Well, I did it- made it to 2013. And while 2012 is technically in my rearview mirror, emotionally I'm not sure it's there- YET.
Quick updates: My parents insisted, yes, insisted that I head out of town to a sunny environ for some much needed R & R. Like any good girl from the midwest, I did what I was told. Hopped on the plane bound for Maui with plenty of bikinis in the bag. I sat on the beach, poolside in the sun for seven blissful days. For the first three days I was all alone. And let me tell you something- after ten years of marriage and two kids, vacationing alone sucks. Hawaii is filled to the brim with people celebrating some of life's major milestones: marriages, first pregnancies, anniversaries, family holidays. You know what you don't see a lot of in Hawaii? Single women. That being said, I was quickly identified as a pariah at the resort and snubbed by my fellow vacationers. I get it. Truly. I mean, why wouldn't I want the lobster red bloated, middle aged man by your side? I was on the prowl for someone new. Kidding....
Also, last Friday I underwent my first 90 day post treatment test. This time, I got off relatively easily, as all I needed to do was disrobe to my waist, get felt up for swollen nodes, and give some blood. Easy! I haven't heard anything so far. So, I'm going to go with all is well and pray I'm right. My next appointment is in March. At that time I'll need to discuss my next PET scan.
Ok, back to Hawaii....While there, I found myself licking some serious wounds while processing all my inner turmoil. I was stricken with absolute paralysis at the notion of putting on a bathing suit. My skin was sallow from lack of ultraviolet light, thanks to chemo and radiation. It is scarred from all of the lovely eczema side effects courtesy of chemo. And I'm rocking an extra six lbs courtesy of the steriods I've been on since October. (Honestly, how in the HELL is Lance Armstrong in such good shape given his steroid use? And I look and feel like shit? I need to talk to his doctors....)
Fortunately I wasn't allowed to wallow for too long, as my best gay, Eskimo pal, Michael showed up. And you know what I realized? When wallowing, life is so much better with two. Michael gently scooped me up. Held his tongue over my enormous breast size. And with his best super glue, began to put me back together again, piece by pain staking piece. Was I all better by the time vacay ended? Nope. But I was BETTER. Know what I mean???
When I returned to Seattle- all tan (and really, chub looks so much better tan, doesn't it?) I decided to concede and surrender to my higher power; that's right- GROUP THERAPY. And last night was my first session at Gilda's Club.
When I was younger, I loved, loved, loved Gilda Radner. I would laugh my butt off at her. I always thought- "Man, one day I would love to meet her." And, while that is no longer a possibility, I am so, so happy she left the legacy of this organization behind.
I arrived on time- for me- and walked into a room of seven people. I immediately cried. And the reason for it was simple: I was sad. I told my group that anymore, when I see other cancer patients, I know what hell they are going through and I know how scary, lonely and sucky it is. It makes me sad. I also admitted that I cannot cry in my normal, everyday life. I'm a mom; employee; ex-wife and yes, cancer survivor. I am supposed to be tough, strong and happy, right? Well, right? That's all the crap that I was fed throughout my cancer treatment. When I posed that question to the group every freakin' head in the room knodded in agreement. They understood. And, they all cried too. It is a heavy burden this life and death business.
The youngest member of the group is 27. I told him how much I hated the fact that he was going through this at such a young age. He just doesn't have enough life under his belt to shrug some of this off. However, he replied: "Yeah, well I'm GLAD I'm 27. I rocked chemo." True. 90 days post treatment, he has a full head of hair.
While I resisted the notion of group, I think this is going to be a good thing for me. From the 10 year leukemia survivor care of a stem cell transplant to the stage 3 breast cancer survivor readying for breast reconstruction, we all share a common bond. We readily admit our humanity and utter confusion over how in the hell we were the "chosen" ones. We debated things like: how should we eat post treatment even though we ate well before and still got cancer? (I replied: "Fuck it. I'm eating Twinkies.") to how to handle people who find our disfigurement from the treatment side effects gross and unappealing? (I replied: "Well, I'm used to people tripping with me because I'm BLACK.") We shared fears about our 90 day post treatment PET/CT scans and blood tests. We cried and laughed together and wished each other the best of luck in the six days till our next session.
Some tough stuff up ahead. But, man...it feels nice to be able to swim in a pool with similar fish. Tuesdays are my new favorite day of the week.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Thursday, January 3, 2013
CANCER: Nothing Changes on New Year's Day
....I probably could have come up with a better title. But I didn't. So there....
Happy new year to you dear readers. I am writing with a little update, as well it has been a while.
So, since I ended radiation on 12/18, a few interesting things have developed....like, the stomachache, heartburn and swallowing challenges have all abided- as of today, in fact. That is pretty awesome. The fatigue is abating somewhat, in that I don't need to nap 10 hours out of every day. However I am shedding skin on my neck and chest like some amphibian. All the while, I'm also slowly shedding my sluggish, sloth-like demeanor. I'm beginning to slowly unfurl my curled up limbs, stretch, scratch and take an inventory of my surroundings.
What I've found is that while I was out on cancer "vacation" life went on around me. And, that makes me kinda sad. I know....right? Another friend of mine shared her cancer story with me. Awful stuff this cancer business....and she said something that really resonated with me. She said that three to six months post treatment, she sort of lost her mind. She described it as being an "emotional tsunami." My response to that was: "Oh, so that's what you call it???"
And she's right. My emotions overwhelm me- and rock me to my very core. And honestly, I cannot figure out why. I have everything to be happy about: So far, I've had what appears to be, a full and positive response to treatment. My kids are normal and well. Plans around the sale of my house and move are all going in the right direction. So, what in the HELL is wrong with me? Why aren't I more grateful? Why don't I want to get my ass outside and run a freakin' marathon like all those other cancer survivor people?
Right now, I would give anything to simply put on some cancer survivor ribbon and call it good. BUT- I know better than that. My head and my heart need to reconcile themselves around this experience. And, yes it was an experience.
How will I do that? How will I get myself better emotionally?
Well, for starters I'm going on week's vacation to the beach. Yes, I bought tons of skin covering beach wear. Honest to Allah, I did my very very best to find fashion forward burka wear....
Though, oddly enough I'm not sure vacation is the silver bullet. Something new has entered my world: worry. I haven't been much of a worrier in my former life. Nope. I always, always had faith that no matter what, things would work out just fine. And you know what? In the past I was right. And I applied that very same attitude to my cancer diagnosis. I just figured somehow in the cancer, medical world, I just knew it would work out. And while I was right about that, I was also exposed to so many other experiences that have left me just resigned to, oh, I don't know what.....
And, it's the "I don't know what" that I'm trying to figure out. Now the optimist in me says: "Take your time. You'll figure it out eventually." And the new resident that I call "pessimist" says: "Now you've had your brush with mortality. What other horrible stuff exists out there to hurt you?" Nutty! I know....And the chick undergoing recovery wants to just take a nap and forget about all of it. Really. Why can't wearing the ribbon just solve all the problems?
Maybe my friend is right. Maybe I do need to do the unthinkable and join some cancer survivor group? Maybe some group processing will prevent me from getting stuck in this wacky mental spiral. Maybe that or I just need to go run a marathon???
Obviously the ribbon isn't gonna fix this.
Happy new year to you dear readers. I am writing with a little update, as well it has been a while.
So, since I ended radiation on 12/18, a few interesting things have developed....like, the stomachache, heartburn and swallowing challenges have all abided- as of today, in fact. That is pretty awesome. The fatigue is abating somewhat, in that I don't need to nap 10 hours out of every day. However I am shedding skin on my neck and chest like some amphibian. All the while, I'm also slowly shedding my sluggish, sloth-like demeanor. I'm beginning to slowly unfurl my curled up limbs, stretch, scratch and take an inventory of my surroundings.
What I've found is that while I was out on cancer "vacation" life went on around me. And, that makes me kinda sad. I know....right? Another friend of mine shared her cancer story with me. Awful stuff this cancer business....and she said something that really resonated with me. She said that three to six months post treatment, she sort of lost her mind. She described it as being an "emotional tsunami." My response to that was: "Oh, so that's what you call it???"
And she's right. My emotions overwhelm me- and rock me to my very core. And honestly, I cannot figure out why. I have everything to be happy about: So far, I've had what appears to be, a full and positive response to treatment. My kids are normal and well. Plans around the sale of my house and move are all going in the right direction. So, what in the HELL is wrong with me? Why aren't I more grateful? Why don't I want to get my ass outside and run a freakin' marathon like all those other cancer survivor people?
Right now, I would give anything to simply put on some cancer survivor ribbon and call it good. BUT- I know better than that. My head and my heart need to reconcile themselves around this experience. And, yes it was an experience.
How will I do that? How will I get myself better emotionally?
Well, for starters I'm going on week's vacation to the beach. Yes, I bought tons of skin covering beach wear. Honest to Allah, I did my very very best to find fashion forward burka wear....
Though, oddly enough I'm not sure vacation is the silver bullet. Something new has entered my world: worry. I haven't been much of a worrier in my former life. Nope. I always, always had faith that no matter what, things would work out just fine. And you know what? In the past I was right. And I applied that very same attitude to my cancer diagnosis. I just figured somehow in the cancer, medical world, I just knew it would work out. And while I was right about that, I was also exposed to so many other experiences that have left me just resigned to, oh, I don't know what.....
And, it's the "I don't know what" that I'm trying to figure out. Now the optimist in me says: "Take your time. You'll figure it out eventually." And the new resident that I call "pessimist" says: "Now you've had your brush with mortality. What other horrible stuff exists out there to hurt you?" Nutty! I know....And the chick undergoing recovery wants to just take a nap and forget about all of it. Really. Why can't wearing the ribbon just solve all the problems?
Maybe my friend is right. Maybe I do need to do the unthinkable and join some cancer survivor group? Maybe some group processing will prevent me from getting stuck in this wacky mental spiral. Maybe that or I just need to go run a marathon???
Obviously the ribbon isn't gonna fix this.
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