"What's my destiny, mama?" -- Forrest Gump
I don't know what mine is, I realized this weekend. I live a lot in the future. I think about what it will be like to be a midwife, or to die. I think about what it will feel like in random scenarios that will likely never happen.
I think it's a fine distraction from what I'm feeling right now, in any given moment. I still don't know how to feel things *right now*, very well, at least.. that's my thought in this moment.
The trip this weekend was a deep, deep river that words will only make shallow, and tidy. I am not ready to write about my trip to the Redwoods and the things that happened, inside me and outside me as well, but I will say a few things -
- I am learning that I intellectualize my feelings a lot as a very effective defense mechanism. This comes up time and time and time again and is a 'hot' issue for me right now. I immediately process why, how, the other side, and I do my very best to skip over the feelings all together.
As a result, this blog is evidence, I feel like I have a lot of feelings about having had cancer that I did not name, or sit with. I don't need to relive the whole thing (or do I? I don't know... that's a good question- is that just going back to my regular defense mechanism? Hmm...) but I want to move forward in better awareness of what I'm feeling and letting that just be. No thinking about it, rationalizing or judging it. There are no 'bad' feelings, just uncomfortable ones- and I know this, and I need to just let myself be uncomfortable more often. Thank you, cancer-teacher.
- There were three mosquitos during my entire trip from Thursday night until 3:30am this morning when I arrived home. Three.
- As I was packing for my trip I was sitting in the front seat of the van and this dark shadow passed over the windshield. I thought, holy moly that was like a movie! I hopped out of the van and looked up and there was a single hawk right above me that was slowly spiraling up, and up, and up. It didn't go wide, it just stayed right there but went higher, and higher. I've never seen a hawk around my house before. There were probably 40 hawks on the trip, we saw hawks constantly.
- Campground (KOA in Crescent City if you care) was absolutely perfect. I was worried when I pulled up by how busy it looked but I had paid for a tent space (no regrets!) and it was totally surrounded by redwoods and huge stumps, so we had privacy and quiet even though the grounds were totally full.
- Serendipity abounded during this trip. I can't even give examples, but all along the way we felt incredibly touched by Spirit and blessed in our journey- everything just consistently worked out even when it seemed like it wouldn't.
That's all I'm saying for now. I'm trying to slip back into the stream of my regular life, at least a little bit, so that I can function. More words later.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Baseline
I'm working on getting to see my wonderful OB/GYN to start talking about a baseline of information on my ovaries. Every time I think about my ovaries, they get this pinchy sensation that feels like "YES! Me!!" I'm just listening and going to get my team together to make sure that nothing nefarious is going on with those little suckers.
I'm sort of in this middle world where people still are uncomfortable with the whole 'cancer' conversation but we're on ground that feels much safer. It's much easier to talk to someone about cancer when it's not currently growing inside of them, right? I don't have judgments about it, it's just interesting to watch how other people react to my experience (and isn't that all of life, anyway? Having experiences and reacting to them?)
What I don't like, deep inside me, is that when people act sort of relieved that we don't have to have the 'oh that's too bad!' conversation, that I feel like the sum of the experience I had is inconsequential. It's not that I need any one to do anything different, I'd so much rather people are real in their reactions and exchanges with me (fake is awkward.) "Oh, it was just thyroid cancer, well that's good."
I just want to invite people who are reading that if you are uncomfortable in a situation, like meeting someone who has cancer, try asking really broad questions. "How are you feeling about that?" is a pretty good fall back question and I ask it probably daily to people I meet/interface with. Don't assume that just because you think you would feel a certain way about it, that's how I feel- just ask me! When I ask this question, I'm genuinely curious to know their experience, because I'm not trying to cope with mine, in that moment. It's okay to be uncomfortable, it's how we grow.
I am grateful to those folks who encouraged me to just make the call to my GYN, he's a great guy and I know he'll help me figure out a good route to take. I had asked for the CA-125 test and he's not a fan of it, so we're going to get together and talk about some other possible options. I don't think I have cancer, but my mother lost her ovaries at 25 and I really have no idea if any kind of cancer runs in my family- and given the amount of noise my ovaries have made over the course of my life it feels prudent to be on top of it.
Liz asked if I thought I'd need more, and more, and more testing as I go- and I had to really sit with that because I can see where someone might go in that direction. I don't land on 'anxious' about too many things and I feel like if I can check into it now, and if nothing's going on, create a baseline to work from, that's all I really need to do. I'll keep in the loop with my doc and maybe have checks when I have physicals or even annually, but I'm not going to fuss about this and demand scans I don't need and wrack up a bunch of stress and worry.
There is a 5K run that I am thinking I'd like to try to do- it falls two days before I leave for Shanti so I don't know that it's something that's realistic but I've never done anything like this before so what do I know about what's realistic? I know that it's a cause that's important to me (child trafficking) and I've been thinking about how I could realistically get started on an exercise program. Left to my own devices, my old patterns, it will never happen. I'll talk with my friend who is also training right now and see what her advice is.
A lot of stuff around my family relationships is coming up now finally, which is a lot of what I think this whole cancer thing was about- and it's interesting the movements that are happening when I felt very frozen before. All of my life I've felt (and really, been identified) as 'different' to my family. The whole 'black sheep' thing, which is fine- I am different, I live my life a different way, have very different values, whatever. I'm growing okay with that feeling of separation. Due to a lot of things, I also felt like I wasn't important to my family, and I am still working through those feelings. I had gone back and forth wondering if I should continue to try to pursue connection with my family and throwing myself up against this giant wall of expectations and demands without ever telling anyone that my feelings were desperately hurt, that I felt alone, that I was angry and felt abandoned and unimportant to them.
As I was moving through cancer, I started just talking to a few people and that felt exactly right. I was isolating myself, determining how other people felt about me without ever asking them, and while I do try to be as available as I can, life doesn't make it easy for me to be close with anyone in the family, really.
Add to this the intense drama I've been going through with my mother, and how insanely difficult and ridiculous that has been, and I've felt that I didn't get to have a 'family' like some other people do, that I was just going to have to wing this life on my own, pretty much.
I set some good boundaries for myself with regard to my extended family but what I wasn't doing was just reaching out, from one person to another, and sharing heart to heart. Cancer got me talking, I realized that it doesn't have to be all or nothing. I am excited that I get to spend time with cousins that I love SO dearly and who I have really missed in my life. This isn't the end of the story, there is still so much junk to work out and I seriously need some therapy to wade through it all. In the meantime, I can have a place where it's easy- where it's just people who love each other spending time together without it meaning anything more than that - we just dig each other and it's fun to be together so we're doing it. I love it, and it makes my heart really full.
With regard to my mother, I had an intense and empowering conversation with her where I told her that I really need her to fight for me, fight for our relationship. I've been carrying it on my shoulders and taking care of her since I was a little kid and I am done with that- if she wants me in her life, she'll have to fight for me. I'm HER kid, not the other way around. I don't need to set down deadlines, or "You must do this or else" type of ultimatums. I just need her to take risks, be challenged, try hard, and do those things in a direction of wellness, and health, and wholeness, rather than drugs, and destruction, and manipulation. I'm almost 36 years old- I'm over it.
The reason I'm sharing these eensy weensy little windows into these very personal areas of my life are because this is the land that cancer came and tilled up. During that process of having cancer, new ways of seeing, relating, choosing, being- all tilled up from underneath the hard packed earth of my heart that historically, I only knew how to keep stamping my foot on in frustration. Cancer showed me the beauty of what's underneath and it looks an smells so good, I want to keep digging.
I want these fundamental human relationships in my life to just be easier, and for my heart not to hurt quite so much. I want experiences with my family that are delicious, and recent. More than anything, I want to feel seen, and valued, and important to my family, willing to risk things for. I have to continue do that for them, too.
I feel like this is a good start and I'm grateful that I could finally move all this intense energy in a direction that feels healthy and rewarding.
I'm sort of in this middle world where people still are uncomfortable with the whole 'cancer' conversation but we're on ground that feels much safer. It's much easier to talk to someone about cancer when it's not currently growing inside of them, right? I don't have judgments about it, it's just interesting to watch how other people react to my experience (and isn't that all of life, anyway? Having experiences and reacting to them?)
What I don't like, deep inside me, is that when people act sort of relieved that we don't have to have the 'oh that's too bad!' conversation, that I feel like the sum of the experience I had is inconsequential. It's not that I need any one to do anything different, I'd so much rather people are real in their reactions and exchanges with me (fake is awkward.) "Oh, it was just thyroid cancer, well that's good."
I just want to invite people who are reading that if you are uncomfortable in a situation, like meeting someone who has cancer, try asking really broad questions. "How are you feeling about that?" is a pretty good fall back question and I ask it probably daily to people I meet/interface with. Don't assume that just because you think you would feel a certain way about it, that's how I feel- just ask me! When I ask this question, I'm genuinely curious to know their experience, because I'm not trying to cope with mine, in that moment. It's okay to be uncomfortable, it's how we grow.
I am grateful to those folks who encouraged me to just make the call to my GYN, he's a great guy and I know he'll help me figure out a good route to take. I had asked for the CA-125 test and he's not a fan of it, so we're going to get together and talk about some other possible options. I don't think I have cancer, but my mother lost her ovaries at 25 and I really have no idea if any kind of cancer runs in my family- and given the amount of noise my ovaries have made over the course of my life it feels prudent to be on top of it.
Liz asked if I thought I'd need more, and more, and more testing as I go- and I had to really sit with that because I can see where someone might go in that direction. I don't land on 'anxious' about too many things and I feel like if I can check into it now, and if nothing's going on, create a baseline to work from, that's all I really need to do. I'll keep in the loop with my doc and maybe have checks when I have physicals or even annually, but I'm not going to fuss about this and demand scans I don't need and wrack up a bunch of stress and worry.
There is a 5K run that I am thinking I'd like to try to do- it falls two days before I leave for Shanti so I don't know that it's something that's realistic but I've never done anything like this before so what do I know about what's realistic? I know that it's a cause that's important to me (child trafficking) and I've been thinking about how I could realistically get started on an exercise program. Left to my own devices, my old patterns, it will never happen. I'll talk with my friend who is also training right now and see what her advice is.
A lot of stuff around my family relationships is coming up now finally, which is a lot of what I think this whole cancer thing was about- and it's interesting the movements that are happening when I felt very frozen before. All of my life I've felt (and really, been identified) as 'different' to my family. The whole 'black sheep' thing, which is fine- I am different, I live my life a different way, have very different values, whatever. I'm growing okay with that feeling of separation. Due to a lot of things, I also felt like I wasn't important to my family, and I am still working through those feelings. I had gone back and forth wondering if I should continue to try to pursue connection with my family and throwing myself up against this giant wall of expectations and demands without ever telling anyone that my feelings were desperately hurt, that I felt alone, that I was angry and felt abandoned and unimportant to them.
As I was moving through cancer, I started just talking to a few people and that felt exactly right. I was isolating myself, determining how other people felt about me without ever asking them, and while I do try to be as available as I can, life doesn't make it easy for me to be close with anyone in the family, really.
Add to this the intense drama I've been going through with my mother, and how insanely difficult and ridiculous that has been, and I've felt that I didn't get to have a 'family' like some other people do, that I was just going to have to wing this life on my own, pretty much.
I set some good boundaries for myself with regard to my extended family but what I wasn't doing was just reaching out, from one person to another, and sharing heart to heart. Cancer got me talking, I realized that it doesn't have to be all or nothing. I am excited that I get to spend time with cousins that I love SO dearly and who I have really missed in my life. This isn't the end of the story, there is still so much junk to work out and I seriously need some therapy to wade through it all. In the meantime, I can have a place where it's easy- where it's just people who love each other spending time together without it meaning anything more than that - we just dig each other and it's fun to be together so we're doing it. I love it, and it makes my heart really full.
With regard to my mother, I had an intense and empowering conversation with her where I told her that I really need her to fight for me, fight for our relationship. I've been carrying it on my shoulders and taking care of her since I was a little kid and I am done with that- if she wants me in her life, she'll have to fight for me. I'm HER kid, not the other way around. I don't need to set down deadlines, or "You must do this or else" type of ultimatums. I just need her to take risks, be challenged, try hard, and do those things in a direction of wellness, and health, and wholeness, rather than drugs, and destruction, and manipulation. I'm almost 36 years old- I'm over it.
The reason I'm sharing these eensy weensy little windows into these very personal areas of my life are because this is the land that cancer came and tilled up. During that process of having cancer, new ways of seeing, relating, choosing, being- all tilled up from underneath the hard packed earth of my heart that historically, I only knew how to keep stamping my foot on in frustration. Cancer showed me the beauty of what's underneath and it looks an smells so good, I want to keep digging.
I want these fundamental human relationships in my life to just be easier, and for my heart not to hurt quite so much. I want experiences with my family that are delicious, and recent. More than anything, I want to feel seen, and valued, and important to my family, willing to risk things for. I have to continue do that for them, too.
I feel like this is a good start and I'm grateful that I could finally move all this intense energy in a direction that feels healthy and rewarding.
Friday, July 20, 2012
Thunder and lightning.
I haven't written in a bit. I have wanted to, but I'm just working through some stuff. I feel like I'm surrounded right now by this little cloud, and every once in a while this lightning bolt hits me and I scream, "I HAD CANCER!" and then the thunder rolls over me and I fall to the ground because I'm still all smoky and shocked.
I'm still shocked.
Suddenly the crisis part is over and I am left singed and changed. I am still absolutely shocked that I had cancer, and saying it doesn't diminish the power of it. I've been saying it for weeks. I feel it very differently today than I did when this started.
I really thought that with my first blog post that I'd be able to keep this light and funny, that I'd show that cancer doesn't have to be terrible. I actually think I have done that, and not because I kept to my intention but because it truly wasn't terrible.
But in some ways, it's utterly terrible. Utterly, deeply terrible. I think that's finally hitting me now, that I'm 'safe', on the other side of it. I can safely freak out because I don't have to focus now on getting through another test, or worrying about test results. Now there's all this left over room inside me and what I'm discovering is filling those little divots is shock, and ... I don't know the other words yet.
I worry about my ovaries and I want to just be tested now for cancer. My whole pelvis carries my trauma and stress (when I get stressed, my whole pelvis clenches up, for example). I don't like to be touched, my pelvis is often sore or wonky - it's just where I hold things. (Which makes sense, it's the cradle of life!)
My womanly bits all live within my pelvis and I've had a lot of problem with it since I was 15 years old. I won't get all into it given the mixed nature of this audience but I had a benign tumor removed from my right ovary in 2002. Now I've had cancer, and I'm doubly scared that maybe something is down there that I just don't know about. Sometimes being well tuned in to your body is difficult, it would be nice to have some silence now and then. I am not a hypochondriac, I don't worry unnecessarily that I'm sick or dying or whatever - but this feels really important and serious to me and it adds to the shock of "Holy shit, I had CANCER." Real, actual cancer. Not 'pre-cancer'. Not "could become cancer". Not "a chance of cancer". Actual cancer, inside me, Kristina, ME.
I'm still shocked.
Now I get to figure out who I am as someone who has "had" cancer. I want to go to my GYN and ask him for a blood test for cancer because then at least I can breathe for a while. How do I ask for that? How do I convince him? I have no doubt that I really need to do this for myself, for my piece of mind, and I feel like a damn crazy person, I feel like it doesn't make sense to anyone but me which makes me feel like it shouldn't make sense to me at all.
I feel like I've just broken up with someone and keep finding their goddamn crap all over my house.
I'm still shocked.
Suddenly the crisis part is over and I am left singed and changed. I am still absolutely shocked that I had cancer, and saying it doesn't diminish the power of it. I've been saying it for weeks. I feel it very differently today than I did when this started.
I really thought that with my first blog post that I'd be able to keep this light and funny, that I'd show that cancer doesn't have to be terrible. I actually think I have done that, and not because I kept to my intention but because it truly wasn't terrible.
But in some ways, it's utterly terrible. Utterly, deeply terrible. I think that's finally hitting me now, that I'm 'safe', on the other side of it. I can safely freak out because I don't have to focus now on getting through another test, or worrying about test results. Now there's all this left over room inside me and what I'm discovering is filling those little divots is shock, and ... I don't know the other words yet.
I worry about my ovaries and I want to just be tested now for cancer. My whole pelvis carries my trauma and stress (when I get stressed, my whole pelvis clenches up, for example). I don't like to be touched, my pelvis is often sore or wonky - it's just where I hold things. (Which makes sense, it's the cradle of life!)
My womanly bits all live within my pelvis and I've had a lot of problem with it since I was 15 years old. I won't get all into it given the mixed nature of this audience but I had a benign tumor removed from my right ovary in 2002. Now I've had cancer, and I'm doubly scared that maybe something is down there that I just don't know about. Sometimes being well tuned in to your body is difficult, it would be nice to have some silence now and then. I am not a hypochondriac, I don't worry unnecessarily that I'm sick or dying or whatever - but this feels really important and serious to me and it adds to the shock of "Holy shit, I had CANCER." Real, actual cancer. Not 'pre-cancer'. Not "could become cancer". Not "a chance of cancer". Actual cancer, inside me, Kristina, ME.
I'm still shocked.
Now I get to figure out who I am as someone who has "had" cancer. I want to go to my GYN and ask him for a blood test for cancer because then at least I can breathe for a while. How do I ask for that? How do I convince him? I have no doubt that I really need to do this for myself, for my piece of mind, and I feel like a damn crazy person, I feel like it doesn't make sense to anyone but me which makes me feel like it shouldn't make sense to me at all.
I feel like I've just broken up with someone and keep finding their goddamn crap all over my house.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Death
I'd say that I'm feeling better every day, even still. I don't know what it's taking me so long to recover from but I do not feel yet that I'm at 100% - which is okay, because the progress continues to be steady. I'm not down about it, I am grateful that I have a body that likes healing.
The next thing I need to do is get blood work done so that I can see what my thyroid levels are, calcium and Vitamin D while I'm at it. I'm starting to struggle with the daily routine of taking pills- I'm definitely at that point where the novelty of a new routine wears off and the old habits start to show themselves. I need to keep my medication out where I walk past it/see it, otherwise I never even think about it. I missed one dose so far, and was late on another, but I can feel the disconnect and I know that I'm likely to keep forgetting if I don't take some measures to make sure that I'm reminded daily.
I feel like my levels are good for the most part. I am still pretty tired but I think if I can start going to bed at a decent hour every now and then it might really help. I want to start integrating some kind of regular, low impact exercise without making a big fuss about it- just start doing something and see where it goes. No goals, just having it actually happen will be enough of a success. It feels like it's really important to make this happen and I hope that I am relaxed enough to let myself do it and enjoy it, but on top of it enough to stick it out. I guess I need to make some daily-routine changes all around.
I've said many times that this cancer is energetic- I do believe this, that it wasn't here to kill me necessarily, but more serve as a warning system that I need to open up, pay attention, speak up and make some changes.
It's just been such an intense few months and the last couple of days I've felt the culmination of all of that intense outpouring of energy, of being cornered by circumstances into receiving generous love from others in ways I never would have allowed myself otherwise - and the energetic transition is just starting to wear me down or something. Today I dont' want to be touched and I'm prickly, a little sad and disconnected, but at the same time feeling really positive and I actually got a LOT of work done today. It's a weird place to be, all conflicted and turned upside down, but it's just where I'm at.
Today Randy and I were listening to NPR and the Tobolowsky Files were on, and Stephen Tobolowsky was talking about his experience with his heart surgery. He painted the exact picture in his story of what it felt like to be me, going through cancer and surgery and healing and everything that we have so far. It was a profound thing to listen to, that other people do go about this journey in many of the same ways that I do- in consciousness that this changes us, that it changes our bodies profoundly, forever, that it changes how we love ourselves and others, and what we say about that love. My friend Kelli had a laparoscopy and it was also profoundly life changing for her- a 'little' surgery, but it cuts us each to the meat and bones of who we really are and makes us naked in ways we'd never expect (because we are willing to be naked).
I felt like I was holding Stephen's hand as he told his story, getting obviously emotional as he described his wife and her support of him, much in the same way that Randy has unwaveringly supported me. "We'll do whatever we have to do. We'll get through this." It's true. We will.
He talked about a story in the Talmud about how Death visits us many times in our lives and we don't notice until He's finally staring us in the face- and then we realize that we've done this dance before, in some moment when we might have lost our lives to that car accident, or illness.
What I think we as a culture don't know is that Death is with us in other ways too- when we change, never to go back to who we were. When I moved out of my mother's crazy house and in with my Aunt. When I moved to Germany, when I came home. When I had my first child. When I had my cesarean, when I had cancer- all of these, they are all deaths- because I died in each of those moments, shed that molty flaky skin of who I was, and I birthed myself again, new and shiny and pink, and in that, also delicate and easily bruised for a while.
I feel like I am still in the 'death' phase of this, that parts of me are still shedding away and peeling back. I feel like I am still between the lines, between the veils of life and Spirit. I don't feel like my feet are on the ground yet and I'm not sure I'll know they are when I finally land.
It's frustrating, and delicious, and perfect.
The next thing I need to do is get blood work done so that I can see what my thyroid levels are, calcium and Vitamin D while I'm at it. I'm starting to struggle with the daily routine of taking pills- I'm definitely at that point where the novelty of a new routine wears off and the old habits start to show themselves. I need to keep my medication out where I walk past it/see it, otherwise I never even think about it. I missed one dose so far, and was late on another, but I can feel the disconnect and I know that I'm likely to keep forgetting if I don't take some measures to make sure that I'm reminded daily.
I feel like my levels are good for the most part. I am still pretty tired but I think if I can start going to bed at a decent hour every now and then it might really help. I want to start integrating some kind of regular, low impact exercise without making a big fuss about it- just start doing something and see where it goes. No goals, just having it actually happen will be enough of a success. It feels like it's really important to make this happen and I hope that I am relaxed enough to let myself do it and enjoy it, but on top of it enough to stick it out. I guess I need to make some daily-routine changes all around.
I've said many times that this cancer is energetic- I do believe this, that it wasn't here to kill me necessarily, but more serve as a warning system that I need to open up, pay attention, speak up and make some changes.
It's just been such an intense few months and the last couple of days I've felt the culmination of all of that intense outpouring of energy, of being cornered by circumstances into receiving generous love from others in ways I never would have allowed myself otherwise - and the energetic transition is just starting to wear me down or something. Today I dont' want to be touched and I'm prickly, a little sad and disconnected, but at the same time feeling really positive and I actually got a LOT of work done today. It's a weird place to be, all conflicted and turned upside down, but it's just where I'm at.
Today Randy and I were listening to NPR and the Tobolowsky Files were on, and Stephen Tobolowsky was talking about his experience with his heart surgery. He painted the exact picture in his story of what it felt like to be me, going through cancer and surgery and healing and everything that we have so far. It was a profound thing to listen to, that other people do go about this journey in many of the same ways that I do- in consciousness that this changes us, that it changes our bodies profoundly, forever, that it changes how we love ourselves and others, and what we say about that love. My friend Kelli had a laparoscopy and it was also profoundly life changing for her- a 'little' surgery, but it cuts us each to the meat and bones of who we really are and makes us naked in ways we'd never expect (because we are willing to be naked).
I felt like I was holding Stephen's hand as he told his story, getting obviously emotional as he described his wife and her support of him, much in the same way that Randy has unwaveringly supported me. "We'll do whatever we have to do. We'll get through this." It's true. We will.
He talked about a story in the Talmud about how Death visits us many times in our lives and we don't notice until He's finally staring us in the face- and then we realize that we've done this dance before, in some moment when we might have lost our lives to that car accident, or illness.
What I think we as a culture don't know is that Death is with us in other ways too- when we change, never to go back to who we were. When I moved out of my mother's crazy house and in with my Aunt. When I moved to Germany, when I came home. When I had my first child. When I had my cesarean, when I had cancer- all of these, they are all deaths- because I died in each of those moments, shed that molty flaky skin of who I was, and I birthed myself again, new and shiny and pink, and in that, also delicate and easily bruised for a while.
I feel like I am still in the 'death' phase of this, that parts of me are still shedding away and peeling back. I feel like I am still between the lines, between the veils of life and Spirit. I don't feel like my feet are on the ground yet and I'm not sure I'll know they are when I finally land.
It's frustrating, and delicious, and perfect.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Knocked down
I'm feeling a little bit knocked down, and pulled apart. It just seems like I'm moving from one intense thing to another and it all started on February 17th when I saw that little tumor on my ultrasound screen. It doesn't even matter what all of these things are, but yesterday it just really hit me that it's been intense, dude. Intense.
I don't even know what to say. I feel like I'm molting. Old, dead, flaky me is falling away, and new skin is emerging. I feel resistant about this, and it's going to happen anyway. /sigh
Last night on my way home I parked and watched lightning strike every 3-5 seconds for about 10 minutes before I drove the rest of the way home. It was so beautiful, the lightning was striking behind the clouds so you couldn't see the bolts, but it back-lit the beautiful clouds in this incredible way. I feel the same way, that the strikes in my life are not something you'd see on the surface but that in some way I am revealed by them in a way I'd never expect.
The trees are calling- my trip to the Redwoods is coming up and I can think of no better place to go, rest, Medicine Walk, and feel the ground beneath my feet again.
I don't even know what to say. I feel like I'm molting. Old, dead, flaky me is falling away, and new skin is emerging. I feel resistant about this, and it's going to happen anyway. /sigh
Last night on my way home I parked and watched lightning strike every 3-5 seconds for about 10 minutes before I drove the rest of the way home. It was so beautiful, the lightning was striking behind the clouds so you couldn't see the bolts, but it back-lit the beautiful clouds in this incredible way. I feel the same way, that the strikes in my life are not something you'd see on the surface but that in some way I am revealed by them in a way I'd never expect.
The trees are calling- my trip to the Redwoods is coming up and I can think of no better place to go, rest, Medicine Walk, and feel the ground beneath my feet again.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Still in the ripples
The times that it pops up are rather infrequent now, which is nice in some ways- long periods of peace, of life just going on. Then suddenly I see something that reminds me that I had cancer.
I didn't expect to still be grieving this loss after being cured. It makes me wonder if I really grieved it when it was happening but I know (and have documented) that I was as in the moment as I could humanly be, all along the way. I never side stepped it, or shoved it down, or pretended I was okay when I wasn't - so that means that this is just the normal for me to process that I had cancer.
Last night I was reading a story where a teenage girl falls in love- and in the middle of her love story she finds out that her mom is battling to manage lung cancer that is no longer treatable. The story isn't a spectacular thriller, I read the whole thing in one day. It was a sweet love story that was just fun to read, but this particular part of the story was particularly difficult because I had to tell my kids that I had cancer. I went in thinking that it would change their world forever, and who knows- maybe it did. I didn't know what to expect from them but I was prepared for a lot of tears, fear and sadness. I didn't get it, which is great- truly, truly great, but when you have that moment ahead of you, it's scary and overwhelming. So as I'm reading about this mother telling her passionate, head strong daughter that she was going to die of lung cancer, it hit me deeply that I shared something powerful with her and with anyone else who has had to break the news of a serious illness to people they love. I sat in the bathtub and read the story and cried my eyeliner right off my face.
I didn't give it a lot of thought, I had cancer, dude, it's sure to pop up, right? I figured it's just part of the process and forgot about it. I had a great, busy day with friends and thai food, my family and delicious birthday barbecue dinner for my husband. We went to the store after dinner and a woman walked by with a scarf on her bald head and this huge lump formed in my stomach, and I smiled at her realizing that she has no idea that I know some piece of what she's going through, even if small- and then it really hit me - I had cancer, dude. Cancer!
I walked around for 35 years thinking that it was something that could happen, but probably wouldn't happen, to me. It actually really happened. I had a surgery and procedures, I had to worry about my death. I had to tell my kids, I had to surrender to the help of my friends.
There's no way to type it out on a screen and be able to translate the exquisite, acute experience that this has been. I think on some level I am still in shock- especially after it is over so quickly. I don't feel relieved yet as much as I do feel like I'm still trying to organize the whole experience in the file cabinet of my mind, my life. Where does this weird folder fit?
I didn't expect to still be grieving this loss after being cured. It makes me wonder if I really grieved it when it was happening but I know (and have documented) that I was as in the moment as I could humanly be, all along the way. I never side stepped it, or shoved it down, or pretended I was okay when I wasn't - so that means that this is just the normal for me to process that I had cancer.
Last night I was reading a story where a teenage girl falls in love- and in the middle of her love story she finds out that her mom is battling to manage lung cancer that is no longer treatable. The story isn't a spectacular thriller, I read the whole thing in one day. It was a sweet love story that was just fun to read, but this particular part of the story was particularly difficult because I had to tell my kids that I had cancer. I went in thinking that it would change their world forever, and who knows- maybe it did. I didn't know what to expect from them but I was prepared for a lot of tears, fear and sadness. I didn't get it, which is great- truly, truly great, but when you have that moment ahead of you, it's scary and overwhelming. So as I'm reading about this mother telling her passionate, head strong daughter that she was going to die of lung cancer, it hit me deeply that I shared something powerful with her and with anyone else who has had to break the news of a serious illness to people they love. I sat in the bathtub and read the story and cried my eyeliner right off my face.
I didn't give it a lot of thought, I had cancer, dude, it's sure to pop up, right? I figured it's just part of the process and forgot about it. I had a great, busy day with friends and thai food, my family and delicious birthday barbecue dinner for my husband. We went to the store after dinner and a woman walked by with a scarf on her bald head and this huge lump formed in my stomach, and I smiled at her realizing that she has no idea that I know some piece of what she's going through, even if small- and then it really hit me - I had cancer, dude. Cancer!
I walked around for 35 years thinking that it was something that could happen, but probably wouldn't happen, to me. It actually really happened. I had a surgery and procedures, I had to worry about my death. I had to tell my kids, I had to surrender to the help of my friends.
There's no way to type it out on a screen and be able to translate the exquisite, acute experience that this has been. I think on some level I am still in shock- especially after it is over so quickly. I don't feel relieved yet as much as I do feel like I'm still trying to organize the whole experience in the file cabinet of my mind, my life. Where does this weird folder fit?
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Post-op appointment
What a wild day, for many reasons. My post-op appointment was supposed to be the major event for the day, and turns out it was the most mundane thing that happened today.
Let me get to it.
We met with Dr. Harper today for my post-op. I really do like her a lot, I wish we had more occasion to work together besides her desire to cut people's body open and my desire to stay intact. We just chatted a bit about our experiences since the surgery and outlined a few areas where things could have gone better. She said she'd talk with the people involved herself and make some adjustments- that's just what you want to hear when you have valid issues, you want to hear there is going to be action!
She was really positive about my healing, and said that my calcium levels in the ER would have been normal or they'd have alerted us to them. I had reviewed my lab values myself and they were all within normal ranges, so my parathyroids must be healing nicely and doing their job! We have some new labs ordered to see how I'm adjusting to my medication and how my Vitamin D is doing now that I'm taking it more often, I'll do those before I leave for the Redwoods.
She was surprised to hear my voice still sounding so high, and hoarse, and to hear that I'm still having 'breathy' issues. I run out of breath while talking, I get winded very fast, etc. This is all due to a probably paralyzed or sluggish vocal cord. She said to give it a month from now and if it's not better, that she'd refer me to an ENT (Ear-Nose-Throat) doc and we'd talk about possible treatments, the most fun one being to put me asleep and inject some kind of stuff into my paralyzed cord to bring it back to a normal size/whatever so it would function properly. Oooh. That sounds fun.
Tonight I thought, hey, would I rather have a needle down my throat or radiation? I'll take a needle in my throat, thank you.
I was thinking about the pre-op photo I took of my neck, and how I was very in the moment with my feelings, and acknowledging that I would never look the same. I am still trying to get used to this scar, and what it does to my neck. I was at a farmer's market recently and a kid straight up asked me, "Did you have surgery?"I was really glad he asked me so directly and we could just talk, rather than having him stare at my neck like I was Frankenstein's daughter or something. I plan to concoct some kind of awesome story to explain my scar. So far all I've got is, "I was in a knife fight and someone stole my thyroid." It's cool, but doesn't have enough.. I don't know... panache. I'm accepting ideas. ;)
I think in some ways this whole cancer thing is still hitting me. It started and ended so fast, I sometimes still think to myself, "Holy crap, I had CANCER." Cancer? Seriously? *ME?* How in the world did that even happen?
Randy and I were talking today about how I fought cancer and won. I admitted that I don't feel like I did anything more than what was required of me to survive. You get hungry, you eat. You get cancer, you get treatment. Done, and done. It didn't require a whole lot of mental acrobatics to understand my treatment, I just had to do it. It was hard, harder than anyone told me it would be- but it wasn't a fight, it was more like a surrender. I had to surrender to having cancer so that I could survive it, if that makes sense. I had to let go of expectations about what my life was going to be, and accept a new reality, and give in to what was scary and hard. By surrendering, I won the fight. Weird, but that's how it's done I guess.
Let me get to it.
We met with Dr. Harper today for my post-op. I really do like her a lot, I wish we had more occasion to work together besides her desire to cut people's body open and my desire to stay intact. We just chatted a bit about our experiences since the surgery and outlined a few areas where things could have gone better. She said she'd talk with the people involved herself and make some adjustments- that's just what you want to hear when you have valid issues, you want to hear there is going to be action!
She was really positive about my healing, and said that my calcium levels in the ER would have been normal or they'd have alerted us to them. I had reviewed my lab values myself and they were all within normal ranges, so my parathyroids must be healing nicely and doing their job! We have some new labs ordered to see how I'm adjusting to my medication and how my Vitamin D is doing now that I'm taking it more often, I'll do those before I leave for the Redwoods.
She was surprised to hear my voice still sounding so high, and hoarse, and to hear that I'm still having 'breathy' issues. I run out of breath while talking, I get winded very fast, etc. This is all due to a probably paralyzed or sluggish vocal cord. She said to give it a month from now and if it's not better, that she'd refer me to an ENT (Ear-Nose-Throat) doc and we'd talk about possible treatments, the most fun one being to put me asleep and inject some kind of stuff into my paralyzed cord to bring it back to a normal size/whatever so it would function properly. Oooh. That sounds fun.
Tonight I thought, hey, would I rather have a needle down my throat or radiation? I'll take a needle in my throat, thank you.
I was thinking about the pre-op photo I took of my neck, and how I was very in the moment with my feelings, and acknowledging that I would never look the same. I am still trying to get used to this scar, and what it does to my neck. I was at a farmer's market recently and a kid straight up asked me, "Did you have surgery?"I was really glad he asked me so directly and we could just talk, rather than having him stare at my neck like I was Frankenstein's daughter or something. I plan to concoct some kind of awesome story to explain my scar. So far all I've got is, "I was in a knife fight and someone stole my thyroid." It's cool, but doesn't have enough.. I don't know... panache. I'm accepting ideas. ;)
I think in some ways this whole cancer thing is still hitting me. It started and ended so fast, I sometimes still think to myself, "Holy crap, I had CANCER." Cancer? Seriously? *ME?* How in the world did that even happen?
Randy and I were talking today about how I fought cancer and won. I admitted that I don't feel like I did anything more than what was required of me to survive. You get hungry, you eat. You get cancer, you get treatment. Done, and done. It didn't require a whole lot of mental acrobatics to understand my treatment, I just had to do it. It was hard, harder than anyone told me it would be- but it wasn't a fight, it was more like a surrender. I had to surrender to having cancer so that I could survive it, if that makes sense. I had to let go of expectations about what my life was going to be, and accept a new reality, and give in to what was scary and hard. By surrendering, I won the fight. Weird, but that's how it's done I guess.
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