2 months
since.....
Tomorrow
is the two-month anniversary since my diagnosis. It seems, simultaneously, like
it was ages ago, yet yesterday. It's kind of this surrealistic reality that I
am living in - it's this pattern of sick, well, sick, well, sick, well. This
has become my new normal.
Two months ago, I had a routine. I was working, attending college, mothering,
etc. While I would complain about the monotony, I appreciated it, and relished
in it. The understanding that I was working towards a goal - whether it was my
college degree, completing a task at work, or helping Julia with her homework -
those all gave me a purpose. I might complain about the chaos, but honestly, I
love living in a world where I have a thousand things going, and I am busy all
the time. It's just how I learned to operate, and how I am comfortable. I think
most moms can understand this need for controlled chaos - it's something you
learn to love.
Then, on May 23rd, my world was shattered. I came out of the colonoscopy and
was told that I had cancer. And, not any cancer that a woman my age might
expect - maybe breast cancer? Nope - I get the cancer that you relate more to
people in their 50s, 60s, etc. I remember focusing more on the word cancer than
anything - how could this happen to me? I know that I haven't always taken as
good of care of myself as maybe I should have - who can do that when you have
everything else going on? (Isn't that the line we feed ourselves to excuse us
the responsibility to our bodies that we shirk?) But, I can't imagine what I
exposed myself to that allowed this tumor to not only take root, but grow and
spread.
I remember, the first weekend, doing preliminary research. I remember opening
two websites, both of which proclaimed loudly, in bold writing and black,
morose lettering - Colon Cancer is the Number Two Killer of Americans with
Cancer. All caps, like it was the Constitution of Cancer. I remember thinking
that this information wasn't something I needed to hear, and closing the web
browser.
I remember standing in the shower that following Saturday morning. My mom was
due to fly in that afternoon, and I had to get ready to meet her at the
airport. I was standing in the shower, with these waves of emotions washing
over me, as if the shower head was providing me with these feelings. I broke
down that morning, standing there. I remember thinking that I needed to make
sure my family knew where I wanted to be buried. What jewelery I wanted the
kids to have. What memories I needed to write down, or archive, or photograph,
so that my kids would remember me. The thought was unreal, and yet more real
than anything I had ever experienced. How do you handle something like that?
I think the worst that weekend was the sense of the unknown. Remember, it was
Memorial Day weekend. I had plans for that weekend - we were thinking of going
to visit some friends out of town, and instead we were all trying to cope with
my diagnosis. As I say, the worst was the unknown. At that point, we had a 98%
chance that the tumor was cancerous, so there was still this minuscule hope
that the tumor was benign, and surgery would end this horror we were going
through. However, I think I knew, maybe before the colonoscopy, that I had
cancer.
Have you ever had a moment in your life where, unexpectedly, an idea comes to
you, and you question it's origin? You think about something that is completely
and utterly unrelated to your current environment? I remember having a moment
like that - I remember being in the car, maybe a year ago, and thinking, well,
if I get cancer, then I suppose that I will just push through it like I have
done with so many other things. I will do what has to be done, and hope that situation
is the worst that I have to endure in my life. Odd, isn't it, the way thoughts
in your mind can justify the pain and suffering you are going through?
Anyways, back to the fear of the unknown. Because of the dietary restrictions
for the upcoming tests, the weekend of Memorial Day was filled with limited
food for me. On Saturday night, the first night Mom was in town and my last
night free from dietary restrictions, we went for pizza. Then, my cousin Kathy
called - she is a PA for an oncologist in NY, and we called her desperately
searching for answers she couldn't really give us. I left the restaurant to
speak with her, and broke down again. Just thinking about what was in my body,
and the fear that it was going to take my life hovered around me like a mist in
a field in the morning. I couldn't get rid of that feeling. I kept thinking, I
need to cherish every moment I have with the people that I love. And, isn't
that an awful feeling to be forced into having? It's one thing to remember that
day to day as a part of your normal, everyday routine. Get up, take shower, put
on makeup, eat breakfast, cherish moments with family. Check!
I think I can look back on this now with a sense of nostalgia. I feel like that
person, handling those emotions, as almost a different person. I have had to
change not only my routine, but my outlook on life. My thought processes about
everything. My priorities. My, well, everything.
Cancer has a way of making you wake up and, so to speak, smell the coffee. You
look at the sunsets in a different way - isn't it amazing what nature can do?
You look at your children differently - you feel the need to hug them, kiss
them, play with them, memorize their moves, their attitudes (good and bad),
their quirks, just in case. You don't want to think about the "just in
case," but you have to. It's a lesson on mortality, and in life.
I can choose to live my life a couple of different ways. I can look at this as
a life sentence, and be down about it. Yes, I am likely to get through this, and
have 2009 be my first year of remission. But, there will always be the concern
about recurrences, about metastases (where the cancer has essentially relocated
to another part of my body), about my life expectancy. I can dwell on that, and
obsess about it, and wonder when. When will it happen.
If I do that, it will recur, and cancer will beat me. I am not willing to take
that road. I will not, and can not, believe that my time on this planet is
going to cut short. I have so much to do, and to offer. I guess part of my
refusal to look at this as an ending is the goal list I have set for myself. I
have been told, by several people, that looking to the future helps patients
focus on what will be, rather than what could happen. So, here's my impromptu
list. Ready?
First, I need to see my kids grow up, and I need to see what their children are
like. Maybe their children, too? I didn't bring two kids into this world to let
others raise them. Not an option. As a teenager, I was convinced that I didn't
want kids. I was also convinced that I wasn't going to get married. Well, since
those were obviously fallacies in my thinking, I am convinced that I was given
these two little angels to help them learn to be amazing people. They have the
capability - it's my duty to help them reach their potential.
Second, I am a wife. I need to be a good wife to my husband. It took me years
to finally "capture" him, as they say. It was a rough road to finally
get together with him, and I am not going to let him go this easily. I have
things to do with him too - we have goals as a couple that we haven't even
begun to think about.
Third, I am a daughter and sister - I need to fulfill my duties, my
responsibilities, and my dreams as that person. I don't know how I am going to
do it yet, but I will figure it out.
My brother is getting married next August. He and his fiancee have asked me to
stand up in their wedding, as will Julia and Levi. I am NOT going to let Bob
down. If I have to be bald at the wedding, so be it. But, damn it, I am going
to be there.
Jimmy and Tom have asked me to visit them in England when I am done with
treatments. What an opportunity - to see England, from a local perspective,
rather than a tourist-y perspective? Awesome. And, to see my brother and
brother-in-law (b/c that's what I consider Tom - did you know that?!?!) in
their current home, and in their element - what a chance. To see England with
people I love - really, I can't miss this.
What else - I had to pull myself out of the college until I am able to enroll
in classes again. I was holding a 4.0 GPA, and I have to get my bachelor's.
Again, cancer isn't going to take that from me.
I haven't ever been to Disneyland. Um, hello - this is a fairly important
thing, and something that I know I will regret if I don't ever get there. I had
a trip planned, and this damn cancer ruined that for me. I am going to get to
Disneyland, and that's all there is to it.
I need to get back to Disney World. Again, this isn't an option.
What else? I have at least two tattoos that I am going to get, and while I have
one mentally picked out and pictured in my mind (this is the fancy, scroll-y
heart design that I am going to have tattooed around my port scar in my chest,
to remind me of where the chemo went in, and gave me back my life), I need to
get them. I know - I might regret it when I am 85 years old and all wrinkled. I
don't care. It's my goal, and I'll deal with it when I get to 85. Who knows -
maybe I'll be this cool, ultra-hip grandma with tattoos that her grandkids are
proud to show off. Neat, huh?
Right now, those are my focus points. Well, those, and celebrating *in style*
the last day of my chemo treatments. Right now, that day is the Thursday before
Thanksgiving, which is November 20. I know that this could change, if the
treatment schedule needs to be modified. And, while I am focusing on that day,
I understand that it might get pushed out. It's okay - as long as I have a date
in my head, I am okay. It gives me a goal.
So, those are my thoughts on this Sunday morning. I am sitting here, trying to
work through my thoughts, and listening to the kids play. Julia is playing with
her toy horses (Sharon - remember the ones you sent her? Yup - those.) and her
doll house (apparently, it's now a horse house), and Kevin is running up and
down the hall, wearing himself out for his nap. It's a good sound. Missing Levi
- he is at a friend's house, helping her put up a gazebo. But, overall, it's a
good morning. Mom and Dad are on their way back down to Phoenix (they made it
to Indianapolis last night). I start round 4 on Tuesday, which means that I
will be officially 1/3 of the way through my treatments. Holy cow - it doesn't
seem like that's possible, but there you go.
I hope you are having a good day, and that you remember to cherish those
moments with your families. You don't know when things could change - try not
to take things, or people, for granted. And, remember not to take yourself for
granted - you are a wonderful person with unique capabilities that no one else
has - cherish that. Cherish your health, cherish your mind, and cherish your
life. Without those things, it's not worth getting up in the morning.
Oh, and have a good laugh each and every day. Because, really, life is very
funny, if you are willing to see it. (If I can laugh at my butt cancer, anyone can
find something funny in their life to laugh about.)
Comments:
:
) thank you. I needed a reality check.
Can I design your heart for your tattoo?
And what about the (girls) vegas trip, and a disney cruise?
and we have to start planning for another disney family reunion!
sending you lots of love, strength, hugs, and prayers from Michigan...
jen & kevin
July
27, 2008 at 1:16 PM
