Category Archives: cancer

Dec 20 2012
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cancer, mental illness, reduce

Good Rather Than God

There are so many reasons I don’t believe in God – at least not the kind of ‘Christian God’ I keep being told to believe in.  I believe there is something responsible for all of this, but I can’t get behind organized religion’s version of ‘God.’

And the funny part is that I want to believe. I actually admire people with blind faith.  But for me, it’s like believing in Santa. Once I knew to know better, the blissful innocence was lost.

First, the Bible. A document translated thousands of times by thousands of men over thousands of years in every language short of Pig Latin.*  If any given group of people can’t correctly execute a first-grade game of telephone, how on Earth would the Bible be a different situation?

Last, any omnipotent being would not let horrific things happen. TB wouldn’t have watched his dad die at 18. S wouldn’t be dying of cancer before she’s had a chance to live the second and third parts of her life. My mom wouldn’t be dying a horrible death lost in her own head. I certainly wouldn’t have been subjected to the abuse I was during most of my young life. And things like Sandy Hook and 9/11 and Hiroshima and child sex rings wouldn’t have happened.

And the generic ‘free will’ answer is horseshit. After a couple of decades of that nonsense, a good leader would step back in and say, ‘Yeah…we’re going to take this organization in another direction.  Killers, rapists, and sociopaths report immediately to Lucifer. You’re fired.”

Instead of faking it through church’s God, I’ll just be a good person. That way, whomever I meet at the end of this road will be happy.  For now, I’m just going to love the shit out of S and my mom – and everyone important to me – before they learn the truth about a higher power.

*I stand corrected. The Bible has been translated into Pig Latin.

Nov 10 2012
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adventure, cancer, mental illness, renew

Where the Magic Happens

It was a great day.

A comp day from a thoughtful and smart manager, it started out with good pain at the premiere of season two of therapy. Turns out, the crying can be explained in one word: grief. ‘Ambiguous Loss‘ precisely, as the phrase has been coined. While we haven’t lost our mom in body yet, we lost a lot of her personality on September 26, 2008 to a stroke. Since then, more and more is lost to her unrelenting Schizoaffective Disorder every day. We are caught between the loss that was and the loss that will be.

Lost has been the innocence that S and I will actually live what we’ve joked about for years – old and senile, rocking in chairs on a porch. I made S promise that I get to go first.

I will likely lose my mom and my best friend within the next year. It is overwhelming to prepare for the worst while hoping for the best. But, that’s what therapy is for…

TB and I then embarked on what would become an impromptu Choose Your Own Adventure day. First, we ended up eating wings at the sports bar. From there we spent down three of the last gift cards from the wedding, saw a movie, planned out the Christmas season over coffee, had a chair massage, priced out my new computer, bought new shoes, purchased a tree topper for Christmas (I’m so excited), and tried new sushi rolls for dinner.

It was heavenly.

The movie was The Perks of Being a Wallflower. It was so, so good. So good. Difficult subject matter at points [spoiler alert] dealing with sexual abuse, but it rivals my long-standing favorite movie, Rudy.

I’d like to start living more in the moment. Seizing life. More days like yesterday. Opportunities in which cozying up on the couch and living vicariously through movies and television would have been fine and safe, but not magical like yesterday was.

Oct 29 2012
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cancer, mental illness, reduce, renew

‘Malaise,’ It’s Hipster for ‘Depressed’

Malaise sucks. Being an advocate for people with mental illness is easy, the idea that I might be clinically depressed, well…that’s a whole other pill to swallow.  It can be twisted and presented as a digestible ‘situational depression malaise’ because after all, my best friend will die of cancer and it’s a Vegas crap shoot which ailment will soon claim my mom’s life. Clinical or situational, it’s hard to be happy in the middle of feeling helpless and out of control.

TB and I were working on our homework from ‘marriage continuing ed’ last night.  We had one simple assignment: list the things that are exciting about having a baby.  Two hours, puffy eyes, and a half a box of Kleenex later, I still didn’t have an answer…or any clue as to what the hell was the root issue of the crying.  The only answer I came up with is that the idea of something else needing me, taking from me, being a bigger priority than me – is just overwhelming.

Even though I want a family, I’m not excited to have a baby. Rather I’m completely exhausted by the mere idea.

So, we’ve moved the goal post on babies.  And while the OMG moment here might be realizing that I will feel indefinitely helpless and out of control with kids, I still need to figure out how to manage feeling helpless and out of control since I can’t do anything about S’s cancer or my mom’s mental illness.  And, dammit, I’m tired of life under this cloud of doom and gloom.  I want to be happy and vibrant and lively again (like I was when TB first met me – before the last five years of Schizoaffective Disorder Bipolar Type, strokes, cancer, PTSD, etc.) and I want to learn how to not ride the roller coaster with my loved ones, but instead be there for them when they get on and off.  And I have no earthly idea how to do that.

So back to therapy I go…

Sep 22 2012
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cancer

Oh Cancer, You Little Bastard

S went to the emergency room last night because she literally could not get out of bed without throwing up. After waiting six hours to pee, she finally gave in, puked her way to the bathroom and called the on-call doctor. Vertigo, eye inflammation, and blurred vision have been added to the laundry list of negative side effects.  At least, cancer has proven to be generous enough in this vile game of chemo to stop one nasty side effect before launching a new attack.

We both live in the city but the oncologist, Dr. Cure It, is located in a second ring suburb as is the hospital at which he is credentialed.  And part of S being in this clinical trial meant she agreed to go to this hospital as to be under his care.  This particular area is known for it’s more *ahem* interesting walks of life.  Sitting in the waiting room was nothing short of a two-hour case study in white trash.

There was the 19-year-old who stumbled in between his two stoner friends bleeding from the head from some Jackass-style stunt.

The Jerry-Springer-guest-star-mom loudly threatening a lawsuit for an unidentified but nevertheless ridiculous reason. “Ah hell no, it’s called a lawsuit. Imma call my lawyer.”

Then there was the portly young woman in too-tight studded cutoffs that exposed her high-thigh tattoos.  She was a delight.  What her vocabulary lacked in depth, it sure compensated for in color.

And the sexual tension between an EMT and the mall cop security guard was better than whatever was on the television behind them.  All we needed was a fight between a baby mama and someone’s new girlfriend and we would have stumbled upon ratings gold.

I think shows like ER missed the boat.  The real entertainment is in the waiting room. Just don’t get too close to the infant with the plague.

Sep 20 2012
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adventure, cancer

Am I…Actually Ready?!?

Never having been one to feel the proverbial ‘clock’ ticking, I have no idea what wanting a baby actually feels like.  Sure, there’s been some intangible item that I left at the store, then longed for after and eventually purchased – but to want a kid? Uh-uh. I have no idea what it’s like to want one of those.

I feel sheepish admitting this, but we watched What to Expect When You’re Expecting over the weekend and it was during that movie that I started to feel something.  Something that felt an awful lot like ‘I think I can do this,’ and ‘I can actually picture holding my own child.’

Combined with ‘graduating’ from therapy (aka learning how to not be my mom’s mom) and S getting sicker, it has been both a high dose of reality and a freeing week.

I think I’m ready. And with our plan to stop preventing in January, in theory, I could have a kid by this time next year. Holy shit.

Photo (c) Lionsgate

Sep 11 2012
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cancer, renew

!@#$% You Cancer

Ugh.  A big deflating, Ugh.

We all knew the side effects of the clinical trial drug could make S sick.  What we didn’t know is how sick since she’s on now-being-tested high dose.

She pretty much has the plague. Like high temps of 103.5° and low temps of 94.4° every single day.  That’s writhe-around-and-sweat-your-ass-off hot and can’t-use-your-fingers-and-shake-violently cold.  Her head pounds, her neck is stiff, her body hurts – like the mother of all flu viruses.

But S has will power superior to anyone. The first time she used a sick day in TWELVE years was for the first tumor and lymph node resection. And here’s the best part, as craptacular as she feels, she’s gone to work every day since this came on 1.5 weeks ago.

It sure as hell puts into perspective wanting to cheat Clean in ’13 or quit at the gym.  Last night was my first time back at the gym in over a month.  There’s a class on Monday night that’s a real ass kicker. It’s awesome.  It’s four sets of eight 20 second bursts of high intensity cardio or strength training.  Damn straight I was figuring out how to quit ‘gracefully’ after the sixth sprint. But there’s only one thought racing through my mind right after I consider quitting:

S has cancer.

I plead with empty air that she didn’t. I hate that it’s fueling the change in me. But she does and it is.

 

Sep 07 2012
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cancer, renew

Only Hope

Oh man, I’ve missed reading.  And to find a book that can’t be put down, even into the wee hours of the morning?  Bliss.

The first fifty pages of Falling Home were treacherous.  The writing isn’t the greatest, but the story eventually overpowered the writing. It’s the same level of engagement found in the Twilight series…that I will sheepishly admit to having read. There is something about the love stories in these books that successfully panders to the wide-eyed young woman within.

S is a huge reader. As in she strictly borrows books from the library or the community because it would be a budget-breaker otherwise. Just as I would any other good read, I want to give her this book, but {spoiler alert} the sister has advanced cancer and dies at the end.  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get emotional thinking of S, who is for all non-family tree purposes my sister,  dying.  And I simply won’t give her the opportunity to give up even a gram of hope.

I shouldn’t censor anything from her, but when Dr. Cure It refused to give her a life expectancy*, but told her instead, “People are cured from Stage IV cancer. It’s the exception, but it does happen.” there’s no way I’m pumping anything negative her way.  If she stumbles across this book on her own, fine.  But it’s not coming from me.

*The median life expectancy is nine months from diagnosis for Stage IV melanoma.  Go to a dermatologist and get your moles and freckles checked. GO. Life is already far too short.  DO NOT  gamble with cancer.

Aug 30 2012
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cancer, reduce

Too Quiet?

Days like today are appreciated by most people.  I wasn’t rushing out of the house this morning; traffic was light; work was a perfect storm of few interruptions and productivity; and tonight brings a solid mix of Mexican food, great friends and football.  What’s not to appreciate about a vanilla day like that?

Vanilla days put me on edge.  They are the eerie calm before the storm.  Like when birds stop making noise in the woods or the fish scatter on a reef. To me, vanilla days indicate imminent danger.

Like the quiet day I told the therapist I felt like something bad was going to happen and the next day S was diagnosed with cancer.  Or the lazy morning TB and I were organizing the office at the new house, my brother called to tell me my mom had a stroke.

I’d definitely rather enjoy these calm days instead of worrying about impending doom … I just don’t know how to.

Since I’ve checked on each of my core people under the guise of a cheery, casual “Hello!”, perhaps tonight, I simply try to enjoy this vanilla evening of Mexican food, great friends and football.

Indeed. That sounds like a much better plan.

Aug 29 2012
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cancer, reduce

Clean in ’13

According to the Center for Disease Control”s BMI Calculator, I’m teetering on the edge of overweight.  The CDC tells me that I should be between 108 and 145 lbs.  I’m 143 with no cap in sight.

More important than any number, I feel gross. I feel blubbery and uncomfortable. The ‘Pants Dance’ is required to get into newly washed jeans and the last time I had to wear a bikini was probably the beginning of an anxiety disorder.

There are two options: grow six inches taller or drop the weight. While continuing to hold out hope that the growth spurt I never had in high school is on the horizon, the reality of the situation is that I need to lose 20 pounds.

20 lbs.  = 4 reams of paper
20 lbs. = $400 in quarters
20 lbs. = a car tire
20 lbs. = back fat, fanny pack, saddle bags, muffin top, and rolls:

(It’s a harsh dose of reality to post these. Plus, before and after pictures are a reward in and of themselves.)

In addition to issues of will power and motivation, there’s another dashingly handsome issue: TB loves unhealthy food. Loooooves it.  It took a while, but I finally convinced him that we should go Clean in 2014 (a catchy name never hurts.) Only whole, organic, healthy food and drink with a gracious 1.5 years to gear up and eat as badly as he wants.

Then S got cancer.

And Clean in ’14 became Clean in ’13 (whew, the catchy name still works.)  In negotiating this with TB, Clean in ’13 was modified to bridge the gap and the 80/20 model was born. 80% clean, 20% dirty.  Baby steps.

Aug 28 2012
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cancer, recycle, reduce

Chemo & Compost

It’s dreary in the city befitting a day in the chemo unit.  However, the sun peeks out through holes in the cloud cover from time to time as if to say, “Hey! Don’t give up hope in this shitstorm.”

The machine pumping saline and poisons into S has an oddly soothing rhythm about it. Neil Armstrong died this week and the History Channel is celebrating his life on the television in front of me. Did you know the moon is so bright and reflective of the sun because moon ‘dirt’ is something like 30%-60% glass?  At least I think that’s what they said. Since lunar science isn’t why I’m here, I’m paying attention to everything while retaining almost nothing today.

On a lighter note, after about a year of wanting, I’ve finally purchased garden and kitchen compost bins.  I asked TB the other night if he thought we could get down to one bag of trash every month between recycling and composting.  I bet we can.

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