ode to a crooked tail cat

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Senjedt & Wilbur forever
Senjedt & Wilbur forever

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.

bliss.

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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 »

change of scene

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Every morning and evening I massage the skin and scars on my chest, feeling my ribs and sternum more intimately than I ever have before. I take care not to bother the port that sits just below my right collar bone, and I look carefully at my scars to make sure they continue to heal properly. It’s become a normal part of my routine, and yet there are moments when I am stunned at how bazaar this entire experience truly is. I’ve lost a part of my body, and I very rarely take the time to breathe that fact in. If I had lost a hand, foot, my ability to speak, or to hear, I would be in some sort of rehabilitation and people would be able to recognize and talk about those losses. I would be forced to think about those losses and to acknowledge them. Instead, I’ve been blessed with the freedom to consider my losses on my own time, and to witness my healing in the mirror. What is shocking to me is how strong I feel, even though I see a fragility in my appearance.

This Friday will mark my fourth chemo infusion. I consider that one month down, three and a half to go (ideally). So far, I’m only experiencing mild nausea and fatigue, and I’ve been told some of my symptoms are due to chemo-induced anemia. I’m crossing my fingers for continued blessings in this process, and hoping for strength in the months to come. I’m also ready for a change of scene. The more immersed I am in this process, the more completely exhausted of it I am. It’s the only thing on my mind, and yet it’s sometimes the last thing I want to think about. I want to know what’s happening in other people’s lives, and yet people don’t want to “bother” me with their problems. Believe me, I want to know. Cancer is a big, fat bore. I want to be gifted with other people’s dramas. I want people to stop sensoring themselves for fear that I don’t have the time or the capacity to hear about what they’re going throught. I may have little time right now, but I sure have the interest, ability, and desire to listen. Give me a break from my little drama.

another friday night…

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I swear, I’m having a cancer/chemo baby. Nausea, non-stop cravings, exhaustion, change in my body, emotional upheaval, and a massive desire to change everything about the space in my home (as in “nesting”). Yesterday I ate an entire bag of brown rice chips while sitting on the step stool in my kitchen. I’m not proud of it, but it’s my new reality. The positive thing is that I have school to ground me into focus on something outside of this physical experience, and that Reen is patient with my apparent temporary insanity.

This weekend I made my way to Rudy’s Barbershop for my funky fresh look. I know it may not last long, but I’m loving the newness of my appearance. It’s so funny how a haircut can make all the difference. Will shaving my head be just as liberating? Doubt it, but the increasing nausea post infusions is taking my mind off of my obsession with hair loss. No amount of ginger or homeopathic nux vomicacan cease the disgusting waves of imbalance that I feel a couple of days after treatment. Nausea is my nemesis, and I intend to seek and destroy- hopefully without having to rely on more nasty meds to do it.

I’m trying to be present in the now- to experience this as fully as I can without focusing on the future, but this entire process begs me to seek out what the coming months hold. If only two infusions can make me feel this gurgly and imbalanced, what do I have to look forward to? Friday afternoons and evenings hooked up to an infusion pump and having to wheel around while my bladder goes into overdrive…falling asleep within a half hour of the Benadryl, and being woken up every hour or so to tell the charge nurse my name and birthdate due to some medical policy…the taste of saline as the port is cleared for another drug…the smell of alcohol, the itchiness from the bandage over my port, the pain as the bandage is removed, and the chill of the evening air as Irene escorts me to the parking garage. I am blessed and thankful, and I am also in awe of the courageous people I witness in the chairs around me when in the infusion unit. I never feel alone in this.

in charge…powerfully.

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I feel powerful today. Overwhelmed and exhausted, but powerful just the same. I’m finally realizing that I can be in control of my treatment. I can’t control the side effects, but I can manage to hold on to my spirit and my sense of unique individuality through this process. I decided for my second round of chemo that I would wear my favorite tight jeans and my red mary janes- I may even apply my Aveda lip gloss as a reminder that I am a vibrant woman! I don’t have to go into this feeling like a cancer patient, do I? NO! I am Wendi, and not this cancer. I am Wendi, and not the treatment that I am going through. My plan is to take control of this regimen and to try my best to be authentically me in the process.

I haven’t managed to find the time or the nerve to cut my hair yet, but I appreciate all of the suggestions regarding style and color. This weekend may find me sitting at a barber or beauty shop or I may just take the scissors to my own hair- either way, I plan to be sassy about it. I plan on having another opportunity to take charge of this experience and to have fun in the meantime.