the year of cancer – Page 4 – faded scars and all

I’ve officially hit the double digits on my chemo- 10 down, 8 to go. Never thought I would be so obsessed with dates, but here I am marking my mental calendar in an attempt to sooth my psyche. I want hair! I want useful fingertips! I want to lose this steroid weight! Mostly, I need to know when life will get back to whatever normal will be post chemo. As if there is ever such a reality as normal. Seems “normal” shifts and changes minute to minute, second to second. Oops- that was normal this morning, but the afternoon normal has shifted to include urping and watering of the eyes. Tune in for this evening, when normal may well involve manic housecleaning and sudden onset of nausea….there is no planning for what a body on chemo will do, and it just adds to the excitement. When I feel great, like on most Saturday mornings, when I have steroids pumping through my veins, I feel as though I could run the hills of Seattle without taking a break- then I go to walk the dogs, and my muscles ache and I’m gulping for as much oxygen as my mouth and nose can ingest. Good thing Franny and Emma don’t judge me or require me to bound hills or even walk at a fast clip. I’ve found joy in just walking slowly and noticing the very small things. Only occasionally do I lose patience with myself (or those sweetly neurotic dogs).

This past week also marked my last class for fall quarter. I spent last weekend attempting to maintain my energy for writing a final paper, and it took every last bit of brain capacity and physical stamina I could muster. It was challenging, to say the least, but it also made me reflect on the fact that I am so thankful to have been in this program during this time in my life. Who would have guessed that I would have the opportunity to use my classmates as a therapeutic healing force in my breast cancer drama? But that’s exactly the gift that I have had, and so this week was both exciting (knowing that I’m taking a quarter off to rest) and sad (knowing that I won’t have class as a blissful distraction as well as a healing tour de force). I will miss having the anchor that school has offered. I will also very much miss the hugs, tears, and open hearts that I have encountered each and every time I entered the classroom.

And so here I am on my first “free” Saturday morning, reflecting on the past year, which has been, um, wild. I have no doubt that the year ahead will offer just as much thrill. My hope (fearful of the word “plan” these days- too many expectations attached) is that I can stay on this ride and yet keep as rooted as I think I have been. To be present. To be joyful when I need to be, and to allow the tears to flow when they will. Isn’t that what life is? I actually had just this reminder this past week when I had the opportunity to have what can only be described as a heart connection with my niece, Destyni (how perfect is that?). I won’t go into the details of our conversation, but I will offer that I remember being a “tween” and I could relate to the feelings that she offered of being lonely and smothered at the same time. Because who knows at any given moment what we may need as human beings? “Right now I need some space- WAIT! Don’t leave! I need you!” Random acts of being human. Give us all a break. We are filled with hormones (don’t I know it) that make us wildly irrational sometimes. It’s so damned fabulously wild and irritating that sometimes you just have to sit and laugh (or is that the hormones talking?). I am thankful for those heart connections. And I have lots of them. I experience pure bliss when I have what is a painfully rare opportunity to chat with my sister, Tami, who I admire beyond words for what appears to be an infinite capacity to be loving and giving amidst chaos (it’s humbling, believe me). I look forward to my weekly connections with my parents, who are a perfect blend of sweet and spicy, and always leave me grateful for being a daughter. I am joyful for friends who are experiencing new love (joy, joy, joy), who send me emails and cards, gifts of free facials (I’ve received two gifts for facials- yahoo!), as well as those who need to vent how pissed off they are about this or that. Truly, I am just disgustingly thankful. I just need to figure out how to tie these damned scarves.

I’ve spent the past two days feeling dreadfully sorry for myself, and I’m absolutely sick of it. I am so blessed- beyond words- by so many wonderful people in my life. I have people making me meals, knitting me hats, sending homemade cards and haiku (sweet Amy, I love them each and every one), lending me scarves and hats, offering their time, love, and energy, and most importantly, continually reminding me that I am cherished. I have to remind myself when I begin feeling pathetically whiny about the side effects of treatment that this is not only a drag, but also an amazing opportunity for me to soak up some seriously fabulous attention. A year from now, I don’t want to regret not being completely present for this experience or for taking these gifts for granted. I want to recognize even the smallest ways that I have been enriched by this experience-every little bit of it. So, in honor of the season, I offer my gratitude for even the things I’ve complained about…

the nausea– I will forever appreciate my healthy appetite, and to love food as fully as possible.

the heartburn– I will continue to be thankful for my breath.

hours in chemo– quality time with Irene and the beautiful people who visit (thanks, Katie, Jenn, and Lena!)

exhaustion– I’ve never understood before now the wonder of an afternoon nap- ahhhhhhhhh.

hair loss– inner beauty, baby. It’s not about the hair- it’s the attitude one can have without it!

loss of breasts– no more underwire. ’nuff said.

I doubt that I will quit whining or being pathetic as my treatment drags on, but I want to mark this, the halfway point of chemo, as a time that I remember. I want to remember the people who have been there for me and who pointed out my strength, courage and beauty, even when I felt empty and tired, and I want to remember this as a time that changed me into a remarkable and kick ass woman- deserving of the title “survivor”.

Life and loss don’t stop just because one has cancer. In fact, they are sharp reminders that the world continues to spin in a manic pace as mine feels stifled and static in dealing with cancer treatments. Our sweetest cat in the world, Senjedt, died yesterday morning after living with kidney disease for the past year. It was a shocking week of watching her decline from slowed eating to limited drinking, and finally to not being able to walk at all. On the first day that she stopped purring, we knew it was time. After having a final romp outside, we spent the night loving her. Irene held her all morning, until the very last minute, and then we drove to the vet, where she was slipped medication that stopped her breathing. It was so peaceful and loving, and also surprisingly quiet. Why doesn’t a crashing sound happen when someone you love so much dies? How can you walk out into the world and see people going about their days when your own world feels so ripped apart? But it’s what happens. A good reminder to be compassionate to those dazed and confused souls in front of us in the shopping isle- who knows what burdens they may be carrying?

Senjedt was born to an alley cat mama who continually dropped litters in a Capitol Hill basement. Most of Senjedt’s siblings died, and she was the only little one to test negative for what the vet called “feline AIDS”. So Irene and her partner at the time, Gol, took in the little calico colored kitten with the crooked tail. She quickly became the loving and committed partner of the beautiful gray romeo of a cat Wilbur, who after 17 years of his own journey in the world, died this past spring. So, now, our “yin and yang” creature cats are gone, and the house is that much emptier.

Ahhhhh- yoga! Reen and I attended our first post-surgery yoga class this past week, and it felt phenomenal. What joy to move my body in ways that I haven’t been able to (as in, downward dog) until now. This healing process is a long one filled with moments of humility and growth, and it’s been amazing to recognize how much certain ways of moving and being have meant to me. I’ve been practicing my own mini sessions of very modified yoga at home, but being in a class of other yogi’s and yogini’s who have been touched by cancer was pure bliss. It was a mellow and gentle class, which was perfect for both of us. Even my sweet Reen left relaxed (though starving) and pleased that we attended. We left the class with smiles on our faces, and headed directly to Red Mill Burgers for garden burgers and a milk shake. Again, it was bliss.

Five infusions down now, and as of this Sunday evening, I’m feeling pretty good. Just a touch of acid stomach and the usual fatigue that overtakes me by 5 p.m. The steroids allow me to celebrate my vibrancy through Sunday morning, and then I begin to fear symptoms of nausea and exhaustion. This week, however, I’m on a new nausea routine of morning protein drinks (thanks, mom!) and small snacks throughout the day. So far, fingers crossed, I’m not nauseous, and I only feel a bit funky in my belly. Not bad! After a week of suffering terrible indigestion with heartburn, my plan is to be more careful with what I eat. Boy, though, the cravings for starch are intense! Read More »

faded scars and all

reflections and ramblings about life.

Category: the year of cancer

counting, “normal”, and heart connections

gratitude

redefining beauty

ode to a crooked tail cat

bliss.

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