She lay there reading the words above her head... "ISOCENTER CORE RETRIC"
She saw the words every day and never knew what they meant. Obviously it was to mark something of great importance such as where to place the tray of vanilla pudding she passed every morning. Each tray had a last name written on it and hers was never there because it had already been placed in the radiation machine. Of course, the tray did not contain vanilla pudding, but rather a brass configuration of medical proportions that very few people ever understand. Being a radiation-oncologist means you get to arrange the brass configuration for each patient. The fact that every morning she was able to look upon a multi-level cart with trays of vanilla pudding labeled with the names of others meant there were an awful lot of people there for the same reason she was. Throughout the day, one by one, the trays of pudding would disappear as each cancer patient was escorted into the facility room with twelve-inch walls, reinforced with materials to absorb the radiation and not allow it to escape the room...unless, of course, the radiation was leaving with you...in you...
She lay on the table as the technicians checked her. It was the same drill every day as one tech would remove her left arm from the sanitized hospital gown, and place her left hand around the finger-form-fitted bar above her head. Another tech would always have a green, permanent marker with which to re-mark the area to be radiated with big X's. A third tech would tell her to "scooch down" because she never could get in the proper position without "scooching" for some reason. The technicians would initiate idle chatter while the predetermined dosage was input and while her feet were secured with a giant rubber band, so as not to allow any movement. The lights went off as always, and the technicians told her not to move as they left the reinforced room, almost running from what would be emanating from the massive machine. They did manage to say "happy birthday" to her, on their way out. She had almost forgotten about this day.
For the past couple of weeks, she had laid there, not opening her eyes during the treatment for fear of going blind, even though no one told her to close her eyes. She had undoubtedly watched too many made-for-tv movies as a youth for she knew the laser beam would irreversibly damage her vision, her eyes would "freeze like that" if she crossed them, and watching an eclipse would render her blind. Yet today, this day, she kept her eyes open and even dared herself to look up into the "Isocenter Core Retric" itself.
She could see a grid and numbers and letters and how the vanilla pudding had been shaped into an odd design. As she continued to look up into the machine, she could see a line of red, like the red you associate with a laser, marking her body. Seeing her reflection was strange. She had thought it strange for months now, but this time, even more so, perhaps in part because she had become accustomed to the sliced scars across her chest. Perhaps not, as you never really become accustomed to such a sight. She looked up and saw herself in the vanilla pudding, fit perfectly in the crosshairs of the machine, and the noise began.
Not really that like a hum or a ringing or even an engine starting. The sound of the radiation entering her body was more closely described as a low, dull roar with a high pitch signalling the concentration of the energy passing through pudding to body...to where the cancer had grown. Every day, it was just the machine and her for a few minutes. No technicians in the room. No other person allowed. Just her...and the machine that was purposefully mutating and killing parts of her body, her tissue, her muscle and nerves and skin. Killing it to save her.
She watched the red beam and concentrated on her own reflection. Was it working? Was the amount of radiation strong enough? Was this for nothing? Would her arm survive with minimal damage and allow her to fully use it? Is the red light the radiation beam itself and she would actually go blind? It wasn't as if she knew what she was looking at. She was not a radiation-oncologist nor a radiation tech. Had someone told her to keep her eyes closed and she had forgotten? Hopefully not, because she continued to stare upright as the machine lowly roared on.
Her appointment had been sandwiched between two men. They were both kind and friendly, even in the early morning hours. One had dressed casually in jeans every, single day while the other, was obviously working his radiation around his corporate schedule. "Jeans Guy" went at 8am. Her turn was at 8:10am and "Mr. Corporate" was at 8:20. This went on for weeks until one day, Jeans Guy didn't come. Maybe he had finished his radiation cycle. Maybe he changed his appointment time. Maybe he was dead. Oddly enough, neither she nor Mr. Corporate ever acknowledged Jeans Guy was gone or that their own appointment times had moved up. Perhaps they both thought that "not knowing and guessing" was better than "knowing and it being bad".
The machine cut off and she was still staring into the Isocenter, looking at all she could see, not knowing what any of it was. The technicians came back in. Their mood, chipper and happy, as always, was greatly appreciated. The instructions were given to "relax your arm" and as routine as brushing your teeth every morning, one of the techs stood beside her, offering her arm to help her sit up. The giant rubber band came off the feet and the gown was back on. Each happy and cancer-free free tech offered a "Have a great day and we will see you tomorrow" as one of them removed her vanilla pudding and replaced her tray with someone else's...and she left the reinforced room.
After having removed her gown in the changing "closet", she stopped before putting her clothes back on. There was a full length mirror in there which she had seen before, but today, she stood before it half naked, fully exposed to herself, seeing the scars which have the ability to define her, if she lets them. She stood there, silently, unwilling to move, staring at her reflection. The same reflection she had just seen while beneath the machine in the reinforced room...
Who was that staring back?
Wife?
Mother?
Christian?
Cancer patient?
Cancer survivor?
Friend?
Auntie?
Sister?
Daughter?
Control Freak?
Chef?
Public Speaker?
Author?
Critic?
Photographer?
College Professor?
Impatient Driver?
Defender of Children?
Text-A-Holic?
Dreamer?
Laundress?
Lover of Girl Scout Cookies?
Smartass?
Military Analyst?
Penny Pincher?
Spoiler of Children and Teens?
Ice Cream Connoisseur?
Color-Coordinated Fashionista?
Not today...
Advocate?
Sinner?
Co-Worker?
Cheerleader?
Event Planner?
Singer?
Poet?
Cleaning Lady?
Creative Writer?
Secret Keeper?
Crafter?
Mentor?
Painter?
Listener?
Anti-Abortionist?
Artist?
Homework Checker?
Musician?
Dog Walker?
Chauffeur?
Moon Starer?
Cuddler?
Hugger?
Lover?
Entrepreneur?
Email Checker?
Reader?
Blogger?
Detail-Oriented-Calendar-Toting-Scheduler?
Dancer?
Prancer?
Vixen?
She stood transfixed, staring at her own reflection and saw each of those people step up and claim their right to be there.
She put her clothes back on, placed the hospital gown in the proper receptacle and stepped out of the changing closet.
A smile crept across her face as she realized, in all finality, that no, those scars would never define her...that today was her birthday for she had learned to celebrate the gift of life.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Happy Birthday to ME!!!!
February is a big month for me. There is Valentine's Day, our wedding anniversary, and my birthday. Now, to be honest with you, I generally do not want to discuss my birthday, much less celebrate it.
Allow me to enlighten you...
Big Daddy and I met when he was a Big Kid. I was older than he was and just always felt "weird" about it. We worked at the same place in a very small town. I had gone back there after college to "find myself", thinking maybe to be where my parents had last lived and had raised me, I would find some peace. Instead, I found this self-assured kid with big plans for his future. He was getting out of that small town and joining the military. His mom even told me once that he had wanted to be a soldier since he could speak and that was all he ever spoke about.
No one knew we were dating because there were policies in place to prevent such nonsense as management dating non-management. I'll tell you what, to this day, remembering the looks on the faces of the people we worked with when we announced our engagement was priceless. LOL One older woman came up to me later that same day and said, "I didn't even know y'all knew each other!" God love her heart.
So, I was/am older than Big Daddy. We have been married for almost twenty years and you would think I would be over that insecurity by now. It's obviously not some fling. I always thought that women who married younger men were viewed as "cradle robbers" or "cougars". I was neither. I was tricked!
Big Daddy led me to believe he was a college student and so, we discussed college-y things. Eventually we even attended college together as I wanted to pursue my next career...whatever it was. We fell in love, neither of us concerned with something as trivial as "age". When we did figure it out, as with true love, it was too late. *smile* We dated secretly for two years and he eventually went into the military. I was always so concerned with everyone knowing our timeline so they would not think we "had" to get married because that would mean I had trapped him.
God, was I that horrible??? That old, cradle-robbing broad!
Next question...where did these thoughts even come from to begin with?!?!?!?
Anyway, here is the timeline that I have wanted to publish/yell/screenprint across all shirts and cute, little tops:
November 1991 - Big Daddy joins the Army leaves for Ft. Benning, Georgia while I live and work in Virginia by myself...
December 24, 1991 - Big Daddy proposes (I say yes)...awwww
February 21, 1992 - (Friday) I arrive in Georgia from Virginia to see Big Daddy graduate from Basic Training at Ft. Benning
February 22, 1992 - (Saturday) Big Daddy & I drive back to Virginia from Georgia to have our wedding rehearsal Saturday evening
February 23, 1992 - (Sunday) Big Daddy & I are married (YAY!!!)
February 24, 1992 - (Monday) My birthday and we get pregnant (date is according to the OB-GYN calendar no one understands how to use except OB-GYN's and I think they are faking it)
February 28, 1992 - (Friday) Big Daddy deploys to the South Korean DMZ as his first tour of duty. (Yes, as in one week from his graduating and five days after our wedding)
November 19, 1992 - Precious Son is born (please use your fingers to count that is exactly nine months from our wedding date...there was no entrapment, no cougaring, no way I was pregnant before the wedding if he was in Georgia and I was in Virginia, so I can let this go!)
February 26, 1993 - Big Daddy comes home to Virginia and meets his son for the first time.
Ok. So, obviously I was not pregnant when we got married. So why would I continually torture myself with having to prove this marriage was real and viable and not a fling?
I dunno.
All I have ever come up with is that people doubt the authenticity of this marriage because I am older than my husband. Twenty years later seems to make no difference. I still worry that people will think I trapped him. Ugh. What is wrong with me???? Who cares what other people think, anyway??!?!?!?
Oh, yeah. That would be me.
I have lied about my age so much that honestly, I could not tell you how old I am without thinking about it. I just wanted people to like me, like Big Daddy, and like "us" without having anyone judge us. Oh, if only I could have all THAT energy back!
Well, things change.
If there is someone or even a lot of someones out there who think I am a horrible person because I married the man I loved, then so be it. I cannot change your mind and I no longer care what you think. You have the timeline above to reference, proving there was no entrapment. We literally got married because we loved each other. No drama. Just love. So, instead of worrying about the why's and why not's of our marriage, perhaps time would be better spent if you concentrated on your marriage, or lack thereof, instead of ours. Thank you.
Phew. That felt good.
Secondly, I have been given surprise birthday parties here and there and was always too afraid to enjoy them because I was so worried people would figure out my secret...that I am older than my husband. The shame! I have recoiled and shuddered and broken out in a sweat when asked my age, my husband's age, or how old our oldest is because I knew people were doing the math.
Well, granted, I am older than Big Daddy, so you got me there, but Precious Son was honestly and truly conceived after the "I do's". (reference above timeline if still in denial)
So, here we are, rapidly approaching another February 24th, another birthday to catapult me even further from Big Daddy's age because his birthday isn't until April. However, this birthday is different...
This birthday comes on the heels of a cancer diagnosis that makes birthdays something to wish for, not to hide from. This was brought to my attention last night as I was given my very first surprise party with my new life view and the blessings of cancer.
We were invited to Babs' house for dinner. She has been wanting us to come over there for a couple of weeks now and our schedules just would not cooperate. Well, she offered to make meatloaf, my favorite, and so schedules were changed and we agreed to be there at 6:30 for dinner.
Mmmmm. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes (real ones, not from a box), green beans, corn on the cob, and Key Lime pie for dessert (my contribution). I ate lightly all day because of what dinner would bring. I was starving at 6 and at 6:15, we headed on over to Babs' house. She had asked me to call her when we were on our way so she could put the bread in the oven. Mmmmmm, bread...
So, we pulled out of the driveway and I called. She scolded me for being late (although I do not think ten minutes is late when you consider how late we normally are) and we headed on over. Big Daddy asked what we were having and I told him and just saying the menu items made me even more hungry than before. We pulled into the driveway and I think I almost ran to the door!
I opened the door and lo and behold if all our friends weren't standing there yelling "Happy Birthday, Pandora!!!!!"
What?!?!?!?!?!?
First of all, I have never been surprised because I always figure stuff out before the big day, and here I was, not only surprised, but flabbergasted. Everyone just smiled these huge smiles and a few jumped up and down and everyone was so happy...so happy for my birthday. It was an incredible moment of confusion, excitement, and pleasure to even have another birthday. Not too many months ago, I wasn't sure I would...
There were all sorts of wonderful things for me and all in pink!! A pink butterfly-adorned magic wand, a pink boa, pink gloves with sparklies, a pink sash, pink balloons, pink plates, napkins, and cups, and although horribly gaudy, a bombastic pink hat with candles on top of it that would help with an insanity plea in any court. In other words, it was fantabulous!!!
My birthday cake was from one of the most delicious bakeries in town and it was devils food cake with cream cheese icing...my favorite!!!! The cake was beautiful with a pink crown with pink jewels encrusted and shiny and edible! LOL This cake was the most lovely I have ever had in my honor...and I was truly humbled by the love for each person standing with me as I blew out my candles.
There was a UK basketball game on and we all watched it together after we had eaten our fill of all the best finger foods in the world, another favorite!!! Meatballs, mini corn dogs, flautas, fresh guacamole, spinach dip, veggie tray, 7-layer dip and chips, sausage balls, pigs in a blanket, and a host of other dishes I never even saw because I was staring at my cake. hahaha
I was showered with love and affection and our team even won! (I love a close game IF we win...LOL...and it was cuh-lose!) Everyone was in high spirits and the cake had been cut and joined by huge scoops of ice cream, and all was well with the world...and then it happened...
Babs brought out the book with the year of my birth on it and opened it up so the rest of the people could see the year...that year long, long ago...the year of my birth...the year of my birth before Big Daddy's...I was terrified.
Babs read how much a house back then cost as opposed to today...how much the annual income was back then as opposed to today...how the other cave people sharpened their tools back then as opposed to today... You get the drift...but something happened inside my head. I knew I couldn't get out of it and I would just have to fess up if asked...
No one asked.
Not one person asked if I was older than Big Daddy.
Not one person left.
Not one person asked for their friendship back because of my age.
Not one person said anything like "Damn you, cradle robber!"
Not one person said anything other than "Hey, I'll bet this birthday means a lot to you, and it should...they all should from here on out."
And so they should.
From this birthday on, I will treasure each one God gives to me and not hide it or deny it. Big Daddy will never catch up to me, for sure, however, he looks much older than me, so it all works out. ROTFLOL
Just kidding... *wink*
I had entertained the idea of saying I was much older than I really am so that others could say... "Now, that's what 60 should look like!", but I thought better of it because crap like that always backfires.
So, as the 24th approaches this week, please take time to think, not of my birthday, but yours. Realize it is a blessing to have one and embrace it. God gave you another birthday...that makes it a gift. I feel great relief as the secret of my age is no longer a secret I keep. If anyone has an issue with me being older than Big Daddy and our twenty year marriage, two children, and more blessings than anyone deserves, have at it...and I will pray for you, as one nutcase prays for another.
Cancer, again, has given me more than it will ever take away.
Happy Birthday to ME!
Allow me to enlighten you...
Big Daddy and I met when he was a Big Kid. I was older than he was and just always felt "weird" about it. We worked at the same place in a very small town. I had gone back there after college to "find myself", thinking maybe to be where my parents had last lived and had raised me, I would find some peace. Instead, I found this self-assured kid with big plans for his future. He was getting out of that small town and joining the military. His mom even told me once that he had wanted to be a soldier since he could speak and that was all he ever spoke about.
No one knew we were dating because there were policies in place to prevent such nonsense as management dating non-management. I'll tell you what, to this day, remembering the looks on the faces of the people we worked with when we announced our engagement was priceless. LOL One older woman came up to me later that same day and said, "I didn't even know y'all knew each other!" God love her heart.
So, I was/am older than Big Daddy. We have been married for almost twenty years and you would think I would be over that insecurity by now. It's obviously not some fling. I always thought that women who married younger men were viewed as "cradle robbers" or "cougars". I was neither. I was tricked!
Big Daddy led me to believe he was a college student and so, we discussed college-y things. Eventually we even attended college together as I wanted to pursue my next career...whatever it was. We fell in love, neither of us concerned with something as trivial as "age". When we did figure it out, as with true love, it was too late. *smile* We dated secretly for two years and he eventually went into the military. I was always so concerned with everyone knowing our timeline so they would not think we "had" to get married because that would mean I had trapped him.
God, was I that horrible??? That old, cradle-robbing broad!
Next question...where did these thoughts even come from to begin with?!?!?!?
Anyway, here is the timeline that I have wanted to publish/yell/screenprint across all shirts and cute, little tops:
November 1991 - Big Daddy joins the Army leaves for Ft. Benning, Georgia while I live and work in Virginia by myself...
December 24, 1991 - Big Daddy proposes (I say yes)...awwww
February 21, 1992 - (Friday) I arrive in Georgia from Virginia to see Big Daddy graduate from Basic Training at Ft. Benning
February 22, 1992 - (Saturday) Big Daddy & I drive back to Virginia from Georgia to have our wedding rehearsal Saturday evening
February 23, 1992 - (Sunday) Big Daddy & I are married (YAY!!!)
February 24, 1992 - (Monday) My birthday and we get pregnant (date is according to the OB-GYN calendar no one understands how to use except OB-GYN's and I think they are faking it)
February 28, 1992 - (Friday) Big Daddy deploys to the South Korean DMZ as his first tour of duty. (Yes, as in one week from his graduating and five days after our wedding)
November 19, 1992 - Precious Son is born (please use your fingers to count that is exactly nine months from our wedding date...there was no entrapment, no cougaring, no way I was pregnant before the wedding if he was in Georgia and I was in Virginia, so I can let this go!)
February 26, 1993 - Big Daddy comes home to Virginia and meets his son for the first time.
Ok. So, obviously I was not pregnant when we got married. So why would I continually torture myself with having to prove this marriage was real and viable and not a fling?
I dunno.
All I have ever come up with is that people doubt the authenticity of this marriage because I am older than my husband. Twenty years later seems to make no difference. I still worry that people will think I trapped him. Ugh. What is wrong with me???? Who cares what other people think, anyway??!?!?!?
Oh, yeah. That would be me.
I have lied about my age so much that honestly, I could not tell you how old I am without thinking about it. I just wanted people to like me, like Big Daddy, and like "us" without having anyone judge us. Oh, if only I could have all THAT energy back!
Well, things change.
If there is someone or even a lot of someones out there who think I am a horrible person because I married the man I loved, then so be it. I cannot change your mind and I no longer care what you think. You have the timeline above to reference, proving there was no entrapment. We literally got married because we loved each other. No drama. Just love. So, instead of worrying about the why's and why not's of our marriage, perhaps time would be better spent if you concentrated on your marriage, or lack thereof, instead of ours. Thank you.
Phew. That felt good.
Secondly, I have been given surprise birthday parties here and there and was always too afraid to enjoy them because I was so worried people would figure out my secret...that I am older than my husband. The shame! I have recoiled and shuddered and broken out in a sweat when asked my age, my husband's age, or how old our oldest is because I knew people were doing the math.
Well, granted, I am older than Big Daddy, so you got me there, but Precious Son was honestly and truly conceived after the "I do's". (reference above timeline if still in denial)
So, here we are, rapidly approaching another February 24th, another birthday to catapult me even further from Big Daddy's age because his birthday isn't until April. However, this birthday is different...
This birthday comes on the heels of a cancer diagnosis that makes birthdays something to wish for, not to hide from. This was brought to my attention last night as I was given my very first surprise party with my new life view and the blessings of cancer.
We were invited to Babs' house for dinner. She has been wanting us to come over there for a couple of weeks now and our schedules just would not cooperate. Well, she offered to make meatloaf, my favorite, and so schedules were changed and we agreed to be there at 6:30 for dinner.
Mmmmm. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes (real ones, not from a box), green beans, corn on the cob, and Key Lime pie for dessert (my contribution). I ate lightly all day because of what dinner would bring. I was starving at 6 and at 6:15, we headed on over to Babs' house. She had asked me to call her when we were on our way so she could put the bread in the oven. Mmmmmm, bread...
So, we pulled out of the driveway and I called. She scolded me for being late (although I do not think ten minutes is late when you consider how late we normally are) and we headed on over. Big Daddy asked what we were having and I told him and just saying the menu items made me even more hungry than before. We pulled into the driveway and I think I almost ran to the door!
I opened the door and lo and behold if all our friends weren't standing there yelling "Happy Birthday, Pandora!!!!!"
What?!?!?!?!?!?
First of all, I have never been surprised because I always figure stuff out before the big day, and here I was, not only surprised, but flabbergasted. Everyone just smiled these huge smiles and a few jumped up and down and everyone was so happy...so happy for my birthday. It was an incredible moment of confusion, excitement, and pleasure to even have another birthday. Not too many months ago, I wasn't sure I would...
There were all sorts of wonderful things for me and all in pink!! A pink butterfly-adorned magic wand, a pink boa, pink gloves with sparklies, a pink sash, pink balloons, pink plates, napkins, and cups, and although horribly gaudy, a bombastic pink hat with candles on top of it that would help with an insanity plea in any court. In other words, it was fantabulous!!!
My birthday cake was from one of the most delicious bakeries in town and it was devils food cake with cream cheese icing...my favorite!!!! The cake was beautiful with a pink crown with pink jewels encrusted and shiny and edible! LOL This cake was the most lovely I have ever had in my honor...and I was truly humbled by the love for each person standing with me as I blew out my candles.
There was a UK basketball game on and we all watched it together after we had eaten our fill of all the best finger foods in the world, another favorite!!! Meatballs, mini corn dogs, flautas, fresh guacamole, spinach dip, veggie tray, 7-layer dip and chips, sausage balls, pigs in a blanket, and a host of other dishes I never even saw because I was staring at my cake. hahaha
I was showered with love and affection and our team even won! (I love a close game IF we win...LOL...and it was cuh-lose!) Everyone was in high spirits and the cake had been cut and joined by huge scoops of ice cream, and all was well with the world...and then it happened...
Babs brought out the book with the year of my birth on it and opened it up so the rest of the people could see the year...that year long, long ago...the year of my birth...the year of my birth before Big Daddy's...I was terrified.
Babs read how much a house back then cost as opposed to today...how much the annual income was back then as opposed to today...how the other cave people sharpened their tools back then as opposed to today... You get the drift...but something happened inside my head. I knew I couldn't get out of it and I would just have to fess up if asked...
No one asked.
Not one person asked if I was older than Big Daddy.
Not one person left.
Not one person asked for their friendship back because of my age.
Not one person said anything like "Damn you, cradle robber!"
Not one person said anything other than "Hey, I'll bet this birthday means a lot to you, and it should...they all should from here on out."
And so they should.
From this birthday on, I will treasure each one God gives to me and not hide it or deny it. Big Daddy will never catch up to me, for sure, however, he looks much older than me, so it all works out. ROTFLOL
Just kidding... *wink*
I had entertained the idea of saying I was much older than I really am so that others could say... "Now, that's what 60 should look like!", but I thought better of it because crap like that always backfires.
So, as the 24th approaches this week, please take time to think, not of my birthday, but yours. Realize it is a blessing to have one and embrace it. God gave you another birthday...that makes it a gift. I feel great relief as the secret of my age is no longer a secret I keep. If anyone has an issue with me being older than Big Daddy and our twenty year marriage, two children, and more blessings than anyone deserves, have at it...and I will pray for you, as one nutcase prays for another.
Cancer, again, has given me more than it will ever take away.
Happy Birthday to ME!
Friday, February 19, 2010
ASTYM
Augmented Soft Tissue Mobilization=ASTYM
No, I do not know what the "Y" is for.
ASTYM targets adhesions and inappropriate fibrosis within soft tissue (scar tissue) that resulted from my surgeries. ASTYM stimulates the breakdown of scar tissue and allows functional restoration to occur. Scar tissue and resulting restrictions are identified and broken down by a therapist. Controlled microtrauma, as in a type of massage, initiates a local inflammatory response that leads to the resorption of the excessive scar tissue. Existing collagen is remodeled and new collagen is influenced by a program of specific functional activities and stretching.
In other words, the ASTYM specialist is resculpting the scar tissue left from my surgeries in order to increase my function and mobility that radiation decreases. As I mentioned before, the statistics show that 80% of people undergoing radiation experience some type of side effect in regard to loss of function, lymphedema, and/or decreased mobility.
Of that 80%, 40% have severe side effects, another 40% have mild, and the last 20% have moderate effect.
ASTYM is a proactive means to combat the side effects before damage is attained and usually, irreversible. A lot of people have never heard of this and thereby suffer the side effects from the radiation needlessly. I am not saying that ASTYM is a cure-all for lymphedema or decreased function, I am saying that it is a proactive approach to try and stave off as much damage as possible.
My ASTYM therapist is from England and she wonderful! She is an ASTYM specialist with expertise dealing with breast cancer patients. I love her. Her voice is calm and soothing. I lay there and she speaks to me with her British accent and I feel quite relaxed. She massages the areas of lymph nodes and uses a tool to manipulate the scar tissue. Of course, I am numb and always will be, but oddly enough, I truly believe I felt hints of sensation while she was working on me. Did I mention the pure cocoa butter she uses?? Oh my gosh. What a heavenly scent in the dead of winter.
My therapist's name is Claire and she is wonderful. Maybe it was the "massage", maybe it was the accent, or maybe it was the way she said nice things. You know, most of my appointments have had such things in them as mood-deflating as possible, but with Claire, she said great things...
"Oh! You have terrific range of motion!"
"You should do well in therapy since you are so young..."
"By your coming early, I think we will be able to save as much functionality as possible."
Wait, did she say I was "young"???
Love her!!!
Anyway, things are going fine and I cannot thank Lucy enough for telling me about Claire and the ASTYM program. By far, my appointments with Claire are my favorite...and she thinks I am young.
*smile*
No, I do not know what the "Y" is for.
ASTYM targets adhesions and inappropriate fibrosis within soft tissue (scar tissue) that resulted from my surgeries. ASTYM stimulates the breakdown of scar tissue and allows functional restoration to occur. Scar tissue and resulting restrictions are identified and broken down by a therapist. Controlled microtrauma, as in a type of massage, initiates a local inflammatory response that leads to the resorption of the excessive scar tissue. Existing collagen is remodeled and new collagen is influenced by a program of specific functional activities and stretching.
In other words, the ASTYM specialist is resculpting the scar tissue left from my surgeries in order to increase my function and mobility that radiation decreases. As I mentioned before, the statistics show that 80% of people undergoing radiation experience some type of side effect in regard to loss of function, lymphedema, and/or decreased mobility.
Of that 80%, 40% have severe side effects, another 40% have mild, and the last 20% have moderate effect.
ASTYM is a proactive means to combat the side effects before damage is attained and usually, irreversible. A lot of people have never heard of this and thereby suffer the side effects from the radiation needlessly. I am not saying that ASTYM is a cure-all for lymphedema or decreased function, I am saying that it is a proactive approach to try and stave off as much damage as possible.
My ASTYM therapist is from England and she wonderful! She is an ASTYM specialist with expertise dealing with breast cancer patients. I love her. Her voice is calm and soothing. I lay there and she speaks to me with her British accent and I feel quite relaxed. She massages the areas of lymph nodes and uses a tool to manipulate the scar tissue. Of course, I am numb and always will be, but oddly enough, I truly believe I felt hints of sensation while she was working on me. Did I mention the pure cocoa butter she uses?? Oh my gosh. What a heavenly scent in the dead of winter.
My therapist's name is Claire and she is wonderful. Maybe it was the "massage", maybe it was the accent, or maybe it was the way she said nice things. You know, most of my appointments have had such things in them as mood-deflating as possible, but with Claire, she said great things...
"Oh! You have terrific range of motion!"
"You should do well in therapy since you are so young..."
"By your coming early, I think we will be able to save as much functionality as possible."
Wait, did she say I was "young"???
Love her!!!
Anyway, things are going fine and I cannot thank Lucy enough for telling me about Claire and the ASTYM program. By far, my appointments with Claire are my favorite...and she thinks I am young.
*smile*
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Pandora Takes The Leap
Well, I did it. I launched my photography website and initiated the official start of my business. Here we go, I guess. You would think I would be terrified at the prospect of losing my job in 18-24 months, but I'm not. It's a job...it isn't like I have cancer or somethi...oh, never mind.
Anyway, I have launched my website and I hope you visit it often as my portfolio grows and my galleries expand.
Here is the email I sent to my peeps...and I am posting it to you because each of you "followers" inspire me to chase my dreams and I thank you, humbly...
It's finally here...I am ready to launch my photography website!!!!
As you view it, as I hope and pray you will, please remember I am just starting out and have limited galleries. will add different types of galleries as I acquire them, such as...
Bridal/Engagement
Senior PortraitsFamily Photos
Babies
Maternity
Children
Siblings
Band Events (are there any other kind??)
And photos with your children in their team or recital gear (dancing, sports, etc.)
Feel free to add comments on the photos or galleries and come back often as I hope to add more and more and more, especially as spring comes and winter leaves us.
I am very excited to begin this journey and I want to thank some people in particular for all their help...
Big Daddy and Kids...you always believe in me. I hope I never let you down.
Barbie...you mean more to me than words could ever, ever express.
My Girls...All of you...Thank you for being cold, tired, and never complaining. You are so beautiful to me!
Thompson Family...You trusted me with capturing the love between "A Girl and Her Dog"...thank you.
Aubrie...Your talent humbles me. I am so blessed to work with you.
Linda P...You came when I called, just like a real hero. Thank you so!!
Thank you all and know I love you!!
Let the dream begin...
http://www.walksoftlyphoto.com/
*smile*
Anyway, I have launched my website and I hope you visit it often as my portfolio grows and my galleries expand.
Here is the email I sent to my peeps...and I am posting it to you because each of you "followers" inspire me to chase my dreams and I thank you, humbly...
It's finally here...I am ready to launch my photography website!!!!
As you view it, as I hope and pray you will, please remember I am just starting out and have limited galleries. will add different types of galleries as I acquire them, such as...
Bridal/Engagement
Senior PortraitsFamily Photos
Babies
Maternity
Children
Siblings
Band Events (are there any other kind??)
And photos with your children in their team or recital gear (dancing, sports, etc.)
Feel free to add comments on the photos or galleries and come back often as I hope to add more and more and more, especially as spring comes and winter leaves us.
I am very excited to begin this journey and I want to thank some people in particular for all their help...
Big Daddy and Kids...you always believe in me. I hope I never let you down.
Barbie...you mean more to me than words could ever, ever express.
My Girls...All of you...Thank you for being cold, tired, and never complaining. You are so beautiful to me!
Thompson Family...You trusted me with capturing the love between "A Girl and Her Dog"...thank you.
Aubrie...Your talent humbles me. I am so blessed to work with you.
Linda P...You came when I called, just like a real hero. Thank you so!!
Thank you all and know I love you!!
Let the dream begin...
http://www.walksoftlyphoto.com/
*smile*
Radiation Begins, As Does Doubting the Next Step
Every day for six weeks. Not sure if the fatigue is attributed to the schedule or the radiation itself...regardless, that's a lot for a body to handle.
My radiation-oncologist explained it to me like this... "You know how you become incredibly tired when you are out in the sun all day? Well, it is more from effects via the sun's radiation than it is from the heat, like most people believe. The radiation penetrates your body and stays. Just like a sunburn takes a while to surface, the radiation you are being given is changing your body and making it work harder. Your radiation is concentrated so you might think that just your arm would be tired, but in actuality, your whole body is being altered by the radiation, thus the fatigue."
That actually made sense to me. I could not wrap my head around why radiation would make me so tired until she explained it that way. She went on to tell me how radiation lingers up to six months after your last treatment, altering, changing, manipulating cells and such. That is why you have to wait six months after your last treatment to be seen by a reconstruction surgeon, if you go that route.
Are you going that route, Pandora? Will you have reconstructive surgery?
Excellent question to which I have no definitive answers.
Surely that sounds crazy to you, just as it sounds crazy to me. I mean, why wouldn't I? I could have the boobs women dream about for the rest of my life! Perky...perfectly shaped...never to sag to my knees as old age wreaks havoc on the rest of my body. Can you imagine it...a 75 year old woman with boobs to make the latest nubile starlet jealous? Laughing. At 75 will I still care? Probably since women are programmed to be all too concerned with such nonsense as believing how they look is who they are. Pfft. How I look is most certainly NOT who I am and it only took a double mastectomy to show me that.
So, will I or won't I...that is the question. As of this minute, having just returned from my daily radiation at 8:10am every, single day, I don't know. What I do know is that I am tired of being put to sleep. Tired of being cut on. Tired of drainage tubes and narcotics. Tired of the cold, sterility of operating rooms and some staff. The last time I was put under I remember asking the attendant if it was normal to have a stinging sensation as the magic potion put me to sleep. She never answered and the next thing I knew I was waking up in post-op. I reckon it was okay for the IV solution to be stinging...
Anyway, it isn't like I have to make a decision right this minute.
"I have time", she said, forgetting she has cancer and that time is not the luxury she once thought hers...
I remember being so utterly devastated right before my mastectomy because I did not qualify for the immediate reconstruction surgery because I would have to have radiation. I remember being engulfed in fear and shame. Shame, you ask? Yes, shame. What is a woman without her breasts? Is she a woman? You think you know the answer until it is you in front of the mirror looking at your Frankenstein body and feeling like an outcast between no longer looking like a "real" woman, bald head, and hunched over because of chemo-induced arthritis. Please don't pretend to know how you would feel if you have never known that feeling...
So, feeling as I did a mere six months ago and remembering the devastation at not being able to be "fixed" for at least a year or two...how could I even consider not having reconstructive surgery?
Easy.
I'm tired.
I am not my chest.
I am a woman despite what physical features I may be missing.
I don't care sometimes.
My body and mind are exhausted by the very idea of going back into surgery.
Why bother? The one man I have loved forever is the only man I will ever want and he already wants me as I am.
Every time I fly on an airplane and undergo the full body scan now in place, I will feel compelled to explain that I am not a superficial-all-too-concerned-with-my-looks person as my implants show up on the screen.
On the other hand, what would compel me to go ahead with yet another, extensive surgery for merely cosmetic purposes???
You get a tummy tuck with the boob job.
Oh, yeah! That's right!!
Yes, kids, a tummy tuck on top of boobs you can bounce a quarter off of is worth thinking about.
I guess I am as vain as I never wanted to be...the thing is that now, I am more interested in looking great as I enter a room or party or event on the arm of my husband...and I want him to think I look amazing. Sure, sure, he sees me first thing in the morning and last thing at night when my semi-bald head is covered with new, babysoft hair sticking up all over the place, no makeup on and, although color-coordinated, still some pretty "worn" pajamas...and he still tells me I look beautiful. Poor man. Doesn't he deserve me looking my best?
Lots of things have changed...my mind just keeps on being one of them.
My radiation-oncologist explained it to me like this... "You know how you become incredibly tired when you are out in the sun all day? Well, it is more from effects via the sun's radiation than it is from the heat, like most people believe. The radiation penetrates your body and stays. Just like a sunburn takes a while to surface, the radiation you are being given is changing your body and making it work harder. Your radiation is concentrated so you might think that just your arm would be tired, but in actuality, your whole body is being altered by the radiation, thus the fatigue."
That actually made sense to me. I could not wrap my head around why radiation would make me so tired until she explained it that way. She went on to tell me how radiation lingers up to six months after your last treatment, altering, changing, manipulating cells and such. That is why you have to wait six months after your last treatment to be seen by a reconstruction surgeon, if you go that route.
Are you going that route, Pandora? Will you have reconstructive surgery?
Excellent question to which I have no definitive answers.
Surely that sounds crazy to you, just as it sounds crazy to me. I mean, why wouldn't I? I could have the boobs women dream about for the rest of my life! Perky...perfectly shaped...never to sag to my knees as old age wreaks havoc on the rest of my body. Can you imagine it...a 75 year old woman with boobs to make the latest nubile starlet jealous? Laughing. At 75 will I still care? Probably since women are programmed to be all too concerned with such nonsense as believing how they look is who they are. Pfft. How I look is most certainly NOT who I am and it only took a double mastectomy to show me that.
So, will I or won't I...that is the question. As of this minute, having just returned from my daily radiation at 8:10am every, single day, I don't know. What I do know is that I am tired of being put to sleep. Tired of being cut on. Tired of drainage tubes and narcotics. Tired of the cold, sterility of operating rooms and some staff. The last time I was put under I remember asking the attendant if it was normal to have a stinging sensation as the magic potion put me to sleep. She never answered and the next thing I knew I was waking up in post-op. I reckon it was okay for the IV solution to be stinging...
Anyway, it isn't like I have to make a decision right this minute.
"I have time", she said, forgetting she has cancer and that time is not the luxury she once thought hers...
I remember being so utterly devastated right before my mastectomy because I did not qualify for the immediate reconstruction surgery because I would have to have radiation. I remember being engulfed in fear and shame. Shame, you ask? Yes, shame. What is a woman without her breasts? Is she a woman? You think you know the answer until it is you in front of the mirror looking at your Frankenstein body and feeling like an outcast between no longer looking like a "real" woman, bald head, and hunched over because of chemo-induced arthritis. Please don't pretend to know how you would feel if you have never known that feeling...
So, feeling as I did a mere six months ago and remembering the devastation at not being able to be "fixed" for at least a year or two...how could I even consider not having reconstructive surgery?
Easy.
I'm tired.
I am not my chest.
I am a woman despite what physical features I may be missing.
I don't care sometimes.
My body and mind are exhausted by the very idea of going back into surgery.
Why bother? The one man I have loved forever is the only man I will ever want and he already wants me as I am.
Every time I fly on an airplane and undergo the full body scan now in place, I will feel compelled to explain that I am not a superficial-all-too-concerned-with-my-looks person as my implants show up on the screen.
On the other hand, what would compel me to go ahead with yet another, extensive surgery for merely cosmetic purposes???
You get a tummy tuck with the boob job.
Oh, yeah! That's right!!
Yes, kids, a tummy tuck on top of boobs you can bounce a quarter off of is worth thinking about.
I guess I am as vain as I never wanted to be...the thing is that now, I am more interested in looking great as I enter a room or party or event on the arm of my husband...and I want him to think I look amazing. Sure, sure, he sees me first thing in the morning and last thing at night when my semi-bald head is covered with new, babysoft hair sticking up all over the place, no makeup on and, although color-coordinated, still some pretty "worn" pajamas...and he still tells me I look beautiful. Poor man. Doesn't he deserve me looking my best?
Lots of things have changed...my mind just keeps on being one of them.
Friday, February 12, 2010
To Have Cancer Means...
To have cancer means...
Death is closer than I ever imagined
The unthinkable is every thought
Life isn't fair
Friends make it clear where I rank in their lives
Some step up
Some step back
Some disappear
To have cancer means...
I get to eat as much ice cream as I want because no one has the heart to stop me
She's dying, you know
Big eyes wondering why
Bigger hearts shutting down
Retreats into the Land of Denial
To have cancer means...
Reorganization of priorities and a bucket list
Claiming one's own identity
Saying "no" and feeling guilty because you always said yes
Pressing on to find a church home and finding one
A place where new friends will care, will pray, will attend my funeral
Letting go of past hurts that no one holds on to but me
To have cancer means...
Saying things out loud that require more courage than you thought you ever would have
"I am not who you think I am"
"I am scared"
"Losing you far exceeds any fear that cancer could bring"
"Our tomorrows were never ours, were they?"
Waiting to hear from people you knew would call or email or stop by and realizing they are not going to do any of those things
Finding out you know nothing about some of the people you thought you knew best
Watching true colors burst forth in some and fade to nothingness in others
To have cancer means...
Your spouse wants to hold your hand for his security as much as for yours
Your skin changes and looks amazing as a result of the toxin, chemotherapy
Your body wants to die instead of fight the side effects
The novelty of your news at first, is front page worthy...soon, a by-line and then, an occassional scan through the obituaries for your name
The battle continues whether convenient for you or not
Diehard friends remain close at six, seven, and nine-hundred, ninety-nine months out
A mental list of things undone rattles inside your head
The children grow older and you realize time is indeed short
A whirlwind of new memory-making ventures begins only to be sidelined by fatigue,
daily radiation, and lack of funds
To have cancer means...
$40 co-pay to walk in the door
Some days include walking in three or four doors
Daily radiation times six weeks, times $40?
Insecurities from looking like Frankenstein
Wondering just how bad your hair was that you were glad when it came out?
Being so very, very, very tired
To have cancer means...
Being brave because your children are watching and learning, learning...
Finding your voice, your vice, your virtue
Bonding with people who have survived and learning of people who didn't
Awareness of the good in people, in love, in life
To have cancer means...
Surprise gifts of chocolate, sweet cards, an occasional 'atta girl, and a dozen roses
New realizations of what can be
Becoming an expert in oncology, radiation, chemotherapy and pharmaceuticals
Waiting for the mailman, the kids to get home, the next wave of nausea
Looking at travel books believing you will never go
Silently saying goodbye to plans and dreams and hopes
To have cancer means...
Wearing a little, pink ribbon as a badge of honor
Listening as others compare their illnesses to yours, oh, and I do hope Dr. Scholl helps your corn
Forcing yourself to stay awake, get up, not die for the sake of those who have been on their knees on your behalf...husband, children, family, and friends...
Feeling beautiful being bald and thin and nicknamed "Slim"
Eating cookies because you are battling chemo-induced arthritis and early on-set menopause and you think you deserve something tasty with double stuff
Friends saving you a seat because you can only stay long enough to watch your own children perform
To have cancer means...
There are not enough hours in the day to accommodate the fatigue, doctor appointments, treatments, and commitments
Smiling instead of crying
Reassuring everyone that which you are most unsure
Spending time with friends and being thankful for them
Falling asleep on your hero's chest
Not stressing over little things that truly do not matter
To have cancer means...
You needing to be alone sometimes in order to be around others
Nothing to your dogs and they treat you the exact same way they always have
Him touching your shoulder trying to absorb your sickness, your fears, your discomfort and sadness
Wearing really cool headwraps and hats that you actually like more than your old hair
Shopping for a prosthetic bathing suit
Being afraid of breaking a bone because you are so fragile
Realizing you were wrong about some people, some friends
Lowering the bar on expectations for others, for yourself
Accepting that some people are just too busy with their own lives to be concerned about yours
God and family first, true friends stay close by, and heroes do exist
Death is closer than I ever imagined
The unthinkable is every thought
Life isn't fair
Friends make it clear where I rank in their lives
Some step up
Some step back
Some disappear
To have cancer means...
I get to eat as much ice cream as I want because no one has the heart to stop me
She's dying, you know
Big eyes wondering why
Bigger hearts shutting down
Retreats into the Land of Denial
To have cancer means...
Reorganization of priorities and a bucket list
Claiming one's own identity
Saying "no" and feeling guilty because you always said yes
Pressing on to find a church home and finding one
A place where new friends will care, will pray, will attend my funeral
Letting go of past hurts that no one holds on to but me
To have cancer means...
Saying things out loud that require more courage than you thought you ever would have
"I am not who you think I am"
"I am scared"
"Losing you far exceeds any fear that cancer could bring"
"Our tomorrows were never ours, were they?"
Waiting to hear from people you knew would call or email or stop by and realizing they are not going to do any of those things
Finding out you know nothing about some of the people you thought you knew best
Watching true colors burst forth in some and fade to nothingness in others
To have cancer means...
Your spouse wants to hold your hand for his security as much as for yours
Your skin changes and looks amazing as a result of the toxin, chemotherapy
Your body wants to die instead of fight the side effects
The novelty of your news at first, is front page worthy...soon, a by-line and then, an occassional scan through the obituaries for your name
The battle continues whether convenient for you or not
Diehard friends remain close at six, seven, and nine-hundred, ninety-nine months out
A mental list of things undone rattles inside your head
The children grow older and you realize time is indeed short
A whirlwind of new memory-making ventures begins only to be sidelined by fatigue,
daily radiation, and lack of funds
To have cancer means...
$40 co-pay to walk in the door
Some days include walking in three or four doors
Daily radiation times six weeks, times $40?
Insecurities from looking like Frankenstein
Wondering just how bad your hair was that you were glad when it came out?
Being so very, very, very tired
To have cancer means...
Saying goodbye to used-to-be-friends-but-apparently-we-never-were-or-you-would-be-with-me-now-but-thank-you-for-the-card-six-months-ago
Life goes on for everyone elseBeing brave because your children are watching and learning, learning...
Finding your voice, your vice, your virtue
Bonding with people who have survived and learning of people who didn't
Awareness of the good in people, in love, in life
To have cancer means...
Surprise gifts of chocolate, sweet cards, an occasional 'atta girl, and a dozen roses
New realizations of what can be
Becoming an expert in oncology, radiation, chemotherapy and pharmaceuticals
Waiting for the mailman, the kids to get home, the next wave of nausea
Looking at travel books believing you will never go
Silently saying goodbye to plans and dreams and hopes
To have cancer means...
Wearing a little, pink ribbon as a badge of honor
Listening as others compare their illnesses to yours, oh, and I do hope Dr. Scholl helps your corn
Forcing yourself to stay awake, get up, not die for the sake of those who have been on their knees on your behalf...husband, children, family, and friends...
Feeling beautiful being bald and thin and nicknamed "Slim"
Eating cookies because you are battling chemo-induced arthritis and early on-set menopause and you think you deserve something tasty with double stuff
Friends saving you a seat because you can only stay long enough to watch your own children perform
To have cancer means...
There are not enough hours in the day to accommodate the fatigue, doctor appointments, treatments, and commitments
Smiling instead of crying
Reassuring everyone that which you are most unsure
Spending time with friends and being thankful for them
Falling asleep on your hero's chest
Not stressing over little things that truly do not matter
To have cancer means...
You needing to be alone sometimes in order to be around others
Nothing to your dogs and they treat you the exact same way they always have
Him touching your shoulder trying to absorb your sickness, your fears, your discomfort and sadness
Wearing really cool headwraps and hats that you actually like more than your old hair
Shopping for a prosthetic bathing suit
Being afraid of breaking a bone because you are so fragile
To have cancer means...
Bringing out the best in yourself by allowing others to help
Putting on a brave face and smiling when you really just want to smack someone
Dealing with the same impatience with new perspective...but still the same old impatience
Realizing you were wrong about some people, some friends
Lowering the bar on expectations for others, for yourself
Accepting that some people are just too busy with their own lives to be concerned about yours
God and family first, true friends stay close by, and heroes do exist
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Firsts
Remember when things would happen and you would feel shocked or appalled or even simply dumbfounded? When something you had never seen before took center stage and you were left to deal with it, whatever way you did. Then, the next time it happened, you were still affected by it, but not as shocked. Perhaps there was still an essence of being appalled, even, but not like the first time you saw it, whatever “it” was.Here are some things that I recall as striking me as offensive or upsetting in their novelty, but eventually, the novelty wore off and I thought nothing about it…
My first time hearing the “f” word was in my first “R” rated movie, Saturday Night Fever. My sister took me to see it before I was 18 (the age required back then) but I had convinced her I was mature enough to handle whatever the “R” stood for. I begged and pleaded because I wanted to see Vinnie Barbarino in the movies. And so she took me. Since I am relaying this story to you as a time when I was affected by a “first”, obviously I was neither mature enough or emotionally prepared for whatever “R” stood for. Sorry, Kaye…I should have listened to you and we should have gone to see “Paper Moon” or “Blazing Saddles”.
When I was in high school, I remember the first time I saw a boy scratch himself “there”. I was mortified. I could not understand how he could do such a thing in public! I remember thinking “he must have a terrible itch to do that in front of all of us!” As it turns out, this was the wave of things to come as far as scratching itches. In no time at all, practically every boy was scratching “there” and seemingly proud of it. Scratching moved on to “repositioning”. Since this happened so quickly after the “scratching” incident, I am not entirely positive which appalling action happened first, but they were both around the same time and they remain disgusting. STOP SCRATCHING YOURSELF!!! Would you scratch yourself in front of your mother?!??!? Actually, some guys would…
Ugh.
Another first that I recall as initially upsetting was watching a movie where someone had a heart attack. Again, I was with my sister, and the movie was Superman with Christopher Reeve, the REAL Superman. Anyway, Clark Kent’s father, um, Mr. Kent, dies from a heart attack. I remember my sister looking at me with great, big eyes filled with so much regret and sorrow for my having just watched that scene. You see, our father died from a heart attack and the wounds left from his death were still fresh. My sister put her arm around me shoulders and said she was sorry, over and over and over. She said, “I didn’t know! I didn’t know! I am so sorry!” Of course, she had no idea and I had no idea and it just kind of was there, staring us down from the big screen. For the record, even with the flair of a Hollywood production, watching someone on screen die from cancer hasn’t become novelty either, as cancer killed our mother.
Perhaps odd but still true, I remember the first time I heard someone say “GD”. I hated it. My heart ached and raced and I thought lightening was going to strike them dead right then and there. I think I kind of waited for it, to be honest. Lightening never struck but I never forgot how hearing it made me feel and I resigned myself to never say that word. I thought the same thing when I heard someone say “Oh my God” like it was nothing. Well kids, it’s definitely something. (Refer to Commandment #7 here, if necessary.)
Along those same lines, I heard an awful word phrase not too terribly long ago that still bothers me. I hesitate to even mention it because that places it in my head. Input Junk – Output Junk. You know, what? I can’t do it. It is sacrilegious and I just can’t do it…but it is horrible!
The first time I saw a dead person on tv. Now, growing up, a corpse was not allowed to be shown on tv. I am not sure when the news could broadcast this, but it is definitely within my lifetime. I was never one to watch the news, but my family did every night. I remember the story being related by Tom Brokaw or someone and it was relevant to a war far, far away. I watched because I knew they wouldn’t show anything upsetting…and then they showed a corpse. WHAT?!?!?!?
I am a very visual person and can retain images in my head forever, if I want to…or if I keep drumming them up through blog entries. Anyway, I remember things quite vividly if they made an impact on me.
I remember my first college party. I was a freshman and wanted to fit in so badly. I nursed a drink and pretended to be drunk for at least two hours. The drink was some colorful red and had grain alcohol in it. I had no idea what grain alcohol was but I knew I didn’t like it. I didn’t like pretending to be drunk either, but it was better than the alternative of actually being drunk. At that point in my young life, I had never been drunk.
The first time I got drunk was… LOL That’s funny. But, yes, the first time I got drunk to the point of not knowing anything has never happened. I have always been aware of my surroundings and more than capable of making safe choices. I have been tipsy and have been under the influence, but never full-fledged drunk. The most I have ever been intoxicated was this time last year. Big Daddy and I were out with Uncle Bill and Elay for the FIRST time. We went to a UK basketball game, also a first for me, and then to Bar Louie’s for dinner and drinks. I had not eaten all day and found the little strawberry cocktail quite tasty. With about two, I was tipsy…the third one made my face hot and flushed and I felt the need to talk very loudly and s-l-o-w. I also found it imperative that I tell Elay how pretty she was every few minutes. Apparently I did not want her to forget. LOL Anyway, if I am drinking, which is rare, I prefer a good pina colada where you cannot taste the alcohol and you cannot even get tipsy, really. At Bar Louie, they do not have frosty, cold, fru-fru drinks. Just the hard stuff, I guess…and it only takes three. So, my first time being drunk was February 2009. Ironically, it was also the last time.
Let’s look at a wonderful “first”…The first time I got a hug from Big Daddy. We were working at the same place and it was very cold outside. I had come in for my shift and he was already there. We went upstairs to a little office where we would spy on shoplifters and I took off my coat. I feigned a chill and Big Daddy offered to “warm me up”. He put his arms around me and held me close. It may have lasted only a moment, but it was a moment that has been revisited over and over in my mind for twenty years now…and I get warm all over every time I remember. *smile*
There are a list of firsts for all of us…some evoking emotion, some provoking thought, some sweet and pleasurable, some not so much, which is where I am going with this today. As I was getting ready for my day, I watched Good Morning America for a few minutes. They were running a clip of a teenage girl being attacked by another teenage girl. Now, when I say “attack”, that is exactly what I mean. The girl who was attacking the other girl shoved, punched, slapped, kicked, knocked down, kicked some more, and then stomped, yes stomped, the other girl’s head on the pavement. This was shocking enough, however, there were two “security guards” standing there doing absolutely nothing. NOTHING! The girl was lying at their feet, no exaggeration, and they did nothing. When interviewed, the “security guards” said they were “not allowed to intervene”. Ok. Maybe not intervene as security guards, but what about intervening as a human being????
I sat on my bed and the mirror I was holding, dropped. I could not believe what I was seeing. I cannot believe that I am even writing about something like this happening. What year is this??? What has become of us as a society? Let’s be cliché, even, and ask…”what has this world come to?”
My stomach dropped as I saw this drama unfold. I don’t know what the deal was between these two teenage girls. I know I have been in the position where I wanted to slap somebody. Actually, I understand that feeling more often than I like…but I don’t follow through with it. What happened within the mind of those TWO “security guards” that NOT intervening was the best decision? They were in uniform and policy prohibits intervening. Ok. Take off your rent-a-cop-reflective-neon-yellow-traffic-vest and step up. What exactly are you “security guarding” anyway? This was someone’s child, for God’s sake! What is going on? How is this an ok decision made by not one, but TWO men?
When do you stop being an employee and start being human?
Maybe the girl deserved it. What??? Well, maybe she did. Maybe she, in her wealth of knowledge accumulated in her “X” number of teen years, led her to do something stupid or harmful or mean. I don’t know. Remember those boys who threw gasoline on the other boy and then set him on fire? Maybe this girl did something like that and “deserved” getting beat up. At some point, though, did she deserve having her head stomped into the pavement? That just seems a bit extreme to me. Maybe along the lines of two wrongs not making a right… I don’t know. Call me crazy but I cannot justify gratuitous violence…in fact, I have a difficult time accepting any violence. Man’s inhumanity to man. I could get on my soapbox about boxing, but I won’t…but I could…I totally could. Let me just say this because it is killing me not to… The point of boxing is to render the opponent unconscious. Being unconscious means your brain has suffered a traumatic and dangerous blow which could possibly result in a chronic debilitation or your death. This is 2010. Boxing, cage fighting, trying to render someone else such damage or agony that they cannot continue is not a sport.
Deep breath…
My kids get very upset with me when I “intervene”. They get scared or worried for me that I may be dealing with someone who would just as soon stomp my head into the ground for butting in. They have valid concerns. I also cannot help myself sometimes. Standing idly by makes me an accomplice and I will not watch and do nothing. I do believe I would be able to protect myself if an altercation proved immediate…or am I convinced that someone would step up and help me?
Well, both are quite possibly wrong. Actually, I know for a fact I would not be able to protect myself. The most vicious attack I know is that of words with my mouth. As for someone intervening to help me? Well, after today’s lead story, it does not appear so, does it?
So, what does all this mean? Are we becoming so desensitized as a society that watching someone get pummeled does not make us try to stop it? Have we become so hardened that we purposefully turn the other way to not risk injury to ourselves? What about our heart and minds? What about injury and damage to those? Are we to walk away in silence and feel no regret or remorse for not trying to help? What is our responsibility as human beings to one another? What is our responsibility to ourselves?
Yet again, I have no answers. I can only do for myself what I can live with. In other words, I am sure my children will be upset with me for butting in before too long. However, there is a chance that they will recall the time that we were driving from, guess where, WalMart, and saw two teenage boys kicking and punching and stomping another teenage boy on the sidewalk. They were just over the crest of a small hill, so we could not see them until we were right up on them. I saw them, checked my rear view mirror, and turned the car around. The next time I came up on them, I was ready. I turned on my flashers and told my kids to get down in the back seat. They were about 12 and 10 years old and both felt frightened for themselves, not just the boy getting beat up, which was natural. I told them to be quiet as I put the passenger side window down and began yelling at the boys.
“Come get in the car right now! I will take you to your home! The police are on their way! The police are coming!” Of course, the police were not coming because I had not called them, but those brats didn’t need to know that. Long story short, the two thugs took off running and the boy getting beat up struggled to his feet. I asked him again, to get in the car and I would take him home. He declined saying he was fine and didn’t need a ride, then he jumped the fence and limped on his way.
My kids were scared but not so much by my actions as much as by what they had seen. As we discussed what had just happened, they both confided in me that seeing such a thing was upsetting to them. They were confused as to how people could beat up someone in broad daylight on one of our major city roads. They were scared that this was how life was going to be when they became teenagers. They were just plain scared. At first, they were upset with me, as well. They were concerned that I had put our safety in jeopardy and maybe I had, but I didn’t think so. I still don’t. I have found that standing up to a bully usually makes them back down, and that was what I did. Not to make a point or drive home some life lesson but rather to stop a beat down. As a mother, how could I drive by and not do something? Not try?
How could those two security guards do nothing?
If it were my child, I would want someone to intervene. I would want someone to take the risk and step up. I would want someone to not worry about their job and just do the right thing.
Watching those two security guards do nothing makes them cowards. If either of them had stopped the violence, if they had intervened at all, they would be considered a hero. Imagine if one of them had taken off the glow-yellow vest thus rendering themselves “off-duty”, stopped the attack, picked up the girl, carried her to safety and sought medical attention…
I guess there is a fine line between heroics and stupidity and I do walk a fine line…but I would rather be a stupid hero rather than an enabler…who did nothing.
Yeah, some “firsts” are better than others but they all contribute to who we are or shall become, don’t they? Having cancer is changing me…I feel brave…and that’s a first.
My first time hearing the “f” word was in my first “R” rated movie, Saturday Night Fever. My sister took me to see it before I was 18 (the age required back then) but I had convinced her I was mature enough to handle whatever the “R” stood for. I begged and pleaded because I wanted to see Vinnie Barbarino in the movies. And so she took me. Since I am relaying this story to you as a time when I was affected by a “first”, obviously I was neither mature enough or emotionally prepared for whatever “R” stood for. Sorry, Kaye…I should have listened to you and we should have gone to see “Paper Moon” or “Blazing Saddles”.
When I was in high school, I remember the first time I saw a boy scratch himself “there”. I was mortified. I could not understand how he could do such a thing in public! I remember thinking “he must have a terrible itch to do that in front of all of us!” As it turns out, this was the wave of things to come as far as scratching itches. In no time at all, practically every boy was scratching “there” and seemingly proud of it. Scratching moved on to “repositioning”. Since this happened so quickly after the “scratching” incident, I am not entirely positive which appalling action happened first, but they were both around the same time and they remain disgusting. STOP SCRATCHING YOURSELF!!! Would you scratch yourself in front of your mother?!??!? Actually, some guys would…
Ugh.
Another first that I recall as initially upsetting was watching a movie where someone had a heart attack. Again, I was with my sister, and the movie was Superman with Christopher Reeve, the REAL Superman. Anyway, Clark Kent’s father, um, Mr. Kent, dies from a heart attack. I remember my sister looking at me with great, big eyes filled with so much regret and sorrow for my having just watched that scene. You see, our father died from a heart attack and the wounds left from his death were still fresh. My sister put her arm around me shoulders and said she was sorry, over and over and over. She said, “I didn’t know! I didn’t know! I am so sorry!” Of course, she had no idea and I had no idea and it just kind of was there, staring us down from the big screen. For the record, even with the flair of a Hollywood production, watching someone on screen die from cancer hasn’t become novelty either, as cancer killed our mother.
Perhaps odd but still true, I remember the first time I heard someone say “GD”. I hated it. My heart ached and raced and I thought lightening was going to strike them dead right then and there. I think I kind of waited for it, to be honest. Lightening never struck but I never forgot how hearing it made me feel and I resigned myself to never say that word. I thought the same thing when I heard someone say “Oh my God” like it was nothing. Well kids, it’s definitely something. (Refer to Commandment #7 here, if necessary.)
Along those same lines, I heard an awful word phrase not too terribly long ago that still bothers me. I hesitate to even mention it because that places it in my head. Input Junk – Output Junk. You know, what? I can’t do it. It is sacrilegious and I just can’t do it…but it is horrible!
The first time I saw a dead person on tv. Now, growing up, a corpse was not allowed to be shown on tv. I am not sure when the news could broadcast this, but it is definitely within my lifetime. I was never one to watch the news, but my family did every night. I remember the story being related by Tom Brokaw or someone and it was relevant to a war far, far away. I watched because I knew they wouldn’t show anything upsetting…and then they showed a corpse. WHAT?!?!?!?
I am a very visual person and can retain images in my head forever, if I want to…or if I keep drumming them up through blog entries. Anyway, I remember things quite vividly if they made an impact on me.
I remember my first college party. I was a freshman and wanted to fit in so badly. I nursed a drink and pretended to be drunk for at least two hours. The drink was some colorful red and had grain alcohol in it. I had no idea what grain alcohol was but I knew I didn’t like it. I didn’t like pretending to be drunk either, but it was better than the alternative of actually being drunk. At that point in my young life, I had never been drunk.
The first time I got drunk was… LOL That’s funny. But, yes, the first time I got drunk to the point of not knowing anything has never happened. I have always been aware of my surroundings and more than capable of making safe choices. I have been tipsy and have been under the influence, but never full-fledged drunk. The most I have ever been intoxicated was this time last year. Big Daddy and I were out with Uncle Bill and Elay for the FIRST time. We went to a UK basketball game, also a first for me, and then to Bar Louie’s for dinner and drinks. I had not eaten all day and found the little strawberry cocktail quite tasty. With about two, I was tipsy…the third one made my face hot and flushed and I felt the need to talk very loudly and s-l-o-w. I also found it imperative that I tell Elay how pretty she was every few minutes. Apparently I did not want her to forget. LOL Anyway, if I am drinking, which is rare, I prefer a good pina colada where you cannot taste the alcohol and you cannot even get tipsy, really. At Bar Louie, they do not have frosty, cold, fru-fru drinks. Just the hard stuff, I guess…and it only takes three. So, my first time being drunk was February 2009. Ironically, it was also the last time.
Let’s look at a wonderful “first”…The first time I got a hug from Big Daddy. We were working at the same place and it was very cold outside. I had come in for my shift and he was already there. We went upstairs to a little office where we would spy on shoplifters and I took off my coat. I feigned a chill and Big Daddy offered to “warm me up”. He put his arms around me and held me close. It may have lasted only a moment, but it was a moment that has been revisited over and over in my mind for twenty years now…and I get warm all over every time I remember. *smile*
There are a list of firsts for all of us…some evoking emotion, some provoking thought, some sweet and pleasurable, some not so much, which is where I am going with this today. As I was getting ready for my day, I watched Good Morning America for a few minutes. They were running a clip of a teenage girl being attacked by another teenage girl. Now, when I say “attack”, that is exactly what I mean. The girl who was attacking the other girl shoved, punched, slapped, kicked, knocked down, kicked some more, and then stomped, yes stomped, the other girl’s head on the pavement. This was shocking enough, however, there were two “security guards” standing there doing absolutely nothing. NOTHING! The girl was lying at their feet, no exaggeration, and they did nothing. When interviewed, the “security guards” said they were “not allowed to intervene”. Ok. Maybe not intervene as security guards, but what about intervening as a human being????
I sat on my bed and the mirror I was holding, dropped. I could not believe what I was seeing. I cannot believe that I am even writing about something like this happening. What year is this??? What has become of us as a society? Let’s be cliché, even, and ask…”what has this world come to?”
My stomach dropped as I saw this drama unfold. I don’t know what the deal was between these two teenage girls. I know I have been in the position where I wanted to slap somebody. Actually, I understand that feeling more often than I like…but I don’t follow through with it. What happened within the mind of those TWO “security guards” that NOT intervening was the best decision? They were in uniform and policy prohibits intervening. Ok. Take off your rent-a-cop-reflective-neon-yellow-traffic-vest and step up. What exactly are you “security guarding” anyway? This was someone’s child, for God’s sake! What is going on? How is this an ok decision made by not one, but TWO men?
When do you stop being an employee and start being human?
Maybe the girl deserved it. What??? Well, maybe she did. Maybe she, in her wealth of knowledge accumulated in her “X” number of teen years, led her to do something stupid or harmful or mean. I don’t know. Remember those boys who threw gasoline on the other boy and then set him on fire? Maybe this girl did something like that and “deserved” getting beat up. At some point, though, did she deserve having her head stomped into the pavement? That just seems a bit extreme to me. Maybe along the lines of two wrongs not making a right… I don’t know. Call me crazy but I cannot justify gratuitous violence…in fact, I have a difficult time accepting any violence. Man’s inhumanity to man. I could get on my soapbox about boxing, but I won’t…but I could…I totally could. Let me just say this because it is killing me not to… The point of boxing is to render the opponent unconscious. Being unconscious means your brain has suffered a traumatic and dangerous blow which could possibly result in a chronic debilitation or your death. This is 2010. Boxing, cage fighting, trying to render someone else such damage or agony that they cannot continue is not a sport.
Deep breath…
My kids get very upset with me when I “intervene”. They get scared or worried for me that I may be dealing with someone who would just as soon stomp my head into the ground for butting in. They have valid concerns. I also cannot help myself sometimes. Standing idly by makes me an accomplice and I will not watch and do nothing. I do believe I would be able to protect myself if an altercation proved immediate…or am I convinced that someone would step up and help me?
Well, both are quite possibly wrong. Actually, I know for a fact I would not be able to protect myself. The most vicious attack I know is that of words with my mouth. As for someone intervening to help me? Well, after today’s lead story, it does not appear so, does it?
So, what does all this mean? Are we becoming so desensitized as a society that watching someone get pummeled does not make us try to stop it? Have we become so hardened that we purposefully turn the other way to not risk injury to ourselves? What about our heart and minds? What about injury and damage to those? Are we to walk away in silence and feel no regret or remorse for not trying to help? What is our responsibility as human beings to one another? What is our responsibility to ourselves?
Yet again, I have no answers. I can only do for myself what I can live with. In other words, I am sure my children will be upset with me for butting in before too long. However, there is a chance that they will recall the time that we were driving from, guess where, WalMart, and saw two teenage boys kicking and punching and stomping another teenage boy on the sidewalk. They were just over the crest of a small hill, so we could not see them until we were right up on them. I saw them, checked my rear view mirror, and turned the car around. The next time I came up on them, I was ready. I turned on my flashers and told my kids to get down in the back seat. They were about 12 and 10 years old and both felt frightened for themselves, not just the boy getting beat up, which was natural. I told them to be quiet as I put the passenger side window down and began yelling at the boys.
“Come get in the car right now! I will take you to your home! The police are on their way! The police are coming!” Of course, the police were not coming because I had not called them, but those brats didn’t need to know that. Long story short, the two thugs took off running and the boy getting beat up struggled to his feet. I asked him again, to get in the car and I would take him home. He declined saying he was fine and didn’t need a ride, then he jumped the fence and limped on his way.
My kids were scared but not so much by my actions as much as by what they had seen. As we discussed what had just happened, they both confided in me that seeing such a thing was upsetting to them. They were confused as to how people could beat up someone in broad daylight on one of our major city roads. They were scared that this was how life was going to be when they became teenagers. They were just plain scared. At first, they were upset with me, as well. They were concerned that I had put our safety in jeopardy and maybe I had, but I didn’t think so. I still don’t. I have found that standing up to a bully usually makes them back down, and that was what I did. Not to make a point or drive home some life lesson but rather to stop a beat down. As a mother, how could I drive by and not do something? Not try?
How could those two security guards do nothing?
If it were my child, I would want someone to intervene. I would want someone to take the risk and step up. I would want someone to not worry about their job and just do the right thing.
Watching those two security guards do nothing makes them cowards. If either of them had stopped the violence, if they had intervened at all, they would be considered a hero. Imagine if one of them had taken off the glow-yellow vest thus rendering themselves “off-duty”, stopped the attack, picked up the girl, carried her to safety and sought medical attention…
I guess there is a fine line between heroics and stupidity and I do walk a fine line…but I would rather be a stupid hero rather than an enabler…who did nothing.
Yeah, some “firsts” are better than others but they all contribute to who we are or shall become, don’t they? Having cancer is changing me…I feel brave…and that’s a first.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Radiation Day
I hesitate to even begin this post…not because of how I feel or anything that happened or didn’t happen. I hesitate because I know as Big Daddy reads it, he will think he let me down. That is not the case whatsoever. The only reason I am bothering to write it at all is because of the profound feelings associated with it.
As I mentioned, yesterday was to be my first dose of radiation and Big Daddy was with me the whole time. However, my appointment never happened as I had to be in my first class for my photography lesson. Priorities, you say? Yes, one day is not going to make a difference with starting radiation however, missing one class would have. There may be a hint of what is really important to me as well, with the decision to leave before they could get to me…and if that is the case, so be it.
I told you all about my first class and making new friends. I told you how I am not the most clueless in my class and I am relatively sure I am not the most experienced, either. I told you about the token weird guy and how it’s a must for any class to have at least one nutjob. I was so excited about my first class, I found it difficult to sleep and when I did, I dreamt of photographs, photo manipulation, and the “perfect shot”.
Snow came as I tossed and turned. We had approximately four inches in our little city. School was cancelled and the kids slept in. I got up, dressed, and headed out to my first radiation appointment. Not sure if I mentioned this or not, but Big Daddy has a side business. He is the owner of a lawn and landscaping company who specializes in snow and ice removal during the winter months. He had gone to work yesterday afternoon, throwing salt as a means of staying on top of the weather that was heading our way. We have several commercial properties that require constant salting, plowing, and shoveling because it is cheaper for them to pay us to be there around the clock than it is for them to get sued by someone who falls. The kids stayed asleep, I got ready to leave, and Big Daddy worked with his crew to keep the patrons safe.
I went on to the hospital and checked in. I wasn’t in the waiting room long when I was called back. “Please undress from the waist up and sit here until you are called”.
Ok.
I was called within five minutes and subsequently escorted back into the radiation room. It looked very much like an operating room, and you know, I have seen several of those the past few months. It was dark, as opposed to the blinding lights of an O.R., but the equipment and sterility was obviously medicinal and the people seemed well-trained. Even Joe, the guy who wasn’t in the room when I had to “remove my left arm from the gown”, was nonplussed by my scars or lack of breasts.
The gurney-bed was cold, of course, and the hollowed out place for my head to rest was hard and uncomfortable. One of the technicians took my hand and arm and placed it above my head, latching my fingers around the finger-form-fitted bar. At any given time, there were three techs on either side of me looking, marking my skin, palpating. I was introduced to all of them and remember none of their names except for Joe. You know Joe, as in the only male, standing over my naked torso?
“You don’t have to do anything special except lay completely still. You can breathe normally and not hold your breath. We will do an x-ray first to make sure we have everything lined up properly and to double check that nothing has changed. Next, we will begin the radiation. You will hear the table move and the machine reposition. Just be still and it will be over in no time. You won’t feel a thing”.
That’s when it hit me.
I DID feel something! I felt something I had not felt before that I could ever recall! I was panicked and afraid and scared and petrified. I wanted to leap off the gurney and run! I wanted to get out of there as if something or someone were chasing me. I felt threatened. Unsafe. Unprotected.
What was going on? I had so many other things done to me that this procedure was literally nothing. Why would I be freaking out now? There were no needles. There were no IV’s or meds or even scales to be weighed on. All I had to do was lay there and not move. I don’t have ADHD, so being still is not hard for me, so what was the problem? Why did I feel like a little kid lost and separated from their parents? I felt completely helpless and desperate.
I argued with myself inside my head.
“You are being ridiculous. Knock it off, Stupid. Nothing is wrong! Stop being dumb! God, what a crackpot!”
I forced myself to stay put, to not move an inch. Whatever I had to do to get out of there, I was doing. I knew whatever I was feeling was not rational. I knew I had to stay still. I told myself it was just a matter of minutes and I would be out of there, dressed, and gone. Just breathe…just be still…don’t move…no one is after you…
The technician came back out and helped me up. I was led back out to my clothes and told that they would see me tomorrow. That was it. I was done. I was ready to put on my clothes and go to work. So, why did I find myself fighting back tears? Why was I so sad? Why did I feel so alone and scared and confused?
I put my clothes on as fast as I could. I practically ran to my truck and got inside. I turned it on but just sat there with the truck in park. The radio was off. My phone was still on silent. I couldn’t hear anything outside of my vehicle. All I wanted was Big Daddy.
That was it. Big Daddy had not been with me for the first time since all this started. He had come to every single appointment with me whether it was a follow-up, labs for blood work, or chemo. There had not been a time when he was not with me for whatever the appointment was…big or small. He had even offered to go with me to the “Look Good, Feel Better” class which teaches women with cancer how apply makeup after their hair falls out and they lose their eyebrows and eyelashes! He had been with me every step of the way and I had leaned on him…apparently quite heavily.
This was a new feeling for me. This feeling of needing someone in order to accomplish something for myself. I pump my own gas. I drive all over town running errands and getting things done. I don’t wait for someone to do stuff for me. I am self-reliant and do not need someone to hold my hand to do anything! I have been independent since I was nine years old and buried both parents. I do not, do NOT depend on others for me to make it through anything or any problem. So, how on earth did I arrive here, needing Big Daddy just as much as I needed air to breathe?
I don’t know but I did.
I sat in my truck for a while and finally got myself together. I had to go on into work and act like everything was okay. There is no way I would try and explain that radiation went fine but I felt like a little kid without her teddy bear…that I wanted to run away and never come back…that I was an orphan all over again. So, at work, when they did ask, I said everything went “fine” and that was that.
And so I sit here typing, still confused as to where that feeling came from… How can I be this old and still feel like an abandoned child? Am I suddenly living in Haiti after the earthquake? How is any of this possible? How can a woman of sound mind and generally stable mental capacity still be emotionally catapulted into a cold, dark, foreign room filled with strangers who want something but never ask, only take, and be filled with emptiness and isolation? Did you get that? Filled with emptiness… How is that even possible???
Again, I do not know but I have stopped trying to wrap my head around it and just accept it. Sometime throughout all this, I changed. I let my guard down and loved Big Daddy completely. I stopped having to be in control all the time and manage the lives of my family. I stopped wigging out when my plans changed and started embracing life as it came. Also in there, somewhere, I gave my heart completely to the one man whom I will love forever because I always have. I loved Big Daddy when I was a young girl, dreaming of my Prince Charming…I just did not know his name. In fact, it pains me to not be able to write his real name here because he is so very much identified with his name. It sounds strong, determined, and resolute, just as he is.
So, you can surely see how I would not want to write this post and have Big Daddy think for one second that he let me down. He didn’t. He was out working our business, providing for our family as I embark on everyday appointment for six weeks. Yesterday, as we sat in the waiting room, thinking I would have my first radiation, I told Big Daddy that I in no way, shape, or form expected him to come to every radiation appointment with me. That realistically, with him working the night shift, it was an impossibility anyway. I told him I would be fine and could handle it all by myself. I explained that his sleep was far more important to me than him sitting there for nothing, not even being allowed to go back with me to the radiation room. I meant every word I said and truly wanted him to believe me. I could do this on my own and would be fine.
I still believe what I said. I still want him to sleep while I go for my morning radiation appointments. I don’t want him to feel like he has to come because honestly, he doesn’t. I really will be fine from here on out. It’s just that today, the first day without him, I felt his absence just as much as I had felt his presence and it scared me. I had not realized that I had become dependent on Big Daddy to shelter and protect me from all evils including those which are to make me better. It never entered my mind that I was leaning on someone because they offered and I liked the feeling of being taken care of. Surely as I have lived my adult life as emotionally unavailable at full throttle, I am now completely engaged.
For years and years I thought if I loved Big Daddy with all my heart that something would happen to him and he would die, so I held back. Surely a carry-over from loving my Mom and Dad with all my heart and having them die. I loved Big Daddy with all that I could, but I always held out a small portion of my heart that would withstand his death and not shatter. This small portion of my protected heart would stand and protect our children if something ever happened to their father. And so, I never gave all of my heart to Big Daddy because trusting someone else with your heart is a dangerous business and I play it safe.
Until today.
Big Daddy, you did not let me down today…you let me learn…
And so, I am here learning many things about my family, my husband, my friends…but mostly about myself. I am not as strong as I can be until I surrender my entire heart. We are slaves to ourselves until we love one person more. We say it all the time… “I love you more than I love myself”. Well, it’s one thing to say it and another thing to mean it with your whole heart…your whole heart that is being tended to by that one person you truly do love more than yourself, because you surrendered it to them completely.
That is love…and I love Big Daddy more than myself and my heart is safe.
As I mentioned, yesterday was to be my first dose of radiation and Big Daddy was with me the whole time. However, my appointment never happened as I had to be in my first class for my photography lesson. Priorities, you say? Yes, one day is not going to make a difference with starting radiation however, missing one class would have. There may be a hint of what is really important to me as well, with the decision to leave before they could get to me…and if that is the case, so be it.
I told you all about my first class and making new friends. I told you how I am not the most clueless in my class and I am relatively sure I am not the most experienced, either. I told you about the token weird guy and how it’s a must for any class to have at least one nutjob. I was so excited about my first class, I found it difficult to sleep and when I did, I dreamt of photographs, photo manipulation, and the “perfect shot”.
Snow came as I tossed and turned. We had approximately four inches in our little city. School was cancelled and the kids slept in. I got up, dressed, and headed out to my first radiation appointment. Not sure if I mentioned this or not, but Big Daddy has a side business. He is the owner of a lawn and landscaping company who specializes in snow and ice removal during the winter months. He had gone to work yesterday afternoon, throwing salt as a means of staying on top of the weather that was heading our way. We have several commercial properties that require constant salting, plowing, and shoveling because it is cheaper for them to pay us to be there around the clock than it is for them to get sued by someone who falls. The kids stayed asleep, I got ready to leave, and Big Daddy worked with his crew to keep the patrons safe.
I went on to the hospital and checked in. I wasn’t in the waiting room long when I was called back. “Please undress from the waist up and sit here until you are called”.
Ok.
I was called within five minutes and subsequently escorted back into the radiation room. It looked very much like an operating room, and you know, I have seen several of those the past few months. It was dark, as opposed to the blinding lights of an O.R., but the equipment and sterility was obviously medicinal and the people seemed well-trained. Even Joe, the guy who wasn’t in the room when I had to “remove my left arm from the gown”, was nonplussed by my scars or lack of breasts.
The gurney-bed was cold, of course, and the hollowed out place for my head to rest was hard and uncomfortable. One of the technicians took my hand and arm and placed it above my head, latching my fingers around the finger-form-fitted bar. At any given time, there were three techs on either side of me looking, marking my skin, palpating. I was introduced to all of them and remember none of their names except for Joe. You know Joe, as in the only male, standing over my naked torso?
“You don’t have to do anything special except lay completely still. You can breathe normally and not hold your breath. We will do an x-ray first to make sure we have everything lined up properly and to double check that nothing has changed. Next, we will begin the radiation. You will hear the table move and the machine reposition. Just be still and it will be over in no time. You won’t feel a thing”.
That’s when it hit me.
I DID feel something! I felt something I had not felt before that I could ever recall! I was panicked and afraid and scared and petrified. I wanted to leap off the gurney and run! I wanted to get out of there as if something or someone were chasing me. I felt threatened. Unsafe. Unprotected.
What was going on? I had so many other things done to me that this procedure was literally nothing. Why would I be freaking out now? There were no needles. There were no IV’s or meds or even scales to be weighed on. All I had to do was lay there and not move. I don’t have ADHD, so being still is not hard for me, so what was the problem? Why did I feel like a little kid lost and separated from their parents? I felt completely helpless and desperate.
I argued with myself inside my head.
“You are being ridiculous. Knock it off, Stupid. Nothing is wrong! Stop being dumb! God, what a crackpot!”
I forced myself to stay put, to not move an inch. Whatever I had to do to get out of there, I was doing. I knew whatever I was feeling was not rational. I knew I had to stay still. I told myself it was just a matter of minutes and I would be out of there, dressed, and gone. Just breathe…just be still…don’t move…no one is after you…
The technician came back out and helped me up. I was led back out to my clothes and told that they would see me tomorrow. That was it. I was done. I was ready to put on my clothes and go to work. So, why did I find myself fighting back tears? Why was I so sad? Why did I feel so alone and scared and confused?
I put my clothes on as fast as I could. I practically ran to my truck and got inside. I turned it on but just sat there with the truck in park. The radio was off. My phone was still on silent. I couldn’t hear anything outside of my vehicle. All I wanted was Big Daddy.
That was it. Big Daddy had not been with me for the first time since all this started. He had come to every single appointment with me whether it was a follow-up, labs for blood work, or chemo. There had not been a time when he was not with me for whatever the appointment was…big or small. He had even offered to go with me to the “Look Good, Feel Better” class which teaches women with cancer how apply makeup after their hair falls out and they lose their eyebrows and eyelashes! He had been with me every step of the way and I had leaned on him…apparently quite heavily.
This was a new feeling for me. This feeling of needing someone in order to accomplish something for myself. I pump my own gas. I drive all over town running errands and getting things done. I don’t wait for someone to do stuff for me. I am self-reliant and do not need someone to hold my hand to do anything! I have been independent since I was nine years old and buried both parents. I do not, do NOT depend on others for me to make it through anything or any problem. So, how on earth did I arrive here, needing Big Daddy just as much as I needed air to breathe?
I don’t know but I did.
I sat in my truck for a while and finally got myself together. I had to go on into work and act like everything was okay. There is no way I would try and explain that radiation went fine but I felt like a little kid without her teddy bear…that I wanted to run away and never come back…that I was an orphan all over again. So, at work, when they did ask, I said everything went “fine” and that was that.
And so I sit here typing, still confused as to where that feeling came from… How can I be this old and still feel like an abandoned child? Am I suddenly living in Haiti after the earthquake? How is any of this possible? How can a woman of sound mind and generally stable mental capacity still be emotionally catapulted into a cold, dark, foreign room filled with strangers who want something but never ask, only take, and be filled with emptiness and isolation? Did you get that? Filled with emptiness… How is that even possible???
Again, I do not know but I have stopped trying to wrap my head around it and just accept it. Sometime throughout all this, I changed. I let my guard down and loved Big Daddy completely. I stopped having to be in control all the time and manage the lives of my family. I stopped wigging out when my plans changed and started embracing life as it came. Also in there, somewhere, I gave my heart completely to the one man whom I will love forever because I always have. I loved Big Daddy when I was a young girl, dreaming of my Prince Charming…I just did not know his name. In fact, it pains me to not be able to write his real name here because he is so very much identified with his name. It sounds strong, determined, and resolute, just as he is.
So, you can surely see how I would not want to write this post and have Big Daddy think for one second that he let me down. He didn’t. He was out working our business, providing for our family as I embark on everyday appointment for six weeks. Yesterday, as we sat in the waiting room, thinking I would have my first radiation, I told Big Daddy that I in no way, shape, or form expected him to come to every radiation appointment with me. That realistically, with him working the night shift, it was an impossibility anyway. I told him I would be fine and could handle it all by myself. I explained that his sleep was far more important to me than him sitting there for nothing, not even being allowed to go back with me to the radiation room. I meant every word I said and truly wanted him to believe me. I could do this on my own and would be fine.
I still believe what I said. I still want him to sleep while I go for my morning radiation appointments. I don’t want him to feel like he has to come because honestly, he doesn’t. I really will be fine from here on out. It’s just that today, the first day without him, I felt his absence just as much as I had felt his presence and it scared me. I had not realized that I had become dependent on Big Daddy to shelter and protect me from all evils including those which are to make me better. It never entered my mind that I was leaning on someone because they offered and I liked the feeling of being taken care of. Surely as I have lived my adult life as emotionally unavailable at full throttle, I am now completely engaged.
For years and years I thought if I loved Big Daddy with all my heart that something would happen to him and he would die, so I held back. Surely a carry-over from loving my Mom and Dad with all my heart and having them die. I loved Big Daddy with all that I could, but I always held out a small portion of my heart that would withstand his death and not shatter. This small portion of my protected heart would stand and protect our children if something ever happened to their father. And so, I never gave all of my heart to Big Daddy because trusting someone else with your heart is a dangerous business and I play it safe.
Until today.
Big Daddy, you did not let me down today…you let me learn…
And so, I am here learning many things about my family, my husband, my friends…but mostly about myself. I am not as strong as I can be until I surrender my entire heart. We are slaves to ourselves until we love one person more. We say it all the time… “I love you more than I love myself”. Well, it’s one thing to say it and another thing to mean it with your whole heart…your whole heart that is being tended to by that one person you truly do love more than yourself, because you surrendered it to them completely.
That is love…and I love Big Daddy more than myself and my heart is safe.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Two Firsts - Only One Happened
I was scheduled to begin radiation yesterday with an appointment time of 4:10pm. It isn’t anything cool like becoming Spiderman or the Hulk, however it is still life-changing. I had gone on to work and had a fine day. Came home exhausted and was asleep before a whole two minutes had passed from my taking off my shoes. I took my nap, woke up, fixed dinner, and hopped in the shower. I had strict instructions to wash off all traces of deodorant.
*Side note* Do not use deodorant with aluminum…it contributes to Alzheimer’s Disease as well as places a substance in your bloodstream you just do not need. I Googled “aluminum free deodorants” and found some that rated better than others. I went to WalMart, because that always brings me such joy, and they actually did carry Tom’s Aluminum-Free deodorant. I opted for the lavender version. I will let you know…
Anyway, I took my shower, got dressed and headed over to the hospital for my first radiation treatment. Big Daddy met me there and we sat and talked for about an hour and fifteen minutes while we waited. They had told us when we walked in that they were running behind, so it was not a surprise to still be sitting there that much past my appointment time. However, this was also the first night of my photography class at UK and class was to begin at 5:30. Now, if you live in a metro area, you understand rush hour. However, if you live in Lexington and are trying to get anywhere between the hours of 4pm and 6pm, then you know why our city ranks so high among “road rage”, “vehicular homicide”, and “suicide-by-merging” statistics. The time was 5:10pm and Big Daddy told them we had to leave. It was just that simple. Sometimes I forget how simple things can be…and he reminds me, and it’s nice.
We left the hospital without having my first dose of radiation. I followed behind him in my vehicle because I have directional issues. I can (and have) become lost in our neighborhood. We have lived there for ten years. I can get completely turned around and go in circles for days. Put it this way…whatever way I am facing is North. It doesn’t make sense to you, but I totally get it. So, I followed Big Daddy onto the university campus and he deposited me into the appropriate parking lot. He left and I headed into the building as the clock ticked 5:30. As I walked in, I noticed all kinds of things one would not typically associate with photography or graphic art. I saw music stands, instruments, and those great, big drums you could hide small children in. As I retrieved my color-coded map, I heard someone singing opera. Ummmm… Ok. I perused my map and even though I was convinced I was in the right place, I asked someone anyway. He took me back to the door I had come in through and pointed to the building across the quad. Oh. I was in the wrong building. Imagine that.
Went across the quad to the other building and asked two more people where the “little library” was and finally found it. Time? 5:37pm. I hate being late. The class was full up front (which is where us nerds like to sit), so I had to take a seat toward the back of the room. The instructor had already begun, of course, and even though I was not the only one to come in late, I felt like I was. The instructor was nice and we did all the “logging in” to this, that, and the other and we later introduced ourselves. My turn came around and I said my name and the type of camera I have and then I threw out there that, while chic, I actually wore the head wrap because I am undergoing chemotherapy and radiation for cancer. I mentioned Big Daddy and how he is the one who believes in my photography and believes in me. I guess I was thinking if the class liked Big Daddy, then maybe they would like me by default.
The instructor “oooohed” as I said my type of camera, and I loved that. AS I mentioned, this is a professional camera and it makes me feel so special to have one. Canon has not even distributed the informational cd-rom for this camera yet because it is so new. YAY!!! Anyway, since I had mentioned that Big Daddy had given me the camera, I wanted everyone to know that the camera he gave me was the best there is…just like him. Everyone else introduced themselves, but no one had a camera even close to the caliber of mine. I loved that, too.
Basically, the class was slow for me as I knew the basics already and had already joined Flickr (yes, I spelled it right), and knew how to work a Mac. I helped the guy next to me and that made me feel good. I made friends with him and the lady across from me. There was one weird guy in the class, as I guess is the requirement. My two new friends and I worked on the homework and exchanged contact info. I cannot put into words what being in a class for the sole purpose of learning does to my heart. I do not need the credit hours. I am not meeting some graduation requirement. I am there for the sake of learning. I love being on a university campus and being part of an intellectual community. It is stimulating to me…it makes me want to do great things, achieve tremendous goals, and of course, contribute to society in some personal, legacy-leaving way.
I asked my new friend if I could follow her out because I did not know how to get home and she said yes. It was at this point that the instructor realized our class was to begin at 5:30, not 5, and so I wasn't as late as I had thought. Class was over and I headed home. I felt great and anxious to expand my knowledge of something I love…photography. Even though Big Daddy had not been with me physically during the class, he was definitely with me in my heart. I had sent him a text message saying how happy I was and how excited the class was to me and I just thanked him for this opportunity. He wrote back and said that he loved me more than I would ever, ever know or be able to understand. Considering how much I love him, that’s enormous.
I saved the text.
*Side note* Do not use deodorant with aluminum…it contributes to Alzheimer’s Disease as well as places a substance in your bloodstream you just do not need. I Googled “aluminum free deodorants” and found some that rated better than others. I went to WalMart, because that always brings me such joy, and they actually did carry Tom’s Aluminum-Free deodorant. I opted for the lavender version. I will let you know…
Anyway, I took my shower, got dressed and headed over to the hospital for my first radiation treatment. Big Daddy met me there and we sat and talked for about an hour and fifteen minutes while we waited. They had told us when we walked in that they were running behind, so it was not a surprise to still be sitting there that much past my appointment time. However, this was also the first night of my photography class at UK and class was to begin at 5:30. Now, if you live in a metro area, you understand rush hour. However, if you live in Lexington and are trying to get anywhere between the hours of 4pm and 6pm, then you know why our city ranks so high among “road rage”, “vehicular homicide”, and “suicide-by-merging” statistics. The time was 5:10pm and Big Daddy told them we had to leave. It was just that simple. Sometimes I forget how simple things can be…and he reminds me, and it’s nice.
We left the hospital without having my first dose of radiation. I followed behind him in my vehicle because I have directional issues. I can (and have) become lost in our neighborhood. We have lived there for ten years. I can get completely turned around and go in circles for days. Put it this way…whatever way I am facing is North. It doesn’t make sense to you, but I totally get it. So, I followed Big Daddy onto the university campus and he deposited me into the appropriate parking lot. He left and I headed into the building as the clock ticked 5:30. As I walked in, I noticed all kinds of things one would not typically associate with photography or graphic art. I saw music stands, instruments, and those great, big drums you could hide small children in. As I retrieved my color-coded map, I heard someone singing opera. Ummmm… Ok. I perused my map and even though I was convinced I was in the right place, I asked someone anyway. He took me back to the door I had come in through and pointed to the building across the quad. Oh. I was in the wrong building. Imagine that.
Went across the quad to the other building and asked two more people where the “little library” was and finally found it. Time? 5:37pm. I hate being late. The class was full up front (which is where us nerds like to sit), so I had to take a seat toward the back of the room. The instructor had already begun, of course, and even though I was not the only one to come in late, I felt like I was. The instructor was nice and we did all the “logging in” to this, that, and the other and we later introduced ourselves. My turn came around and I said my name and the type of camera I have and then I threw out there that, while chic, I actually wore the head wrap because I am undergoing chemotherapy and radiation for cancer. I mentioned Big Daddy and how he is the one who believes in my photography and believes in me. I guess I was thinking if the class liked Big Daddy, then maybe they would like me by default.
The instructor “oooohed” as I said my type of camera, and I loved that. AS I mentioned, this is a professional camera and it makes me feel so special to have one. Canon has not even distributed the informational cd-rom for this camera yet because it is so new. YAY!!! Anyway, since I had mentioned that Big Daddy had given me the camera, I wanted everyone to know that the camera he gave me was the best there is…just like him. Everyone else introduced themselves, but no one had a camera even close to the caliber of mine. I loved that, too.
Basically, the class was slow for me as I knew the basics already and had already joined Flickr (yes, I spelled it right), and knew how to work a Mac. I helped the guy next to me and that made me feel good. I made friends with him and the lady across from me. There was one weird guy in the class, as I guess is the requirement. My two new friends and I worked on the homework and exchanged contact info. I cannot put into words what being in a class for the sole purpose of learning does to my heart. I do not need the credit hours. I am not meeting some graduation requirement. I am there for the sake of learning. I love being on a university campus and being part of an intellectual community. It is stimulating to me…it makes me want to do great things, achieve tremendous goals, and of course, contribute to society in some personal, legacy-leaving way.
I asked my new friend if I could follow her out because I did not know how to get home and she said yes. It was at this point that the instructor realized our class was to begin at 5:30, not 5, and so I wasn't as late as I had thought. Class was over and I headed home. I felt great and anxious to expand my knowledge of something I love…photography. Even though Big Daddy had not been with me physically during the class, he was definitely with me in my heart. I had sent him a text message saying how happy I was and how excited the class was to me and I just thanked him for this opportunity. He wrote back and said that he loved me more than I would ever, ever know or be able to understand. Considering how much I love him, that’s enormous.
I saved the text.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
CAUTION!! IRRITANT!!
So, I have moved on from the whole “what kind of cancer do I have” stage…I am actually tired of thinking about it. What’s done is done…it is what it is…c’est la vie…carpe diem…pass the mayonnaise…whatever. Let’s just move on.
I thought it would be fun to give another list of things that irritate me since I get so much feedback from those… Not sure if you like me being irritated or you simply relate to my irritants, but they are always fun to list. So, here we go!
Things That Irritate Pandora, Volume 88
1. Slow drivers. (Makes every list, every time)
2. Having someone upset with ME because someone else did not call THEM. What?!?!?
3. Having to repeat myself.
4. Not having enough hours in the day.
5. Cigarettes…I take it as a personal affront now.
6. Insurance people who ask me for symptoms to justify my short-term disability…"Ummmm, cancer?”
7. People who complain about things but do absolutely nothing to make them better.
8. Not having co-pays count toward my out-of-pocket expenses. Where ya think that money’s coming from???
9. Finding out that ice cream with peanuts does not constitute a “protein and a dairy”.
10. Being told “no, I didn’t do that”, knowing full well you did do that.
11. Bearing the sole responsibility of changing the toilet paper roll because no one understands the complexities of it or they may die if they attempt it. What the ?!?!?!?
12. Clicking on a story that interests me only to be re-routed to some advertisement for something I am NOT interested in and having to “X” out and start over, running the risk of being veered toward yet another ad. (One of the main reasons I am on anti-homicidal meds)13. People who use the self checkout lane in grocery stores and take forever because they can’t figure it out, it’s their first time, or they are just THAT stupid. It isn’t brain surgery, people!!!!
14. People who fake laugh and insist on fake laughing when I cannot say “STOP FAKE LAUGHING, FAKER!!”
15. Having something amazing to say and then forgetting it because I was interrupted.
16. Being interrupted.
17. Women who flirt with men to the point of making other women feel sick and the men feel dirty.
18. People who are mean to animals, children, or anything, really…so, people who are mean.
19. Liberals or loud people who cannot tell me why they think the way they do.
20. Long-winded excuses. Man up.
21. Family quarrels, couple quarrels, workplace quarrels, sibling quarrels, public quarrels.
Let it gooooooooooooooo.
22. Losing electricity for ANY reason. I am not a pilgrim. I am not a pioneer. I am not Caroline Ingalls.
23. Litter, littering, litterbugs. You stupid, lazy ass.
24. People who hurt my kid’s feelings.
25. Getting home and having to go right back out for something when I could have stopped on the way home.
26. Feeling like I am not making a beneficial difference in the world.
27. Having to “opt” to speak English when calling a company in America on a domestic line.
28. People who whistle or snap their fingers at a restaurant server. I want to smack you.
29. Opportunists who sue for the sake of suing and “easy money”.
30. People who steal, engage in insurance fraud and shoplift. You three groups are making the rest of us pay more for everyday stuff. Get a job like the rest of us!!! And for those of you who engage in identity theft…just you wait. The hell you put people through and the havoc you wreak on their lives is being duly noted by God and you will be punished.
31. Writing in ink on my calendar because I am positive of the details and then having the details change.
32. Clumpy White-Out. (See #31)
33. Things that just never seem to be accomplished…vehicles cleaned out, floors swept, clothes put away, groceries bought, dogs bathed, getting to bed early, etc.
34. That one thought that slams you when you least expect it and you can’t regain your ability to focus on anything else for the rest of the day.
35. Ungrateful people.
36. Passive-Aggressive behavior.
37. Saints on Sunday – Moles on Monday
38. Cats. (Not big cats like lions or tigers…just house cats.)
39. Boxing, golf, wrestling, and cage fighting. Really?
40. Howard Stern, Maury Povich, Jerry Springer, Montel Williams, Whoopi Goldberg, Amy Whinehouse, Oprah Winfrey, Martha Stewart, local business owners who buy tv ad spots and feel the need to “star” in them, stupid people, selfish people, and people who say things like “OH! I wish my body was forced into early menopause and I stopped having my period” or “I am so tired!” or “My one vote doesn’t count” or “That’s not my job” or “I’m not supposed to tell you this but…”
I also find people who are loud and obnoxious to be quite irritating along with people who think they know everything and feel the need to share their “knowledge” with you and, oh yeah!!…undisciplined kids. Parents: I can help you. I am far more interested in preparing your children to be responsible, worthwhile, politically engaged young citizens as opposed to being their friend.
Finally, for now because I have to go do stuff, let me just say that ghetto-gum-popping, pen clicking, keys/change jangling, and people who give ultimatums/deadlines/soliloquies without regard for what the other person may be feeling/thinking/struggling with because they are egomaniacs/self-aggrandizers/narcissists, I also find irritating.
See? Lists are fun.
I thought it would be fun to give another list of things that irritate me since I get so much feedback from those… Not sure if you like me being irritated or you simply relate to my irritants, but they are always fun to list. So, here we go!
Things That Irritate Pandora, Volume 88
1. Slow drivers. (Makes every list, every time)
2. Having someone upset with ME because someone else did not call THEM. What?!?!?
3. Having to repeat myself.
4. Not having enough hours in the day.
5. Cigarettes…I take it as a personal affront now.
6. Insurance people who ask me for symptoms to justify my short-term disability…"Ummmm, cancer?”
7. People who complain about things but do absolutely nothing to make them better.
8. Not having co-pays count toward my out-of-pocket expenses. Where ya think that money’s coming from???
9. Finding out that ice cream with peanuts does not constitute a “protein and a dairy”.
10. Being told “no, I didn’t do that”, knowing full well you did do that.
11. Bearing the sole responsibility of changing the toilet paper roll because no one understands the complexities of it or they may die if they attempt it. What the ?!?!?!?
12. Clicking on a story that interests me only to be re-routed to some advertisement for something I am NOT interested in and having to “X” out and start over, running the risk of being veered toward yet another ad. (One of the main reasons I am on anti-homicidal meds)13. People who use the self checkout lane in grocery stores and take forever because they can’t figure it out, it’s their first time, or they are just THAT stupid. It isn’t brain surgery, people!!!!
14. People who fake laugh and insist on fake laughing when I cannot say “STOP FAKE LAUGHING, FAKER!!”
15. Having something amazing to say and then forgetting it because I was interrupted.
16. Being interrupted.
17. Women who flirt with men to the point of making other women feel sick and the men feel dirty.
18. People who are mean to animals, children, or anything, really…so, people who are mean.
19. Liberals or loud people who cannot tell me why they think the way they do.
20. Long-winded excuses. Man up.
21. Family quarrels, couple quarrels, workplace quarrels, sibling quarrels, public quarrels.
Let it gooooooooooooooo.
22. Losing electricity for ANY reason. I am not a pilgrim. I am not a pioneer. I am not Caroline Ingalls.
23. Litter, littering, litterbugs. You stupid, lazy ass.
24. People who hurt my kid’s feelings.
25. Getting home and having to go right back out for something when I could have stopped on the way home.
26. Feeling like I am not making a beneficial difference in the world.
27. Having to “opt” to speak English when calling a company in America on a domestic line.
28. People who whistle or snap their fingers at a restaurant server. I want to smack you.
29. Opportunists who sue for the sake of suing and “easy money”.
30. People who steal, engage in insurance fraud and shoplift. You three groups are making the rest of us pay more for everyday stuff. Get a job like the rest of us!!! And for those of you who engage in identity theft…just you wait. The hell you put people through and the havoc you wreak on their lives is being duly noted by God and you will be punished.
31. Writing in ink on my calendar because I am positive of the details and then having the details change.
32. Clumpy White-Out. (See #31)
33. Things that just never seem to be accomplished…vehicles cleaned out, floors swept, clothes put away, groceries bought, dogs bathed, getting to bed early, etc.
34. That one thought that slams you when you least expect it and you can’t regain your ability to focus on anything else for the rest of the day.
35. Ungrateful people.
36. Passive-Aggressive behavior.
37. Saints on Sunday – Moles on Monday
38. Cats. (Not big cats like lions or tigers…just house cats.)
39. Boxing, golf, wrestling, and cage fighting. Really?
40. Howard Stern, Maury Povich, Jerry Springer, Montel Williams, Whoopi Goldberg, Amy Whinehouse, Oprah Winfrey, Martha Stewart, local business owners who buy tv ad spots and feel the need to “star” in them, stupid people, selfish people, and people who say things like “OH! I wish my body was forced into early menopause and I stopped having my period” or “I am so tired!” or “My one vote doesn’t count” or “That’s not my job” or “I’m not supposed to tell you this but…”
I also find people who are loud and obnoxious to be quite irritating along with people who think they know everything and feel the need to share their “knowledge” with you and, oh yeah!!…undisciplined kids. Parents: I can help you. I am far more interested in preparing your children to be responsible, worthwhile, politically engaged young citizens as opposed to being their friend.
Finally, for now because I have to go do stuff, let me just say that ghetto-gum-popping, pen clicking, keys/change jangling, and people who give ultimatums/deadlines/soliloquies without regard for what the other person may be feeling/thinking/struggling with because they are egomaniacs/self-aggrandizers/narcissists, I also find irritating.
See? Lists are fun.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Sleeping Well
I heard right. I am being treated for breast cancer despite inconclusive test results. Let’s give that a moment to sink in…
Nope. Sinking in does not help it go down. Let’s try again.
I am being treated for breast cancer although no test or scan or doctor, for that matter, can tell me I have breast cancer.
Wait for it…wait for it…let it sink in…
Nope. Still nothing.
Ok. Maybe if I put it this way…
I have been treated for something no one knows that I have. I have undergone a double mastectomy, port placement, chemotherapy, back surgery, countless tests and have been stuck with an infinite number of needles which I h-a-t-e and no one can tell me it wasn’t all for nothing.
Hmmmmm.
Thinking…
Pondering…
Mulling…
Back to thinking…
Nope. Still don’t get it.
After all this time, I am back in June. It is February and I am in June of last year. I have celebrated our son’s 17th birthday, Christmas, New Year’s, and the return to work. Hmmmm. How am I revisiting June 2009?
Oh, I know. In June 2009, I was not coherent after that call came saying I had cancer. Now, after a few months of being treated for the cancer, I can go back mentally and revisit the conversations I had with doctors and experts in the field of oncology and concentrate on what they said.
“We are going to treat you for breast cancer although there is no definitive proof that you actually have it”.
Ummmmm. Ok.
“We are going to be aggressive in treating you for breast cancer despite not having any documentation or test results confirming that diagnosis”.
Ummmmm. Ok.
“We are going to remove both breasts, the area of lymph nodes where the cancer is, and check the margins for additional cancer cells then we will begin a horrific regimen of chemotherapy. Next will be radiation and eventually, you will be able to have reconstructive surgery, but not for a great while. Okie dokie?”
Ummmmm. Okie dokie.
“Oh! And one more thing. The chances of your needing to have back surgery on your spine are slim to none, but just in case, we are going to go ahead and assume that this will become an issue while you are undergoing everything else, so let’s plan on back surgery in there, too. Alrighty?”
Righty roo.
Of course, no one was that nonchalant with me, with us. No one was condescending or rude or lacking compassion. The people we have met through this ordeal have been absolute blessings that God placed in our lives to help us through this difficult time and we are so very grateful. It’s just to look back on the whole thing…to replay conversations that I don’t even remember having…and then to come out on the other side and see how absurd all of it is…well, it is absurd.
After having spoken with both Dr. Amin and Dr. Horn yesterday, the consensus is to move forward with the radiation. I go today for a CAT Scan and to get things squared away to begin next week. As I have mentioned about 16 times, it will be every day for six weeks. Seems like a lot to me. I can’t think of anything I have ever done every day for six weeks… Dieting? No. Exercising? No. Reading my Bible? No. OOOOH!!!! Eating ice cream? YES!!! *smile*
While I had the good doctors on the phone, I came right out and asked them…
“Did I miss something back in June because I am confused as to why I am being treated for breast cancer. Did a test or scan come back with proof that I have breast cancer because to my recollection, nothing did.”
“No. Nothing came back denoting breast cancer.”
“Ok. Sorry to repeat myself or sound like I am doubting you, buuuuuut, why did we do all we did for breast cancer if we don’t know I actually have breast cancer?”
Neither doctor was upset that I was asking. Neither one of them acted like I was accusing them of incompetence. Both of them were kind and sincere when they answered and they both answered the same:
“Yes, all tests, scans, and reports came back as inconclusive. There is no definitive reasoning to say you have breast cancer, however, this is why we have chosen to go the way we have. The location of your cancer was in the left axillary lymph node. These lymph nodes drain into the breast. That is the first reason…location. The second reason we have moved forward with the cancer being of the breast is because of how it looked. The appearance of the cancer is consistent with breast cancer as opposed to some other kind of cancer. Different cancers look different-ly. Another reason we have aggressively treated you for breast cancer is that IF it is breast cancer, then we have an excellent chance of having you survive it by how we have treated it. If it turns out to not be breast cancer, then we still did the best we could to save your life”.
“Ok. So, one more question… Will I ever know what kind of cancer it is for sure”?
“If your body is hosting microscopic cancer cells that are growing because we cannot detect them and radiate them, then, yes, eventually we will know for sure what kind of cancer you have. The hard chemo would have helped in killing those cells, but the Herceptin chemotherapy will not be helping unless it is breast cancer”.
“So, I may be having radiation for nothing and risking diminished mobility and function of my arm and hand for nothing, if it isn’t breast cancer”?
“Yes. The radiation will not help you unless it is breast cancer and there is risk associated with the radiation that may very well turn out to have been for nothing”.
“So, after everything…all the surgeries, chemo, radiation…I still may have cancer”?
“Yes”.
“Ok, then.”
You may think it difficult to have slept last night after hearing and retaining the information given to me, but it wasn’t. I slept like a baby on Benadryl. How? Because of what I have been given throughout this whole ordeal. My husband loves me without end and I know it. Our children are healthy and happy teenagers with a new level of compassion they may never have achieved without my having cancer. Our friends have become more like family and our families have rallied. I wake up every morning and am blessed to be able to kiss my son, daughter, and husband good morning. I have a job that makes me use the brain I was born with and contribute to the defense of our great nation. I am an American. My family has never been hungry. My family has never wondered where their next meal was coming from or how they were going to stay warm as the sun set. My friends have shown more confidence in me than I ever had in myself. God has continually blessed us by renewing our faith, hope, and love. The art of polite, genuine, and exposing communication has been realized as our greatest fears have surfaced. I can worship, pray, and read my Bible without fear for my life. We have not missed paying one bill. We live in a very nice house with heat, electricity, stocked pantry, and all the comforts one could ask for. My doggies welcome me home every day as if I have saved the universe from total destruction. My daughter has returned to her old self after sequestering herself away from me, my cancer, my dying. My son made All-District Band for the first time and his list of achievements continues to grow as he prepares to enter adulthood. Our children love God and church is their favorite place to be. Our son wants to minister to high school students and be a living testimony of God’s love. Our dearest friends have found a church they are considering calling “home” after many years of struggle. People are already calling me to set up appointments for me, little ole me, to take their photographs and help them treasure “today”. My nephew is getting married in July and we are going to the wedding. My niece is expecting a baby. My family in Bristol started going to church and has become so involved that the children are worried when snow comes on Saturdays. My nephew has found a job he enjoys and is successful in. My sisters pray for me and would do absolutely anything for me, for my family. My brother calls me regularly to check on me and to tell me he loves me. The anger and resentment I have felt for this, that, or the other slowly dissipates day by day into a pool of nothingness. I hold no grudges…not even against the one woman whom I allowed to reduce me to a speck in my own mind by her actions… I am happy in my own skin after decades of wishing I were someone else. My husband works harder than anyone I know and never complains or quits or gives up. Our children are humble, thankful, and charitable young people who volunteer for mission work and to feed the hungry. I receive cards and emails every day from people saying they are thinking of me and praying for me. I have money for chocolate. I have a plethora of lessons learned and have chosen to lower my own bar and stop trying to be perfect. I laugh a lot. My vehicle is in great shape and is doubling very well as a mobile photography studio. My kids still like to sleep with me. Our house is the “cool house” where the friends of our kids come to hang out. Big Daddy calls me “Slim” and I love that. My body is healthier than it has ever been and I am able to start walking and exercising again. I am of sound mind and have an ocean full of memories good, bad, regretful, traumatic, each contributing to who I am today. I do not have to ask for help to go to the restroom, be fed through a feeding tube, or use a wheelchair. I have no paralysis and have all my limbs. I am protected by the greatest military in the world and am free. I am planning my family’s vacation and not planning a funeral. I have faith in my God and trust Him with my life and my death.
So, you see, it isn’t a matter of getting all worked up about not having a confirmed diagnosis anymore than it is about getting worked up over people who make me angry or drive slow, people who give me a deadline to do something for them, or even paying exorbitant prices for razor blades. Is there some sort of metal shortage I know nothing about that Big Daddy’s razor blades are outrageous???
Anyway, I am fine. We were led to Dr. Horn by God. I believe that with all my heart. He was our second opinion after the first oncologist was so, well, was soooooo…not for us. Dr. Horn was the first person to tell us to go home and pray about things. I knew then that he was the right one. I knew God had led us to him and his team just as He led me to find the cancer to begin with.
Tomorrow is not guaranteed for me…and it isn’t guaranteed for you, either. You can choose to bog yourself down with a laundry list of what-if’s and wish-I-hadnt’s, but everything contributes to who you are. I have made mistakes, some of which are serious ones that I still struggle with forgiving myself…despite knowing that God has forgiven me. That’s just part of being human, I guess. Seems like if God can forgive you, you should be able to forgive yourself…I mean, He’s God for Pete’s sake. Which holds more weight? God’s forgiveness of my sins or my own forgiveness of myself? Maybe some things we just never let go of because we don’t want to or we feel better if we feel horrible. Some people aren’t happy unless they are miserable and I don’t want to be that person.
Every night when I take a shower, I open the window and breathe deeply. The water cascades over me, across and down my shoulders, pouring down my back and legs. The water washes me clean and the cold air stimulates my mind and lungs. It is in there that I remember things and people and places…and I just think. I remember. I recall. I regret. I relive. I revive. I stare at the moon and remember how it has brought me comfort throughout the years. When Big Daddy was in Korea for a year, I would stare at the moon and feel somehow connected to him because we saw the same moon. In Germany, I would stare at the moon and wonder what our children would be like as they grew older. In Austria, I would look at the moon and see it’s reflection in the snow of the Austrian Alps and feel my breath slip away in awe. In Colorado, I would stare at the moon and see the most amazing silhouette of the Rockies any man has ever seen. In Kentucky, I look at the moon and wonder…wonder about my family, my friends, my mistakes, my cancer, my body, my future…and then I realize God hung the moon and the stars and He knows everything about everything so I don’t have to.
Yes…I am happy. I am not concerned that we made wrong decisions. I know people have lied to me to get what they want. I’m sure I have done the same thing. I am not perfect and never will be. I know that forgiveness is mine if I will just accept it. I know I am a good friend to have because I have been shown what a good friend is.
A few years ago, I woke up miserable every single damn day. I hated my job, I hated the people I worked with, I hated the commute, I hated the pay, I hated the person I was when I was there. And no surprise because chaos breeds chaos, home life wasn’t great, either. I made stupid decisions as I tried in vain to make myself happy. I was further from God at that point in my life than I had ever been. I didn’t pray. I didn’t go to church regularly. I didn’t attend Bible study. I did not surround myself other Christians. God had not moved, it was all me.
It was during this time, I was slapped across the face with true anguish like I had never before felt. I selfishly turned to the same God I had basically turned away from, and yet, He met me with open, forgiving arms. He never said “You deserve this”, “I told you so”, or “Go away.” All He said was “Come to Me, you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest”. Just like He said in Matthew 11:28…but this time, it was for me. And I went and fell into His arms of grace, mercy, forgiveness, and peace…and He prepared me for the rest of my life.
And so, I sleep like a baby…I am happy…I am forgiven…and I am His.
Nope. Sinking in does not help it go down. Let’s try again.
I am being treated for breast cancer although no test or scan or doctor, for that matter, can tell me I have breast cancer.
Wait for it…wait for it…let it sink in…
Nope. Still nothing.
Ok. Maybe if I put it this way…
I have been treated for something no one knows that I have. I have undergone a double mastectomy, port placement, chemotherapy, back surgery, countless tests and have been stuck with an infinite number of needles which I h-a-t-e and no one can tell me it wasn’t all for nothing.
Hmmmmm.
Thinking…
Pondering…
Mulling…
Back to thinking…
Nope. Still don’t get it.
After all this time, I am back in June. It is February and I am in June of last year. I have celebrated our son’s 17th birthday, Christmas, New Year’s, and the return to work. Hmmmm. How am I revisiting June 2009?
Oh, I know. In June 2009, I was not coherent after that call came saying I had cancer. Now, after a few months of being treated for the cancer, I can go back mentally and revisit the conversations I had with doctors and experts in the field of oncology and concentrate on what they said.
“We are going to treat you for breast cancer although there is no definitive proof that you actually have it”.
Ummmmm. Ok.
“We are going to be aggressive in treating you for breast cancer despite not having any documentation or test results confirming that diagnosis”.
Ummmmm. Ok.
“We are going to remove both breasts, the area of lymph nodes where the cancer is, and check the margins for additional cancer cells then we will begin a horrific regimen of chemotherapy. Next will be radiation and eventually, you will be able to have reconstructive surgery, but not for a great while. Okie dokie?”
Ummmmm. Okie dokie.
“Oh! And one more thing. The chances of your needing to have back surgery on your spine are slim to none, but just in case, we are going to go ahead and assume that this will become an issue while you are undergoing everything else, so let’s plan on back surgery in there, too. Alrighty?”
Righty roo.
Of course, no one was that nonchalant with me, with us. No one was condescending or rude or lacking compassion. The people we have met through this ordeal have been absolute blessings that God placed in our lives to help us through this difficult time and we are so very grateful. It’s just to look back on the whole thing…to replay conversations that I don’t even remember having…and then to come out on the other side and see how absurd all of it is…well, it is absurd.
After having spoken with both Dr. Amin and Dr. Horn yesterday, the consensus is to move forward with the radiation. I go today for a CAT Scan and to get things squared away to begin next week. As I have mentioned about 16 times, it will be every day for six weeks. Seems like a lot to me. I can’t think of anything I have ever done every day for six weeks… Dieting? No. Exercising? No. Reading my Bible? No. OOOOH!!!! Eating ice cream? YES!!! *smile*
While I had the good doctors on the phone, I came right out and asked them…
“Did I miss something back in June because I am confused as to why I am being treated for breast cancer. Did a test or scan come back with proof that I have breast cancer because to my recollection, nothing did.”
“No. Nothing came back denoting breast cancer.”
“Ok. Sorry to repeat myself or sound like I am doubting you, buuuuuut, why did we do all we did for breast cancer if we don’t know I actually have breast cancer?”
Neither doctor was upset that I was asking. Neither one of them acted like I was accusing them of incompetence. Both of them were kind and sincere when they answered and they both answered the same:
“Yes, all tests, scans, and reports came back as inconclusive. There is no definitive reasoning to say you have breast cancer, however, this is why we have chosen to go the way we have. The location of your cancer was in the left axillary lymph node. These lymph nodes drain into the breast. That is the first reason…location. The second reason we have moved forward with the cancer being of the breast is because of how it looked. The appearance of the cancer is consistent with breast cancer as opposed to some other kind of cancer. Different cancers look different-ly. Another reason we have aggressively treated you for breast cancer is that IF it is breast cancer, then we have an excellent chance of having you survive it by how we have treated it. If it turns out to not be breast cancer, then we still did the best we could to save your life”.
“Ok. So, one more question… Will I ever know what kind of cancer it is for sure”?
“If your body is hosting microscopic cancer cells that are growing because we cannot detect them and radiate them, then, yes, eventually we will know for sure what kind of cancer you have. The hard chemo would have helped in killing those cells, but the Herceptin chemotherapy will not be helping unless it is breast cancer”.
“So, I may be having radiation for nothing and risking diminished mobility and function of my arm and hand for nothing, if it isn’t breast cancer”?
“Yes. The radiation will not help you unless it is breast cancer and there is risk associated with the radiation that may very well turn out to have been for nothing”.
“So, after everything…all the surgeries, chemo, radiation…I still may have cancer”?
“Yes”.
“Ok, then.”
You may think it difficult to have slept last night after hearing and retaining the information given to me, but it wasn’t. I slept like a baby on Benadryl. How? Because of what I have been given throughout this whole ordeal. My husband loves me without end and I know it. Our children are healthy and happy teenagers with a new level of compassion they may never have achieved without my having cancer. Our friends have become more like family and our families have rallied. I wake up every morning and am blessed to be able to kiss my son, daughter, and husband good morning. I have a job that makes me use the brain I was born with and contribute to the defense of our great nation. I am an American. My family has never been hungry. My family has never wondered where their next meal was coming from or how they were going to stay warm as the sun set. My friends have shown more confidence in me than I ever had in myself. God has continually blessed us by renewing our faith, hope, and love. The art of polite, genuine, and exposing communication has been realized as our greatest fears have surfaced. I can worship, pray, and read my Bible without fear for my life. We have not missed paying one bill. We live in a very nice house with heat, electricity, stocked pantry, and all the comforts one could ask for. My doggies welcome me home every day as if I have saved the universe from total destruction. My daughter has returned to her old self after sequestering herself away from me, my cancer, my dying. My son made All-District Band for the first time and his list of achievements continues to grow as he prepares to enter adulthood. Our children love God and church is their favorite place to be. Our son wants to minister to high school students and be a living testimony of God’s love. Our dearest friends have found a church they are considering calling “home” after many years of struggle. People are already calling me to set up appointments for me, little ole me, to take their photographs and help them treasure “today”. My nephew is getting married in July and we are going to the wedding. My niece is expecting a baby. My family in Bristol started going to church and has become so involved that the children are worried when snow comes on Saturdays. My nephew has found a job he enjoys and is successful in. My sisters pray for me and would do absolutely anything for me, for my family. My brother calls me regularly to check on me and to tell me he loves me. The anger and resentment I have felt for this, that, or the other slowly dissipates day by day into a pool of nothingness. I hold no grudges…not even against the one woman whom I allowed to reduce me to a speck in my own mind by her actions… I am happy in my own skin after decades of wishing I were someone else. My husband works harder than anyone I know and never complains or quits or gives up. Our children are humble, thankful, and charitable young people who volunteer for mission work and to feed the hungry. I receive cards and emails every day from people saying they are thinking of me and praying for me. I have money for chocolate. I have a plethora of lessons learned and have chosen to lower my own bar and stop trying to be perfect. I laugh a lot. My vehicle is in great shape and is doubling very well as a mobile photography studio. My kids still like to sleep with me. Our house is the “cool house” where the friends of our kids come to hang out. Big Daddy calls me “Slim” and I love that. My body is healthier than it has ever been and I am able to start walking and exercising again. I am of sound mind and have an ocean full of memories good, bad, regretful, traumatic, each contributing to who I am today. I do not have to ask for help to go to the restroom, be fed through a feeding tube, or use a wheelchair. I have no paralysis and have all my limbs. I am protected by the greatest military in the world and am free. I am planning my family’s vacation and not planning a funeral. I have faith in my God and trust Him with my life and my death.
So, you see, it isn’t a matter of getting all worked up about not having a confirmed diagnosis anymore than it is about getting worked up over people who make me angry or drive slow, people who give me a deadline to do something for them, or even paying exorbitant prices for razor blades. Is there some sort of metal shortage I know nothing about that Big Daddy’s razor blades are outrageous???
Anyway, I am fine. We were led to Dr. Horn by God. I believe that with all my heart. He was our second opinion after the first oncologist was so, well, was soooooo…not for us. Dr. Horn was the first person to tell us to go home and pray about things. I knew then that he was the right one. I knew God had led us to him and his team just as He led me to find the cancer to begin with.
Tomorrow is not guaranteed for me…and it isn’t guaranteed for you, either. You can choose to bog yourself down with a laundry list of what-if’s and wish-I-hadnt’s, but everything contributes to who you are. I have made mistakes, some of which are serious ones that I still struggle with forgiving myself…despite knowing that God has forgiven me. That’s just part of being human, I guess. Seems like if God can forgive you, you should be able to forgive yourself…I mean, He’s God for Pete’s sake. Which holds more weight? God’s forgiveness of my sins or my own forgiveness of myself? Maybe some things we just never let go of because we don’t want to or we feel better if we feel horrible. Some people aren’t happy unless they are miserable and I don’t want to be that person.
Every night when I take a shower, I open the window and breathe deeply. The water cascades over me, across and down my shoulders, pouring down my back and legs. The water washes me clean and the cold air stimulates my mind and lungs. It is in there that I remember things and people and places…and I just think. I remember. I recall. I regret. I relive. I revive. I stare at the moon and remember how it has brought me comfort throughout the years. When Big Daddy was in Korea for a year, I would stare at the moon and feel somehow connected to him because we saw the same moon. In Germany, I would stare at the moon and wonder what our children would be like as they grew older. In Austria, I would look at the moon and see it’s reflection in the snow of the Austrian Alps and feel my breath slip away in awe. In Colorado, I would stare at the moon and see the most amazing silhouette of the Rockies any man has ever seen. In Kentucky, I look at the moon and wonder…wonder about my family, my friends, my mistakes, my cancer, my body, my future…and then I realize God hung the moon and the stars and He knows everything about everything so I don’t have to.
Yes…I am happy. I am not concerned that we made wrong decisions. I know people have lied to me to get what they want. I’m sure I have done the same thing. I am not perfect and never will be. I know that forgiveness is mine if I will just accept it. I know I am a good friend to have because I have been shown what a good friend is.
A few years ago, I woke up miserable every single damn day. I hated my job, I hated the people I worked with, I hated the commute, I hated the pay, I hated the person I was when I was there. And no surprise because chaos breeds chaos, home life wasn’t great, either. I made stupid decisions as I tried in vain to make myself happy. I was further from God at that point in my life than I had ever been. I didn’t pray. I didn’t go to church regularly. I didn’t attend Bible study. I did not surround myself other Christians. God had not moved, it was all me.
It was during this time, I was slapped across the face with true anguish like I had never before felt. I selfishly turned to the same God I had basically turned away from, and yet, He met me with open, forgiving arms. He never said “You deserve this”, “I told you so”, or “Go away.” All He said was “Come to Me, you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest”. Just like He said in Matthew 11:28…but this time, it was for me. And I went and fell into His arms of grace, mercy, forgiveness, and peace…and He prepared me for the rest of my life.
And so, I sleep like a baby…I am happy…I am forgiven…and I am His.
Monday, February 1, 2010
No, seriously...
Big Daddy and I met with the radiation-oncologist, Dr. Amin on Thursday. We had met her prior to my first surgery where we had discussed the course of treatment after surgeries were done and the chemotherapy begun. She was very nice then and very nice this day, as well. She has a compassionate demeanor and seems genuinely concerned for the patient as well as the family. I like her.
When Dr. Amin came in, she shook our hands and opened my chart. I believe in the twenty minutes we were in there, it was noted by her three time that this case, my case, is not the norm. She referenced my situation as an "anomaly", "rare", and "unique". Having spent most of my adult life striving for "unique", this time it qualifies as a "FAIL" on the report card of life.
Big Daddy heard things I did not. I heard things Big Daddy did not. That's why I am not 100% positive of what is real or true...I only know that what I heard did some heavy duty stirring of emotions I thought I had buried for good.With your medical chart, the most recent information is on top. Dr. Amin paged through my information, bottom to top-top to bottom-middle to end-beginning to middle. There was a lot of page flipping and some confusion here and there."Your such-n-such test revealed no abnormalities".
"Um, actually, it did...twice".
"Oh, yes. Here it is, I see."
Again, mixing in an occasional "rare" or "inconclusive", made me know she at least had the right chart.I don't recall exactly what she said to catapult me back to June, but whatever it was, I was back in the whirlwind of confusion, fright, and emotional distress. I was so confused then as to how the diagnosis was coming back as breast cancer when seemingly none of my tests had any markers for breast cancer.
HER2NEU...Inconclusive.
BRAC Analysis...Negative.
No primary was ever found.
No cancer in either breast.
Margins clear.
One lymph node engaged.
Lymph node not in breast.
FSH test...Inconclusive.
No female hormone abnormalities found.
No, seriously. How does anyone know I have breast cancer????
What test was it that determined I FOR SURE have breast cancer? What was it that came back positive for breast cancer? Why isn't it lymphoma? How do we know all the surgeries and such were necessary if no one can tell me how the diagnosis came to be when everything came back indeterminate? No, seriously...tell me.
So, I asked and Dr. Amin flipped through the pages of my chart. As she flipped, she said, "I don't know what to do. I do not want to radiate you if there is no need. You have had the double mastectomy. You have completed the hard chemo and are now on the Herceptin. I don't know if you need radiation. There is no need to radiate your chest wall. The lymph nodes (24) have been removed and you have clean margins. There may not be a need to put you through this".
Well, that's fine. I don't want to go through it, anyway...but, no, seriously, do I have breast cancer?
This is where the information I heard and the information Big Daddy heard changes...
"Your tests were inconclusive, blah, blah, blah...something, something...Dr. So-N-So says here it could be cancer of the breast, pancreas, something, buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz in my ears, blah, blah, but you definitely do not have lung cancer."
Oh, good. I would hate to think that I would have to have both lungs removed, too.
I shut down. I stopped listening…not because all my questions were answered but because when she mentioned "pancreas", I zoned out. This was the first time since all this began, that I had heard anyone say anything about the possibility of other organs being involved. I thought it was breast cancer or lymphoma. The End. Now, Dr. Amin was reading from MY chart and she mentioned the possibility of my having some organ cancer. She mentioned three organs before saying I do not have lung cancer…I just don’t know what she said in between “breast, pancreas”, and then that I “do not have lung cancer”.
The mad carnival ride had begun again. My mind raced with this new information. All I wanted to know was which test came back saying I definitely have breast cancer and everything I have done has been the right thing. Will anyone be able to tell me all decisions that have been made, have been the right ones? Anyone??? Anyone at all???
Was all this for nothing?!?!??!?!??
Dr. Amin kept talking and I brought myself back to the conversation, still reeling from hearing the possibility of organs being involved. That was the very first time anyone had ever said it that I heard it…they may very well have said it 100 times over the past few months, but this was the first time I had heard the words… Breast cancer has one of the highest rates of curing and survival. If I have to have a cancer, I want that one…plus, my boobs were tossed in a trashcan a while back and it would just work out better for me if that hadn’t been for nothing.
Dr. Amin asked if it would be alright for her to consult with her colleagues and gain a consensus over what course to take…to radiate or not. Hopefully, someone will also be able to answer MY question…how do you know I have breast cancer? What rules breast cancer “in” and all other cancers “out”?
I have an appointment with Dr. Horn after Dr. Amin calls me on Tuesday to give me the consensus. Here’s the thing…
If I have the radiation, there is no guarantee that the cancer will not return…but there IS a guarantee that I will have some sort of side effect in my left arm. Damage is irreversible and never gets better. The statistics show that 80% of people have damage done to the nerves, tendons, muscle of the radiated area/limb. Now, 40% of those people have severe damage while another 40% have minimal and 20% have moderate. So, I will have side effects based on the stats…it’s just a matter of time to know how much and how bad.
If I do not have radiation, there is no guarantee the cancer will return and no guarantee that it was necessary to begin with. I will keep full usage of my arm and hand.
Dr. Amin put it this way…My quality of life is going to be affected one way or another. If I have the radiation, I will most likely lose some functionality in my arm and hand and have to undergo physical therapy for the rest of my life…oh yeah, and wear a compression sleeve all the time…BUT, I will have peace of mind that I did everything I could possibly do to beat this thing.
If I do not have the radiation, then my quality of life is affected because I will worry about the cancer coming back and always question if I did the right thing by foregoing the radiation…BUT I will have full usage of my arm and hand, necessary for being a photographer, which does weigh heavily on my mind…that whole “being a photographer” thing. Even if I have to keep a “real” job in an office, I will be able to use computers far better with an arm and hand that works. Let me remind you, I am NOT one of those heroes that muster the courage and grace to do remarkable things when tragedy strikes. Instead, I am a big baby who finds herself in a tizzy when the simplest of plans do not come to fruition after having, Hello?!??!, P-L-A-N-N-E-D them.
So, here I am. Unsure of so many things. Do I have breast cancer? Should I have the radiation and purposefully damage my arm and hand? Do I not have the radiation and just live my life to the fullest because there is no guarantee of the cancer not returning anyway? Why did Dr. Amin mention pancreatic cancer? Is this a possibility? What other organs did she even say? How long do I have to wait before the next cancer shows up on my PET Scan? A PET Scan is the full-body scan where they inject you with radioactive sugars that adhere to cancer cells and then light you up like a Christmas tree if cancer is present. Having one come back “dark” means no cancer, I thought…and my last one was “dark”. Dr. Amin said that I could be growing cancerous cells right now but they may be microscopic still…meaning, they aren’t big enough to be seen on the PET Scan. In other words, having a clean PET Scan does not mean you don’t have cancer… Damn. That was another basket where I had kept quite a few eggs…
I can tell you this much…I loathe the arthritic state my body has been plunged in because of the chemo. I hate, Hate, HATE being slammed into early menopause and all the crap that brings to the table. Let me tell you gals something…do not wish your period away. Not having one is far more devastating than having one…especially when you are way too young to have your hormones in such a confused state. You will just have to trust me on this one…but you need to say a prayer of thanks that your body is working right when you cramp, have head and body aches, and want to shoot people who drive too slowly or who cannot, for the love of God, operate the self-checkout register at WalMart, but insist on getting in that line anyway.
I cannot stand is not knowing what is going on inside of my body. Did we make the right decisions? Did we have the right surgeries? Did we do everything that we did for absolutely nothing? Am I one test away from finding more cancer? You know, it only takes one test to change your life completely. No, seriously…
I have been accused of asking too many questions throughout the course of my life. I know that may be hard for you to believe, but it’s true. No, seriously…
When Dr. Amin came in, she shook our hands and opened my chart. I believe in the twenty minutes we were in there, it was noted by her three time that this case, my case, is not the norm. She referenced my situation as an "anomaly", "rare", and "unique". Having spent most of my adult life striving for "unique", this time it qualifies as a "FAIL" on the report card of life.
Big Daddy heard things I did not. I heard things Big Daddy did not. That's why I am not 100% positive of what is real or true...I only know that what I heard did some heavy duty stirring of emotions I thought I had buried for good.With your medical chart, the most recent information is on top. Dr. Amin paged through my information, bottom to top-top to bottom-middle to end-beginning to middle. There was a lot of page flipping and some confusion here and there."Your such-n-such test revealed no abnormalities".
"Um, actually, it did...twice".
"Oh, yes. Here it is, I see."
Again, mixing in an occasional "rare" or "inconclusive", made me know she at least had the right chart.I don't recall exactly what she said to catapult me back to June, but whatever it was, I was back in the whirlwind of confusion, fright, and emotional distress. I was so confused then as to how the diagnosis was coming back as breast cancer when seemingly none of my tests had any markers for breast cancer.
HER2NEU...Inconclusive.
BRAC Analysis...Negative.
No primary was ever found.
No cancer in either breast.
Margins clear.
One lymph node engaged.
Lymph node not in breast.
FSH test...Inconclusive.
No female hormone abnormalities found.
No, seriously. How does anyone know I have breast cancer????
What test was it that determined I FOR SURE have breast cancer? What was it that came back positive for breast cancer? Why isn't it lymphoma? How do we know all the surgeries and such were necessary if no one can tell me how the diagnosis came to be when everything came back indeterminate? No, seriously...tell me.
So, I asked and Dr. Amin flipped through the pages of my chart. As she flipped, she said, "I don't know what to do. I do not want to radiate you if there is no need. You have had the double mastectomy. You have completed the hard chemo and are now on the Herceptin. I don't know if you need radiation. There is no need to radiate your chest wall. The lymph nodes (24) have been removed and you have clean margins. There may not be a need to put you through this".
Well, that's fine. I don't want to go through it, anyway...but, no, seriously, do I have breast cancer?
This is where the information I heard and the information Big Daddy heard changes...
"Your tests were inconclusive, blah, blah, blah...something, something...Dr. So-N-So says here it could be cancer of the breast, pancreas, something, buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz in my ears, blah, blah, but you definitely do not have lung cancer."
Oh, good. I would hate to think that I would have to have both lungs removed, too.
I shut down. I stopped listening…not because all my questions were answered but because when she mentioned "pancreas", I zoned out. This was the first time since all this began, that I had heard anyone say anything about the possibility of other organs being involved. I thought it was breast cancer or lymphoma. The End. Now, Dr. Amin was reading from MY chart and she mentioned the possibility of my having some organ cancer. She mentioned three organs before saying I do not have lung cancer…I just don’t know what she said in between “breast, pancreas”, and then that I “do not have lung cancer”.
The mad carnival ride had begun again. My mind raced with this new information. All I wanted to know was which test came back saying I definitely have breast cancer and everything I have done has been the right thing. Will anyone be able to tell me all decisions that have been made, have been the right ones? Anyone??? Anyone at all???
Was all this for nothing?!?!??!?!??
Dr. Amin kept talking and I brought myself back to the conversation, still reeling from hearing the possibility of organs being involved. That was the very first time anyone had ever said it that I heard it…they may very well have said it 100 times over the past few months, but this was the first time I had heard the words… Breast cancer has one of the highest rates of curing and survival. If I have to have a cancer, I want that one…plus, my boobs were tossed in a trashcan a while back and it would just work out better for me if that hadn’t been for nothing.
Dr. Amin asked if it would be alright for her to consult with her colleagues and gain a consensus over what course to take…to radiate or not. Hopefully, someone will also be able to answer MY question…how do you know I have breast cancer? What rules breast cancer “in” and all other cancers “out”?
I have an appointment with Dr. Horn after Dr. Amin calls me on Tuesday to give me the consensus. Here’s the thing…
If I have the radiation, there is no guarantee that the cancer will not return…but there IS a guarantee that I will have some sort of side effect in my left arm. Damage is irreversible and never gets better. The statistics show that 80% of people have damage done to the nerves, tendons, muscle of the radiated area/limb. Now, 40% of those people have severe damage while another 40% have minimal and 20% have moderate. So, I will have side effects based on the stats…it’s just a matter of time to know how much and how bad.
If I do not have radiation, there is no guarantee the cancer will return and no guarantee that it was necessary to begin with. I will keep full usage of my arm and hand.
Dr. Amin put it this way…My quality of life is going to be affected one way or another. If I have the radiation, I will most likely lose some functionality in my arm and hand and have to undergo physical therapy for the rest of my life…oh yeah, and wear a compression sleeve all the time…BUT, I will have peace of mind that I did everything I could possibly do to beat this thing.
If I do not have the radiation, then my quality of life is affected because I will worry about the cancer coming back and always question if I did the right thing by foregoing the radiation…BUT I will have full usage of my arm and hand, necessary for being a photographer, which does weigh heavily on my mind…that whole “being a photographer” thing. Even if I have to keep a “real” job in an office, I will be able to use computers far better with an arm and hand that works. Let me remind you, I am NOT one of those heroes that muster the courage and grace to do remarkable things when tragedy strikes. Instead, I am a big baby who finds herself in a tizzy when the simplest of plans do not come to fruition after having, Hello?!??!, P-L-A-N-N-E-D them.
So, here I am. Unsure of so many things. Do I have breast cancer? Should I have the radiation and purposefully damage my arm and hand? Do I not have the radiation and just live my life to the fullest because there is no guarantee of the cancer not returning anyway? Why did Dr. Amin mention pancreatic cancer? Is this a possibility? What other organs did she even say? How long do I have to wait before the next cancer shows up on my PET Scan? A PET Scan is the full-body scan where they inject you with radioactive sugars that adhere to cancer cells and then light you up like a Christmas tree if cancer is present. Having one come back “dark” means no cancer, I thought…and my last one was “dark”. Dr. Amin said that I could be growing cancerous cells right now but they may be microscopic still…meaning, they aren’t big enough to be seen on the PET Scan. In other words, having a clean PET Scan does not mean you don’t have cancer… Damn. That was another basket where I had kept quite a few eggs…
I can tell you this much…I loathe the arthritic state my body has been plunged in because of the chemo. I hate, Hate, HATE being slammed into early menopause and all the crap that brings to the table. Let me tell you gals something…do not wish your period away. Not having one is far more devastating than having one…especially when you are way too young to have your hormones in such a confused state. You will just have to trust me on this one…but you need to say a prayer of thanks that your body is working right when you cramp, have head and body aches, and want to shoot people who drive too slowly or who cannot, for the love of God, operate the self-checkout register at WalMart, but insist on getting in that line anyway.
I cannot stand is not knowing what is going on inside of my body. Did we make the right decisions? Did we have the right surgeries? Did we do everything that we did for absolutely nothing? Am I one test away from finding more cancer? You know, it only takes one test to change your life completely. No, seriously…
I have been accused of asking too many questions throughout the course of my life. I know that may be hard for you to believe, but it’s true. No, seriously…
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