Holiday In The Life of Me

Since cancer first entered my life almost four years ago, every birthday is a celebration of my survivorship. Holidays however, are something completely different.

First there is the overwhelming list of things to do, and by overwhelming I mean my mind can only process one thing at a time during a time when multitasking is essential. As an example, I just remembered today that I haven't delivered Girl Scout nuts to a friend of mine that came in a month or so ago. I have no excuse other than I forgot. Plain and simple. This is the way it goes with most things these days. These memory lapses lead to my feeling useless and even stupid.

Next there are of the demands from the outside world. People calling me, begging me to make decisions about when, where, and what to do. The questions that need to be answered ASAP drive me into tears as my slow mind struggles to process decisions.

Finally, there is the ever-present feeling of doom that consumes me. This may very well be my last Christmas. These may be the last gifts I watch my girls open. This may be the last cookie exchange I participate in, or the last tree I decorate.

Sadly, this is Christmas for me. This and a glass of wine to take the edge off.

One Would Think

One would think after two very hard years of being a full-time mom, full-time student, and working part-time, second shift outside of the house that one would get some kind of congratulations for graduating.  One would think one's husband would say something about it, anything about it.  One would think that perhaps, one would get a little praise for getting a 3.947 GPA despite the many struggles of having chemo brain (http://www.cancer.org/Treatment/TreatmentsandSideEffects/PhysicalSideEffects/ChemotherapyEffects/chemo-brain).

Just sayin'.

Forgetful Jones?

In 2009, I was diagnosed with stage IV Hodgkin's Lymphoma.  In 2009, my friend Mikey was diagnosed with stage II Hodgkin's Lymphoma.  In 2009, Mikey and his wife put together a team of people to walk in the Light the Night Walk for the Leukemia and Lymphoma society.  He set a goal of $1000, and much to our surprise, we well exceeded that goal!  So many people donated and we were overwhelmed by the generosity and well wishes from those all around us.  The night of that first walk was the first time since my diagnosis that I didn't feel alone, and every year since I so look forward to that one night a year where I can feel the comradry around me; I can feel "normal".

I have forgotten a lot of things, but I have not forgotten my experience and I have not forgotton the feeling of being part of something as big and beautiful as the Light the Night Walk. 

However, I fear many have forgotten.  Our team has raised a mere $180 since May.  A far cry from that first year, or the second, or even the third.  I'm hoping we can turn it around in the next 30 days.

What Cancer Cannot Do? Oh Yes It Can!

A friend posted this poem on his Facebook the other day and while I didn't want to shatter the rose colored glasses of many of his cancer-surviving and fighting followers, I DO have much to say about this poem.

It cannot cripple love.  Really?  Because ever since my "journey" with cancer, there is definitely some love in my life that's been "crippled".

It cannot shatter hope.  Really?  The definition of hope is, the feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best.  I'm pretty sure I don't have any of this left.

It cannot corrode faith.  Really?  Let me see...faith, by definition is confidence or trust in a person or thing.  Mine?  Definitely corroded.

It cannot eat away peace.  Really?  I haven't had peace since my doctor's secretary beckoned me into his office January 29, 2009.  Not even for one day.

It cannot destroy confidence.  Really?  Tell that to my stomach every time I walk into the oncology clinic.  Tell that to me every time I feel the slightest pain, strain, lump, or bump.  Better yet, tell that to my children who question my mortality.

It cannot kill friendship.  Really?  I would laugh at this statement if it didn't make me cry.  I can name just a few people who I feel abandoned me during the worst time of my life.  I can also name just a few people who I let slip away because my "cancer talk" was annoying to them, or they thought it was high time I "let it go".

It cannot shut out memories.  Really?  This is one is just a joke to me.  Thank you chemo for destroying my short-term memory as well as wiping out a good 10 years of my life and leaving it in a thick haze.

It cannot silence courage.  Really?  Did the person who wrote this ever even have cancer?  I mean people give us way to much credit.  I am not courageous or inspirational or strong.  I am none of those things.  I suffered in the worst pain of my life, in silence because I had to.  I didn't choose to.  There was no choice. 

It cannot reduce eternal life.  No, it cannot reduce eternal life.  But it can, and does reduce mortal life.  

It cannot quench the Spirit.  Right again.  It cannot quench the Spirit.  In fact, since cancer plagued my life I have been thirstier than ever; searching endlessly for some spiritual uplifting.  It cannot quench the Spirit, it can only damage it.

Well, my last cancer check came and went. I finally didn't feel the heavy weight of impending doom like normal. It made me wonder if I'm getting numb to it, like so many other things in my life. I have been upgraded to straight x-rays now, which is bittersweet. I hate that I have to be radiated so much, yet I prefer the accuarcy of the CT scan over the xray. Especially after having so many overlook the cancer in the first place on an xray. I'm pretty sure; however that nothing doctors do or don't do can surprise me now. In other news, there's more evidence that cancer survivors suffer from PTSD. Reading through the symptoms I'm pretty sure I have it...thus the previously mentioned numbness I spoke of. However, my lack of trust of doctors and my unwillingness to spend any amount of time searching for a competant counselor that I trust leaves me to deal with certain things on my own. So for now, I'll suffer through the numbness and surround myself with people and things that draw out extreme emotions and in between days, I feel, things will get back to normal. Sometimes I can feel my hard shell cracking. It just may take more time than someone who goes through extensive counseling.

Follow Up 2.5, part 1

I was in a fairly good mood this morning, despite the feeling of impending doom that comes along with the two-week period of waiting for my six-month check. Once it was time to start getting dressed though, it started. I felt like a little kid; "I don't wanna go!" I talked myself into putting on my scrubs (no metal in them) and forced myself out the door.

I checked in at the front because of the CT and was feeling quite resentful of the pep displayed by the girl who checked me in. I did't like her one bit. She told me I had to pay $291 before I could have the CT and I pictured myself going bananas on her about the healthcare in America. Of coarse I simply said, "he told me on the phone, I only had to pay a portion". After watching her run around like a chicken with her head cut off, I started getting angry. I didn't just not like this girl, I hated her. Finally she returned and told me that I could pay whatever I was comfortable with.

I got my bracelet and went down to the clinic for labs. By this time, I was almost all the way inside my own head talking myself out of throwing up. I checked in and sat. Normally I chat with the receptionist, but I wasn't feeling it. I secretly kicked myself for not just going there first.

They drew my blood in the chemo room which made me further sick. I hadn't been in that room since chemo. The nurse was talking to me and I just wanted to get the hell out of that room! Thank God she was quick, because I was very ready to throw up all over her.

I went down to CT and they took me pretty much right away. These CTs seem to last longer and longer. This once short procedure now seems to go in slow motion as thoughts of what could be inside my chest rush in. It's always cold in that room, no matter how I layer myself. The tech was particularly friendly and although I didn't hate her, I did not appreciate that chipper tone. Misery loves company I guess.

So now the week-long wait begins. Last week I was a little on edge with it getting worse the closer today came. I know this next week will be my own personal brand of hell.