure, I'll bite a head off from time to time. But I did that even before cancer. What I'm mad about is simple: I didn't ask for this detour. And I certainly didn't ask for it as a single lady with two young kids. But obviously this happened. I rallied. I got rewarded a "golden ticket." And now I'm left trying to put shit back together again- with the awareness that it can all fall apart again just as easily. And I'm puzzled and frustrated in the same way I get when putting Ikea furniture together. The nice thing about Ikea furniture is that I can actually HIRE people to do it for me. Unfortunately this isn't an option for my actual life. Stupid torvig.........
So, what to do? Another friend pointed out that I am in a state of "involution" a rolling up or folding in upon itself - (that's the scientific definition, which makes sense because she's a doctor...)My reply to that was: "Oh, there's a fancy word for being a selfish, self absorbed a**hole? Nice!" So, I'm gonna make good use it.
I'm rolling it up, folks. Folding it in. And figuring it out. And to make the transition that much better, I'm going to go platinum and bought a nice white bikini to go with the new do. Hopefully all of this will be well received on the beaches of Maui.....That's right...I think better on the beach. Don't you?
The blog WILL continue- and no the title won't change. When I started it- I used the word "got" in the sense of "have." Like I HAVE cancer.....Now I'm deploying the slang iteration of the word "got" in that, "UH-huh, I kicked yer ass- I GOT you, kinda way." So let's roll with it, shall we?
I'm 14 treatments into my 17 treatment radiation therapy regime....That's right...three more to go. I finish up on December 19. And, yep I cannot wait. But wait....there's also something sad about that too. This stuff has taken up a huge presence in my life. And it's all coming to an end. No- I won't miss the indigestion, the bloated stomach or the scratchy throat. Duh! But I will miss the wonderful people who I see on a daily basis....The breast cancer patient who is really committed to getting that jigsaw puzzle put together. The kind elderly man who was learning how to text on his cell phone. And that really old dude who ALWAYS flirts with me. Love that guy.....And let's not forget about the amazing group of professionals who have been there, cared and joked with me; and also kicked me into the right frame of mind when my spirit dared to lag. The rhythm of my life is about to change again. And apparently the timing couldn't be better according to the Mayan calendar.
Many people have asked me what is next. And the one thing that comes to mind is that cancer ain't like a cold. No....A cold makes you feel like shit for 3-5 days. And once it's all over you get back to taste buds, clear nasal passages...back to your life.
With cancer, it's not the same thing. Sure, the front line treatment part is coming to an end. But like a dreaded monkey on my back, I have to look out for a blown thyroid, busted up lungs and an infected heart- all on the horizon in about eight to twelve weeks. And really...despite my blogging and blah, blah, blah-ing about this....it really isn't taking a up a lot of space in my life. Really.
But what is taking up a lot of space is the realization that coming out of this, I am not the same chick I was going into this thing. What I want, more than anything, is to regain a sense of normal. But I'm far from that, now aren't I? And really....when was I EVER normal?
Another friend pointed out to me that I'm angry. He's right; but, not the same raging way that he may think. Sure, I'll bite a head off from time to time. But I did that even before cancer. What I'm mad about is simple: I didn't ask for this detour. And I certainly didn't ask for it as a single lady with two young kids. But obviously this happened. I rallied. I got rewarded a "golden ticket." And now I'm left trying to put shit back together again- with the awareness that it can all fall apart again just as easily. And I'm puzzled and frustrated in the same way I get when putting Ikea furniture together. The nice thing about Ikea furniture is that I can actually HIRE people to do it for me. Unfortunately this isn't an option for my actual life. Stupid torvig.........
So, what to do? Another friend pointed out that I am in a state of "involution" a rolling up or folding in upon itself - (that's the scientific definition, which makes sense because she's a doctor...)My reply to that was: "Oh, there's a fancy word for being a selfish, self absorbed a**hole? Nice!" So, I'm gonna make good use it.
I'm rolling it up, folks. Folding it in. And figuring it out. And to make the transition that much better, I'm going to go platinum and bought a nice white bikini to go with the new do. Hopefully all of this will be well received on the beaches of Maui.....That's right...I think better on the beach. Don't you?
The blog WILL continue- and no the title won't change. When I started it- I used the word "got" in the sense of "have." Like I HAVE cancer.....Now I'm deploying the slang iteration of the word "got" in that, "UH-huh, I kicked yer ass- I GOT you, kinda way." So let's roll with it, shall we?
Monday, December 3, 2012
CANCER: The Come Back Kid
I met a man this weekend. He asked me about my cancer. He told me he had lost his wife two years ago to breast cancer. Her name was Marilyn. And according to him she was a fearless and graceful fighter. He said to me: "You know....I'm going to find you in six months to check in. My guess is you're going to be amazing." And for a second, I believed him. And today, right now....I want to believe him.
It's no secret that my 2012 has been one massive shit sandwich, served with a side of fermented potato salad. And I don't know if it's the end of year reflection, the sixth of 17 radiation treatments, my upcoming move, or the return of my pubic hair that is causing me to reflect....but reflect I am...And with all this reflecting, I have some pretty big feelings attached. Like, big, scary, want to kill everyone in my path emotions...Seriously, you should have seen me stare down this nutty woman at Nordstrom the other day. Her transgression? Trying to cut me off as I approached the escalator. I mean, I hate that. Don't you? She replied: " You know, I should expect behavior like this during the holidays." It took every fiber of my being not to reach over and punch her in the face. And by punch, I mean Quentin Tarantino style with nice kick to the nose just to finish the job right.
No. I'm not making Santa's "nice" list this year. Fortunately I have a thing for coal.....
I realized that for the past seven months I've been in this weird automated state- not really feeling anything- but moving efficiently from one task to another, not missing a damn beat; appearing to the unsuspecting onlooker, like I was kicking ass and taking names. But guess what? The lights WERE on and I was NOT home. (And, yes I DID kick ass but neglected to write down any names except for a couple...YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE...)
That is a crazy realization. And my re-entry into "Feelings" world has been anything but pleasant. I think this is due in part to the change in my perspective. I'm horribly impatient and wildly intolerant of just about everything....why yes, I AM the life of the party. And if you think I had trouble holding my tongue before, honey just ask my baby daddy how well his second butthole is healing...But the other big thing that has happened is that my skin is really thin....No, not just physically, like due to the medication. More like, I feel things physically and emotionally more acutely than before. I'm so sensitive to things around me that my TEETH even hurt....
Now the practical gal in me did the smart thing- for the physical discomfort, I bought tons of cashmere to wrap my wounded, sore and healing body up in. That was GENIUS! I freaking LOVE that stuff to the extent that I even sleep in it....But you know, there really isn't any kind of emotional cashmere out there to wrap up all these crazy ass feelings. I mean, I even looked into a yoga/spiritual retreat center in Hawaii. And I quickly realized it probably wouldn't be a good fit as some dumb ass would say something to me about opening my third eye or breathing through my eyelids and then all hell would break loose...Also, all of the food was raw. What the HELL?
So what to do? Turn to Lance Armstrong for advice? See how well that turned out for him..... I do have some dreaded inner voice droning in the background that I should seek out some sort of cancer therapy group. But, really? First off, I suck at group therapy. And secondly, Lymphoma doesn't even have a ribbon like all the other cool cancers.
I'm stuck wondering- is there some group out there for me? Or do I just hang out and wait for this prophet-like dude to show up in six months and declare me amazing? My guess is there's a third, unexplored option. But honestly, maybe I just need the right country western song would come along with the answer. I mean, there is just so much insight into those things....
It's no secret that my 2012 has been one massive shit sandwich, served with a side of fermented potato salad. And I don't know if it's the end of year reflection, the sixth of 17 radiation treatments, my upcoming move, or the return of my pubic hair that is causing me to reflect....but reflect I am...And with all this reflecting, I have some pretty big feelings attached. Like, big, scary, want to kill everyone in my path emotions...Seriously, you should have seen me stare down this nutty woman at Nordstrom the other day. Her transgression? Trying to cut me off as I approached the escalator. I mean, I hate that. Don't you? She replied: " You know, I should expect behavior like this during the holidays." It took every fiber of my being not to reach over and punch her in the face. And by punch, I mean Quentin Tarantino style with nice kick to the nose just to finish the job right.
No. I'm not making Santa's "nice" list this year. Fortunately I have a thing for coal.....
I realized that for the past seven months I've been in this weird automated state- not really feeling anything- but moving efficiently from one task to another, not missing a damn beat; appearing to the unsuspecting onlooker, like I was kicking ass and taking names. But guess what? The lights WERE on and I was NOT home. (And, yes I DID kick ass but neglected to write down any names except for a couple...YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE...)
That is a crazy realization. And my re-entry into "Feelings" world has been anything but pleasant. I think this is due in part to the change in my perspective. I'm horribly impatient and wildly intolerant of just about everything....why yes, I AM the life of the party. And if you think I had trouble holding my tongue before, honey just ask my baby daddy how well his second butthole is healing...But the other big thing that has happened is that my skin is really thin....No, not just physically, like due to the medication. More like, I feel things physically and emotionally more acutely than before. I'm so sensitive to things around me that my TEETH even hurt....
Now the practical gal in me did the smart thing- for the physical discomfort, I bought tons of cashmere to wrap my wounded, sore and healing body up in. That was GENIUS! I freaking LOVE that stuff to the extent that I even sleep in it....But you know, there really isn't any kind of emotional cashmere out there to wrap up all these crazy ass feelings. I mean, I even looked into a yoga/spiritual retreat center in Hawaii. And I quickly realized it probably wouldn't be a good fit as some dumb ass would say something to me about opening my third eye or breathing through my eyelids and then all hell would break loose...Also, all of the food was raw. What the HELL?
So what to do? Turn to Lance Armstrong for advice? See how well that turned out for him..... I do have some dreaded inner voice droning in the background that I should seek out some sort of cancer therapy group. But, really? First off, I suck at group therapy. And secondly, Lymphoma doesn't even have a ribbon like all the other cool cancers.
I'm stuck wondering- is there some group out there for me? Or do I just hang out and wait for this prophet-like dude to show up in six months and declare me amazing? My guess is there's a third, unexplored option. But honestly, maybe I just need the right country western song would come along with the answer. I mean, there is just so much insight into those things....
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