"I could do 3 more"

Sometimes I surprise myself.  For instance...........signing up for a 5K just a few days before, asking my sisters and Scott to join Team Lumps and Lipstick (making impromptu t-shirts), and walking--for the first time in my life, a 5K.  It isn't that I didn't think I could walk 3.1 miles, it is that I never would have wanted to.  I would have had to sweat in front of other people and push myself out of a comfort zone that I felt pretty comfy in.  But I did it.  The 5K benefited Northwest Hope and Healing, a Seattle based organization that supports women who have been diagnosed with breast cancer--it just seemed right.  And I can tell you, this was the first of many.  I am shocked how much I enjoyed it! I look forward to being able to jog one, once I am able to start to jog (I have to be cleared by my physical therapist).  A year ago I was laying in bed bloaty and crazy with chemo, today I walked a 5K.

I am hoping that taking this step will help instill something in me that I am strong enough to do this, because sometimes it is hard to remember.

front of our shirts

back of my shirt

Team Lumps and Lipstick

best sisters ever

I was nervous and had to pee a lot before it started

good thing there were tons of honey buckets





I was faking, see the coffee in my right hand...

"this girl"

Greenaway Girls

grieve the dream.

Today would have been a Herceptin infusion. BUT IT ISN"T!!!!!!!!!!!! I am done and done.  And loving it!  I have some great photos to upload, but my camera is being stubborn, so look for those this weekend.  I am making a promise to myself to post more often. I love writing, but hate the days when I feel like it is something to check off my to-do list, so, like with most things on that list, I avoid it.  Here are a few entries that haven't seen the light yet, thought I would share them.  I will do an update when I post photos this weekend. 


Grieving the dream.
This girl, she...is still overwhelmed.  I am struck by the amazing amount of work it is to do daily activities and then try to add something extra to the pot.  My work life is great, done and done. But it is the running of the house, the trying to organize things, change things up, getting ready for a new chapter--I just feel like I am always legging behind.   I jumped in and was going to start my book proposal, but I got overwhelmed and dropped it.  I can't seem to grasp onto something long enough to commit myself. There are days when even the laundry seems too much.


This is crazy.


"the grieving of the dream is just as tough" shut. the. front. door. There it is, that is what I am doing! I can't remember where I heard it, but I sent myself an email to remind me.  I am grieving for what I was able to do before. I still want to be that person, I want to be where I was, I loved the me from a year ago.  In certain situations I feel like her again, I want so badly to be that version of me.  But I am not, the dreams and plans I had before have all changed, they all have different ways now to attain them if they are even still available.  I feel like I am drowning trying to figure out how to do them, which to do,or if I even want to do them.


I feel like the last puppy of a liter, everyone gives lots of love and attention when they are there, but in the end the puppy is still alone. (wow...I am not sure if that could get any more sappy or 3rd grade, but it came to my mind so I am putting it out there).  Read: no one can change the mind games I play with myself, there is no one who can give me the energy that I lack, no one that can tell me which direction to go...except maybe Dr. Seuss. 


It will suck the life right out of you.
My bedroom was a happy place. I loved taking naps, that usually involved a bed, there enters the bedroom. Lots of great things happen in a bedroom (yep, that is one of them, move on), you close your day by saying goodnight, you greet each morning, it should be a safe place, a place of relaxation and comfort. Mine makes me sick to my stomach. I have been sick for almost a week now with a horrible cold, and have been stuck in bed for the first time as a "healthy" person. I was brought back into that helpless feeling. The romance has been pulled from the room, the safety-net ripped away, and even the walls remind me of cancer.


Some of my life has become a struggle to let go of the past, so I can shape the future. But I feel like I am being hindered by objects--and the feelings attached to objects. I want a serene room where I can nap, where I can feel relaxed and where I can do other bedroom type things. The feeling I have in the pit of my stomach remains there. I spent a majority of the last year staring at the fucking dresser, the walls, the ugly curtains, and trying to get comfortable with these fucking pillows. A year. And now I am expecting it to all of a sudden be this place of comfort--come on! This process is like walking in mud, well more like drowning in it.
I am in a holding pattern. I have this continuous thought stream where I ask myself what I want to do for the rest of my life. Not just what do I want to do for a living--but for my life. I think people who haven't been forced to face death view life as something they are just given--there aren't words to express how terrifying it is when you are dealt the card that can take it all away in an instant. I may not live to see 90, and there are so many things I want to do, this internal struggle is like a cancer. I feel pressure to succeed and do everything I can and do it all NOW, because I don't know how long I will be able to do it. I know this is ridiculous, but it is another one of those internal head games I am getting so good at playing.

this girl, she...is done with infusions

Today was my last Herceptin infusion! That means NO MORE CHEMO for this girl. No more infusions in my port, no more, no more no more.  All I have left is my great Tamoxifen for the next 5 years, but people have popped pills for worse.

Last night I had my soul recharged--I was able to see some lovely ladies (and a tiny one) that I haven't seen in too long. I was fortunate enough to listen to Lix Lamoreux (http://www.lizlamoreux.com/) and recharge my roots. It was a great 'herceptin eve'. We wrote some poetry using word lists and the prompt "this girl, she...". 

Here is my soul, recharged:

This girl, she...
has been disected, ripped and turned into a disaster.

This girl, she...
has filled her veins with poison in the name of health.

This girl, she...
is endlessly reminded of death due to the scars near her heart.

This girl, she...
finds dizzying comfort in a dinner plate.

This girl, she...
says thanks for the dark times--
leaving room for the light.

This girl, she...
thirsts to recognize the girl in the mirror.

This girl, she wants to be whole again.
This girl, she tries not to escape grace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This girl, she...dove into a pit of winter and hot iron, teasing the bubbles from the ruby with her dark fingers crossed behind her back.

Unremarked peonies telling of stories of endless medicine.

Snails profound, she dramatically writes of death--
she, this woman, closes again--unconformed, undetermined, and unremarkable.

Crossing into panic she examines conversations and takes shelter in the light.

This girl, she is latched to the familiar, knotted to the ground--

yet is denied comfort.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This girl, she....bounces.

knotted for thirst, she recognizes the faith in a cowboy.

she crosses in conversation until someone breaks a dinner plate.

she is boxed and loved--burnt by the iron of rest and rejuvenation.

she is subtle medicine, telling of health and regrets.

she is skeptical of examination, yet so familiar.

she is a soul surging with thanks and bisected emotion.

she is comfort, dizzying in identity.

this girl, she is me.

rock, meet hard-place

I was so fortunate to be able to spend the weekend with my mom and my sisters!! I have to update with some new photos and some fun stories................but it is late and I am sleepy.  I wrote part of the blog below a week ago or so, but was too emotional to post it...I thought I should, because it was very therapeutic to write, and I dislike not sharing it......



"I guess this is what I get for saying I can't write "good" posts anymore because the emotions just aren't flooding over................well, flood. gates. have. opened.  But it isn't what I thought, and it isn't what I needed.  I am jealous, I am angry and I am stuck.  I still have everything else compartmentalized in neat little boxes--I imagine them with fun bows and polkadots, maybe some colored twine and raffia bows, big huge boxes, like the kind you hide behind the Christmas tree, because it looks too tacky in the front. 

(maybe that is why I am having trouble losing some of the weight--I am full with these damn boxes!)  But that is actually true, in a sense.  I am stressed and not really experiencing much of these "happy" emotions, so I am sure it is harder for me to lose weight.  The stress hormones are going crazy--as are my own hormones=worst cocktail ever.

I feel chaotic inside, there are so many things going on I can't get control of any one in particular.  I keep thinking that when I wake up, the next day will be better--but it isn't.  I paste a smile on my face, and then lash out at Scott for no reason, spend the afternoon crying or sulking, and telling myself that if I just did ________________ (insert one of the thousands on my to-do list) I would feel better, and things would begin to come easy again.  But I am not able to even get myself to do that one thing. 
I am doing 2 types of physical therapy--one for lymphedema and the other for my right shoulder, which as become extremely painful to do anything with.  It is constantly achy and tight--from a combination of surgery, radiation, swelling, and the compression sleeve.......................but the bright side? The physical therapist I am seeing has a laser that they use on clients post surgery to increase healing, etc...and they are using it on my ankles, I will have my second treatment tomorrow, to see if it will help with the nerve pain.
As a mental health professional I am very much aware that I am a text-book case of situational depression and my anxiety is based in the fact that I am afraid to start my life again because I don't want it to be cut short or sidelined with cancer.  I have this irrational thought that if I get things going again (because I was in such an amazing place in life when I was diagnosed, really the best of my 27 years) that it will happen again.  I know it makes no sense, that is why it is 'irrational'. 

So I need to become the tamer of the chaos. Another thing to add to my to-do list."

"It's okay, I can't feel it"

My inner world crumbled a bit the other day.  It has been hard for me to get the passion to write a blog post......I go back and read the posts I have written when my emotions were just spilling off me, the drama and emotions were just so raw and intense,  I couldn't help but share. Now my world is at somewhat of a standstill, I am having a great time, feeling better, but to be honest I feel a bit numb. It is like the world is spinning around me, I am taking part, but not really feeling it.  I don't have the joy.  I guess I can't even remember when I lost it, but I did.....  So I am finding myself trying to do things over-the-top to get some sort of feeling, but I am still left flat.  I know I am doing it to protect myself--it is impossible to get hurt when you aren't feeling things to begin with--and my life has been unusually cruel, so I now seem to be guarded to the world.

I am floundering and can't seem to commit to a decision, especially professionally.  I was at a gathering, where I go on a monthly basis, I am surrounded by like-minded people and get to discuss birth.  For over a year it has been the place where I soaked up the energy these women give off, their extraordinary ability to serve and support others, their knowledge and experience, to witness their pure bliss of doing something they love.  I was one of them..........

One woman said that she told her clients "I have felt your pain" and that was a portion of why she could support them during their birth.  My world broke a bit.  I kept nodding in agreement and listened to others share but inside I was crumbling.  I won't feel their pain, plain and simple--I won't experience anything that they are going through.  Oh, I have experienced pain, the pain of knowing your life will never be the same, the pain of surgery and recovery, the pain of burns, the pain of seeing your loved ones at a loss because they can't help, the pain of being stuck in a body that isn't your own.  I have experienced the chaos in a medical setting, the mistreatment of patients and the serious determent that a lack of voice can have to your medical care.  I understand the innate feeling of wanting to be a mother, that achy feeling you get when you want something so bad you can taste it.  The jealousy towards others that are able to have my dream, and the anger at those who waste it.

I don't know what I want to do anymore.  Every time I try to make a decision, or steps to creating a practice I shut down.  I was there before cancer, I was well on my way to taking care of Scott and I. All my education and experience was finally paying off.  I was living the dream...then cancer woke me up.  Now, I am in a holding pattern of disappointment and jealousy.  It is really hard for me to think that someone may not want my assistance because we haven't shared a similar experience.  It is the truth. It will happen. It is understandable--and if the situations was reversed I can't say I wouldn't do the same.

I just miss my 'honey hole' (shout out to the Swamp People) of safety. The place where I knew everything was heading one way and I was on board. I miss easy. I miss "next steps" that just come in life. I miss a lot, including my ability to think about things rationally.  I feel bulldozed by emotion and it is hard to make sense of it all.  So I package it inside, within a layer of numbness.  I am living in a controlled chaos because I can't figure out how else I want to do it.

I feel like maybe that meeting isn't the place for me right now.  I feel like I want a do-over.

balance? you mean like a beam?

Spokane bound for Hoopfest

Stress starts at my collar bones, it tingles...it fades its way into my chest and rests on my heart.  It makes my chest heavy, it makes me want to hide under the covers, it makes me angry, it frustrates me (like trying to get a pickle from the bottom of the jar without getting the nasty pickle water on your fingers), it breaks my heavy heart. I get so overwhelmed that it is hard to get up, hard to fold clothes, hard to do much of anything.  I do my best to push it aside, to set goals, to create, to live.  This time last year I wasn't doing so well, it was the beginning of a long battle that I wasn't sure I would win.  So here I am, now faced with reality and the choices I need to make. The choices Scott and I have to make to create our new life together--a new beginning, our fresh start.  How do I feel? I feel like there is lots of fucking pressure, I feel continuously weighed down, that I just can't do enough, that I am letting Scott down. That there isn't enough opportunity, that I have let some opportunities slip through my fingers.

enjoying daylight--and some nature!

Balance--not only am I uncoordinated--but lets review: I once fell down the stairs after getting a cortisone shot in my foot, had to go to the ER and wear a neck brace; I have fallen down the stairs just because (multiple times), so many times that Scott wants to get me one of those emergency "I can't get up" buttons; I trip on a regular basis, if I slide in socks on the wood floors there is a high likelihood that I end up pulling an important lady-part, and I sometimes get stuck when putting a shirt on......but after a whiskey or two I can dance, or at least I think I can....

on a hike, yep I am hiking now!

But I need balance. I need balance between self-care, work, advancement, rest, writing a book, planning a future, making any plans, daily activities, fun, laughter, tears, creativity, family and friends.  Right now the stress is taking over and I am struggling to find that balance. Though this summer is already 100% better than last, I am still wading my way through the shit-storm, trying to find the best path out.

Hoopfest 2011

I have made goals: new boobs my Christmas (and 30lbs lighter), honor rest and recovery, create a family, pursue my career, embrace creativity, give myself a break, enjoy daylight, dance, celebrate, smile, and try not to take things so seriously.  My main goal is to survive, and everything else just needs to fall in place around that and if I need to eat handfuls of candy to get there, so be it.  And maybe champagne and french fries for dinner every once-in-awhile.

my ritual has changed-Happy 1 Year Anniversary

One year today. One year today I received the call that changed lives. How am I celebrating? I am getting a Herceptin infusion, wah-wah-wah. I actually don't even mind the Herceptin infusions anymore, I am getting close to the end of them and am thankful that I have been able to continue them the whole time and my heart hasn't given up.  Today I remember who I was, and who I am.  Below I copied some of my earliest blogs, I began writing the day I received the phone call.....here is just a glimpse of where I was then:

nights are getting harder


I shower at night, always have. I now cry in the shower, alone. My bedtime ritual has been stolen from me, and replaced with streaming tears, and gulps for air while my chest rapidly rises as I try to calm myself down. It is quiet in the shower, just the water running down my body, a body which is now foreign to me. I look down at my breast, swollen and bruised, yellow and dimpled like a pear and my arm pit, so sore that I can't wash my hair with my right hand and the tears come without any thought. I grieve in the shower too. For my husband, friends and family that are forced to go through this journey with me. For the woman I have lost-now hidden inside me, and for the woman I have now been forced to become--detached from her body, afraid, and numb.

 I let the tears and snot run down my face. I give myself this time, my ritual has changed and I am working to embrace it. Maybe I need this time--I hold it together pretty good during the day--I am sick of tears and the panicky feeling I get when I think of what is to come. I need to wash it away before I go lay down for the night, before I try to close my eyes and quiet my mind of the racing thoughts that run a marathon of their own nightly. Water washes it all away, no kleenex to make my nose red and flaky (though it has begun to resemble my nipple quite nicely). It is gone down the drain--I step out and wipe everything away.


 I am good for a period of time to be determined. I am good until I lay down, then the panic begins to come back. I feel it rise in my body like the temperature of water set to boil. As I write it is working its way through my stomach, soon to my chest--where a tightness takes over. I fight this tightness until my swollen, sore, weary body gives into sleep.
 Today Scott ran his first full marathon today in under 4 hours! He is my rock, my strength and the person who I turn to at night when the tightness in my chest takes over. I am so proud of you babe! Love you.
 
 

crazy sexy cancer
I spent the evening with some of the inspiring women I am lucky to call friends (and all of them are amazing doulas or self-proclaimed "birth junkies"), I shared a bit of what is going on with me and left with the amazing feeling I always get--comfort, joy and a full sensation of love that is like the best pie in the world...
 My last post was a bit bleak, but lets be honest here, none of you are reading to get the rosy-glow of what cancer does to someone. You are reading because you love me, because you know me, because you know someone who knows me, because you know someone who has cancer, because you have breasts, because you are thankful it wasn't you, or your mother, or your sister--or because it is you, your mother, or your sister. You are reading because you want to sort through all of the bullshit, you want to help but don't know what to do. You want to know I am not falling to pieces and that I am not my breast cancer. But I am a straight-shooter, I cut through bullshit and won't be feeling optimistic all the time, we are multidimensional and cancer throws a wrench in the whole damn thing.
 

I had a bone scan, they found a spot. Breast cancer likes to spread to the bone and the lungs and some other internal organs I can't remember. I will have an MRI on my femur to gather more information. Nothing changes really, if it is cancer........I will still have chemo and then possibly radiation on that spot on my leg. I met my surgeon today, my other surgeon is on vacation--wouldn't that be nice. I like my surgeon, I am waiting to hear from the office tomorrow to schedule surgery--about damn time.



Tonight I danced in the shower, A LOT. I danced for all the tears that I have cried in the shower, for the joy I was feeling, for my breast full of cancer and that I am a day closer to getting it removed, I danced to remind myself I can, mostly, I danced so I wouldn't cry... I wish I could tell you that things were getting better, that I was so positive in my thinking that I could heal myself with my mind. What I really feel like doing is lining up a bunch of melons and hitting them with a hammer, not sure what it would accomplish but I sense I would gather some sort of satisfaction........I will keep you posted if this comes into fruition.


Thank you to those who shared with me tonight, to those who are thinking about me now, and those who keep me filled with positive thoughts from miles away. I am not the woman who keeps her mouth shut, I never have been the quiet type, but in person cancer is a scary cloud over conversations and it brings tears along with gratitude to the well-wishing of others, so I stumble over my words...


Tonight I watched the trailer for Crazy Sexy Cancer--a woman I inspire to be, I am in awe and in solitude and as the heavy feeling of anxiety and the unknown washes over me while I lay down to sleep I hope that a bit of her will rub off on me... I am learning to be brave in my beautiful mistakes.
 
Surgery
Well, there is no more basking in the denial centered movie reel that has been playing in my head. No more "hurry up and wait" scenarios...as much as I wanted surgery to come, it jammed a rock so far down in the pit of my stomach I feel a gaping hole, exposed, and insecure. My surgery is scheduled for Wednesday, yep, next Wednesday--three weeks to the day that I received the call that I had breast cancer. It hasn't even been 3 weeks and I feel like I have aged a year or more and have created a footing where I am balanced, unnerved and forcibly realistic.

 Now that reality has smacked me across the face I am trying to find the path back to denial. It is was lovely there. I mean, I knew I had cancer, I was making appointments, putting my body through a battery of tests, taking notes, doing research, asking questions, crying, laughing, and dancing in the shower. But I didn't have a date, there wasn't a "beginning to an end" if you will. Now I have it. I am terrified.
 Not only will I wake up without my breasts, these lovely ladies that have been with me through it all--but I will be minus 20+ lymph nodes. I am crossing my fingers I won't wake up as terrified as I will feel when I go under. I am working on ways to relax prior to surgery--coming to grips with it, feeling centered, "being in a good place." All the somewhat condescending therapist crap I would use on a client, but when you tell yourself that in the mirror it doesn't seem near as professional, supportive, or appropriate....it seems like a cruel joke.
 

I know that surgery is the beginning of a road I don't want to walk down. But if this is the road I have to walk, (what a shitty, shitty road) then I guess I better get my ass into gear and prepare for the journey. There have been thousands upon thousands of women before me, paving the way. I have an entourage on this journey, a pulse to my emotions--an entourage of support that will keep me steady when I begin to fall, or give me a push when I begin to hesitate--after all "drinking wine and thinking bliss is on the other side of this."

2am

I can't sleep...thoughts are swirling and whirling in my head, even with my pain medication, sleep eludes me. As I lay in bed staring blankly at the television I debate on whether or not to wake Scott up. He has been my rock, well more like my boulder...that has went with little sleep these past few days. We watched a cancer documentary in bed and then he drifted off to sleep, leaving me wide awake and anxious trying to hold back tears and put out the fire of jealousy I have that he was able to fall asleep so quickly. I debate with myself if I should wake him up to lift the laptop onto the bed, my arms are not up to that task and at the present time my right arm and hand are tingly and unreliable to say the least. I decided that it was okay. After all, I can now get myself out of and into bed which means he can sleep without interruption for the majority of the night--this is a tiny exception.



I have to remain in an upright, sitting position while sleeping. I am a belly sleeper! Though my belly is so swollen at the moment that I don't know if I would be able to lay on my belly--it could possibly be like trying to balance on a ball. Either way, I miss sleep. The sleep I had prior to three weeks ago, prior to having the knowledge that I have cancer, prior to surgery, prior to anxiety and tears. I miss sleep that wasn't stressful, there was light at the end of the tunnel--sleep that didn't bring on pain. My sleep now consists of the knowledge that I will be waking up in pain--lots of pain. My chest gets stiff, my arms tingle and fingers go numb, my legs and feet are so swollen they ache, even when I don't move them. My sanctuary of a bed is now a torture device, and you can't get comfy in one of those.


My nighttime routine has also taken a horror movie twist. I get my drains drained. My husband lifts up my moomoo (yep, big zippered pjs that fit over my swollen body, chest, and 4 drains), and empties each drain into a cylinder, then records the amount of fluid. I can only imagine his impending excitement when he will begin to inject my belly with hormones prior to egg retrieval.........foreplay is definitely out the window. Our bedroom is now a partial medical facility and I am the only patient.

 Life has changed. Not just in the removal of my breasts, a battle with cancer, swollen limbs, exhaustion, anxiety and bouts of anger directed at whomever is in earshot, but internally. I am different. My internal processes are changing, my view on many things in life and my overall expectations I have of others are shifting. Life altering experiences are unrealistic. You can't plan for what I am going through, your reactions, feelings, and outcomes. Positivity comes with a price, a price I am willing to fork over cash for. Positivity comes with planning, this is a dangerous element when you are unsure of how your future looks.

 So I brace myself, and try to harmonize my thoughts and feelings. Not only of today, but of yesterday and tomorrow. This fight is going to take a lot out of me, but I am going to do my best to get the most out of it. "Everything happens for a reason", blah, blah, blah. I believe it, I hold onto it, but sometimes it's what keeps me awake.


Happy Anniversary.