Warning -
there may be a lot of cursing in this post. If you don't like it, don't
read any further. This is going to likely be a very raw post, and very
emotional. Hence, the bad words.
********************************
The news yesterday, understandably, threw me for a loop. Here I was,
walking into the doctor's office, thinking that the worst thing I was going to
have to deal with over the next few months was some radiation burns and maybe
some more diarrhea.
Then, the bombshell.
I'm trying to be okay with it, but it's hard. I have moments where I'm
ready for the battle, in the mode to fight again, and ready to show this
fucking cancer who's boss.
And then, almost immediately, I have this fear that grips my heart, messes with
my head, and starts to put little niggles of doubt into my soul. I start
to get angry.
I haven't been angry much about what I've been going through. I feel like
it's just my battle to face, and I'm lucky to have the most amazing people all
over the world supporting me. But, it's hard not to get angry.
I want to be normal. I would give my left arm to be normal. Just to
have a few years of calm, of the simple life, or a non-cancer life. But,
that doesn't appear to be my lot in life.
And it pisses me off. I am so damn angry. I shouldn't have to keep
making phone calls that make my husband worry, that terrify my parents, that
worry my brothers. I shouldn't have to keep telling my children that
Mommy has to go through yet another round of treatment because the cancer has
come back.
I should have made more phone calls yesterday, to the people who have been by
my side and have been essential to my family and me. I didn't. I
couldn't. I just couldn't bear the thought of going through my contact
list, and trying to remember who I've called. Telling people the same
story over and over is mentally exhausting. I feel like I chickened out,
and that makes me angry.
I hate what I'm about to face. I despise the IV chemo, and the way it
makes me feel. I hate walking into CTCA of my own accord, knowing full
well that I'm walking in there to get poisoned. I hate walking out of
there, holding on to my caregiver (this next week, it will be my mom), because
I can't stand up on my own.
But, I will. I have to.
I don't know what the future holds for me. I don't know how long I have,
or how much time I have left here on this planet. I don't know how the
cancer is going to react to this chemo, and whether this will work.
Here's what I do know:
I have a birthday coming up next month. I will not do chemo on my
birthday; well, I will do my oral Xeloda, but no IV chemo. I will,
however, have a kick-ass celebration of the fact that I've made it another
year. My birthday's on June 21st - who's up for a rowdy celebration?
And, who wants to help me plan it? I'm thinking it will be on June
22nd - y'all in?
Just because I have cancer and treatment doesn't mean I can't look good.
So, on that note, I went this morning and got my nails and toes done.
I did a wild orange-ish pink color on my toes. I got some looks
of condescension from some of the older ladies there. I'm sure
my tattooed, mohawked, bright colored self threw them for a loop. Screw
'em - I'm just sorry they spend their energies in that manner.
I have started writing letters to my kids. I figure that, if I start
planning things, I won't need them for a while. So, on that note, I'm
also going to start revising out will and making sure that all of my important
documents are in order. I don't want to, but I have to.
I will remind myself to live each day to the fullest. It's not about big,
huge memories, but about the moments. When I look back on my childhood, I
remember some big events, but it's more the sense of home, of family, of
security, of love. I want that for my children. So, I'm going to make
sure that's what I give them. I won't plan elaborate things; I don't know
if I'll be up for them. But, I will make sure that I listen to what they
have to say. I will listen as they babble, trying to tell a story and
searching frantically for the right word. Each word they say is
important, even if it doesn't make any sense. I will use each day to make
small moments with my husband; we've had a rough go of it lately (more on that
in another post), and I can honestly say that I'm finally falling back in love
with the man I adore. Small moments with him are amazing, like when he
holds my hand in bed at night as we fall asleep. That is the kind of
moment I will remember always, and I hope he does, too.
I still have too many things to do, so I'm going to try to get them done.
And, if I don't? That's okay. At least I tried.
**********************************
I am going to end here. I had some things that needed to be said, and
usually, putting them here in a posting that rambles and makes no sense helps
my brain put it into place. That's what this one did. So, thanks
for reading, and let's kick this cancer's ass again!
Comments:
Breaks
my heart that you're still having to go through this. I want this cancer crap
to be a distant memory in your mind that rarely, if ever, pops up!
May
17, 2013 at 4:33 PM
Michelle,
I found your blog through a friend fighting as well. I'm so sorry that you
can't get a break from this demon. Keep fighting, you will win this battle.
Know that there's another person pulling for you!
Una
May
18, 2013 at 4:05 PM
I
have no huge words of wisdom. And I know I rarely post a comment. And I realize
you don't know me from Adam (or Eve). But know that I am thinking of you and
giving you a big old cyber HUG....And I'm sending you every possible type of
thought and vibe I have to help you wage this war.
May
20, 2013 at 7:13 AM
First
of all, I don’t have cancer. You don’t know me. I came across your blog by
accident because I was looking up the symptoms of what a “swollen uterus” could
be since it’s not a pregnancy. I can’t get into my doctor until July 10th for a
pap smear and full physical but my uterus, to me, appears swollen and of course
I’m trying to talk myself out of things it could be – but every thing always
comes back “cancer”. My aunt had bone cancer and now blood cancer but in the
80s she drank a ton of Tab, she has a poor diet, she smoked a lot – and she was
notorious for taking “diet” pills – tons of them (she’s on my mom’s side). My
uncle who worked as a railroad engineer (on my dad’s side of the family) had
throat cancer from drinking/smoking. We don’t get cancer normally in our
family. We die of Alzheimer’s or heart disease, usually the latter.
So I came across your blog and I thought, “Now I like this chick! She’s pretty
awesome and I can read about her and just learn.” Well, honestly, I feel like I
had to respond to this post even as a stranger.
You have every right to be angry. Use your anger! I take my anger and write
poems. Then I self-publish books and print copies for loved ones. I think you
could write whatever it is you want to write for your kids and self publish a
book on lulu.com, no joke. It’s something your children will have *forever*,
even if you don’t pass from cancer. Even if you live to be 80 years old and get
hit by a flying scooter on your way to bingo – your kids will keep this
book.
You can write poems, you can write short stories, you can write the same word
over and over again and order copies. And it’s yours and your family’s forever.
I’m actually working on a second batch of poetry (for a book) and my son has a
copy of my first one and so do a few other close family members who wanted
one.
I’m not sick that I know of, but I’ve had atrocities happen to me throughout my
life and I use my anger constructively (sometimes let’s face it, destructively)
– but over all I’m a better person for using what I’m given in this life to my
advantage and not allowing it to pigeon hole me into a corner of fear, hate,
despair, and all the negativity that comes with allowing too much anger
in.
Anger is normal. I was angry my mom died when I was five. I was angry my dad
was verbally abusive and an alcoholic. I’m angry that my dad died when I was
nineteen.
I’m angry my first boyfriend/fiancé was physically abusive to me (I had a son with
him). I’m angry he cheated on me. I’m angry my *next* fiancé cheated on me and
treated me badly (no abuse though, I learned that lesson), and sometimes I feel
sad for myself because I’m bipolar ii and I can’t change it. It’s part of who I
am, how I think what I know – but it also makes me more sensitive, caring, and
I try harder then most people to be a good friend, so in a way maybe it’s a
blessing?
It’s hard not to feel sorry for yourself sometimes, that’s normal. I remember
getting booster shots as a child and pouting and crying like a baby – because I
thought it was just soooo unfair. And you know what, to a five year old – it
was unfair! I’d been good that day, why do I have to get a shot?
I occasionally still obsess about what happens to us when we pass on. I went so
far as to conducting electronic voice phenomenon recordings around the Midwest
to prove you don’t just stop existing when you pass (and believe me, I can
share my proof and you’d be surprised). This made me feel a little better – but
really, where do we go? I wanted some sort of proof and in a weird way, I got
it.
I don’t fear death now, which is good – but I do fear how I may die. I figure
though focusing on it cancels out the time I have left here, the things I can
do, the people I can help, who I can love/how I can love, and all the wonderful
parts of life no one wants to miss.
I will never refuse to pass on feeling angry about something, because you need
to. You need to have all emotions (jealousy, hatred, love, fear, etc) – because
that’s how we live.
May
21, 2013 at 1:06 PM
Deathly
Journey
I do not fear death.
I fear the flickering of tongues
not telling my story.
I fear my name being forgotten
among laughter and tears.
I fear my legacy being the faults
I gravitated toward.
I fear the sadness my loved ones
may not feel.
I fear the dark of uncertainty.
I fear the release in being free.
I fear the existence that I'm not so
sure continues to exist,
because it's an existence I cannot see.
I fear the pain in the end.
I fear the bravery and peace I may feel.
I fear the fact that I might be looking
forward to an end in sight,
and maybe living won't be such a big deal.
I fear gasping for breath,
and losing myself to my death.
I fear people wondering if my last wishes are honored,
or if they could do more.
I fear people looking at my empty body.
I fear being buried under dirt,
and suffocation if I weren't really dead.
I fear the fire touching my skin
and turning me into ashes instead.
I fear a list of plenty,
my dear sweet friend.
I pray I may one day let go,
as each journey must come to an end.
May
21, 2013 at 1:07 PM
