welcome to the danger zone

Posts tagged “selfesteem

Return, Resolutions, Repeat

I'm back....

I’m back….

That’s right, my lovelies – I did not run over any armadillos, I did not get a cat, I did not mix vodka with orange juice, I did not become a brain eating zombie, I managed to stay awake for at least one hour a day, I resolved to clean the house when absolutely necessary (which it never truly was), I did not use a drone to attack the neighbors, I ate no cauliflower, I checked my phone once a day, and I never told facebook what city I live in, no matter how many times it asked. 10 Resolutions made, 10 completed. Completing such daunting tasks gives me such a sense of satisfaction. I don’t know that I can top this in 2015, but damn it, what’s live without challenge?

I’ll get to this year’s resolutions in a moment. I really want to give the real ending to the attack on the cyst, because I couldn’t before I told my dad (aka pop) the facts – I didn’t want to ruin the holiday for him or for my niece – I mean I had to ruin it for Andy and some of my brothers, co-workers and friends, and of course, it was a bit of a downer for me too, but I couldn’t do it to my dad. I think I’ve told most people, if I haven’t and this is where you get the news first, I’m sorry. It’s not the thing you get any enjoyment out of telling people and one thing I’ve learned is that no matter how many people I tell, there’s always going to be someone that I forgot to. I can think of five or ten or fifteen now. Fact is, I’m tired of telling people. Here’s a fact: Telling people you have cancer (again) is fucking hard. You feel bad that your are giving people bad news, you feel you have to make them feel better, they always ask how they can help and it’s just generally a bad thing. If I tell you, just tell me that you love me. Or if you don’t love me, just say, hey, whatever you need. I’ll keep talking if I feel like talking about it, and if I don’t keep talking about it, and you have questions, ask me. I have a blog, seriously, it’s not like this shit is secret.

Anyhow, I read the CT scan before the surgery. I saw the words “possible malignancy” – I saw the look on the ER doctors face when he had to tell me there were some concerning items on the scan. I know my body. I knew something was wrong. After surgery, when Minion 1 arrived, and I asked her about the offending nodule and if they found cancer, she danced around it, saying that they “don’t think” anything is wrong, but they are only using human eyes. I much preferred the way I found out the first time – the resident held my hand and said it straight up, we can’t confirm it yet, but from the preliminary pathology, it looks like cancer. This time, I knew I was going to hear not very good news at my appointment. I know when they take a biopsy, they look at the sample to make sure it’s a good one. They don’t just randomly snap out a bit of tissue and hope for the best. And while they are checking, they can notice whether they have good cells or abnormal cells. Sure, they may not know if it’s malignant with certainty, but they know if something’s up or not. Minion 1 needs to work on her delivery. I should give lessons.

I also knew I wasn’t healing as quickly as I have in the past. I had some pretty hideous bruising. I lost my appetite. I knew things were different, but I wanted to believe what the Minion 1 told me. So when I got to my appointment on the 22nd, I was ready for the news, or at least I thought so. I went by myself because Andy was in Pittsburgh with my nephew and brothers for a Steelers game. I didn’t want him to not have fun because I had an appointment. I asked my niece’s mom to go with me last minute, but she couldn’t. So I just resigned myself to going it alone. I got there on time, checked in, and waited. I got weighed, and found out I’d lost 40lbs since October. That’s a lot. And then I waited. My blood pressure was almost normal, but there was much excitement by the nurse when I told her I was off the morphine and just taking percocet. I wasn’t in pain. That’s good. Yay. No need to undress. Hang out, Dr. will be in. Now, Dr. K is a presence. He’s a tall, funny guy, with a southern twang to his voice and he’s always cracking jokes with nurses and staff and patients. I suppose you have to when you have to give the news he’s giving. He’s almost never late. I can sometimes hear him talking to other patients when I wait for him. Today I can hear him telling one that they will beat this thing, and that they will be in to review the chemo and radiation schedule with her, etc, etc, etc. Not good. It’s still taking a while for him to see me. I wonder where my treatment coordinator is – I have presents for her and Nurse Sue and Dr. K – just little holiday gifts to say thanks. I don’t hear Anne outside either – not good. Finally, Dr. K arrives with Minion 2 from the ER nightmare. They sit down. Sit. That doesn’t usually happen, so yes, it’s another harbinger of doom. Dr. K looks at me and doesn’t mess around – the biopsy shows cancer, and launches into how we could treat it. No surgery, no radiation, two different ways to address it with chemo, there’s no protocol for cancer in this area, quite frankly he doesn’t even know how or why it came back, it shouldn’t have at this point, once you pass two years, there’s a much less likelihood of recurrence. I just kinda look at him, and tell him I don’t have dying on my agenda. He said that’s good because he hasn’t, and isn’t, giving me permission to die. I’m not crying, I’m almost relieved because now I know – I awkwardly hand him the card and ornament I brought him – tell him I don’t know if he Jewish, or celebrates Kwanza or Christmas, but he can hang the ornament on his Hanukkah bush if he wants to – and thank him for taking such good care of me. I can tell this is as hard on him as it is for me. I think the Minion 2 wants to bolt, but is glad I am not crying and that I am, matter-of-factly, addressing what I need to do. Dr. K tells him to talk to me about the MRI, since he hasn’t staged it yet, and needs the MRI to determine what all is happening in the dark recesses of where the stupid pufferfish lies. I tell him I think the unwieldy beast is starting its dark resurgence because I’m having some discomfort in the area, and he says that’s what he wants to see on the MRI. Minion 2 has ceased sweating, I truly believe he thought I would lose it like I did when they offered my the psych hold in the ER. I maintained calm. OK, I was in shock, but it still didn’t involve crying.

You are never really prepared for the news. I’m still not sure I have accepted it, and probably won’t until they hang the poison bag on the rack and it starts dripping into my arm. Dr. K and I hug, he assures me that we will kick cancer’s ass and be laughing about this in no time. He tells me this is a shitty way to end the year, and a shitty way to start a new one, but go home, enjoy the holiday, and they will call me with the chemo schedule the day after Christmas. I tell him I trust him, he got me through it the last time and will this time. I shake the Minion 2’s hand, and like a scared bunny, he hands me the packet of papers for checkout and flees the room. I head to checkout. As I stand there, alone, having just been told my body has betrayed me, it hits me, and I tear up. I have cancer. Fuck. The receptionist asks me about the papers – I tell her all I know is I have a 4 week appointment on the 5th, and Dr. K wants me to have an MRI. She asks if it is scheduled – I tell her I don’t know – I was just handed papers by the Minion 2. She looks, and doesn’t have a clue why I have been handed all of Dr. K’s results and notes. I suddenly realize I need a note for work, and another prescription for percocet. I ask if she can get that for me when she asks him about the other papers. She does – he tells me I’m off until after my 4 week check up. I realize we never even looked at the incisions. Good thing I heal OK. She comes back with all my papers – I ask her if she can give Anne and Sue my cards and ornaments. She will. I’m still not really connecting to any of this. I get my appointment for the MRI and visit summary and head for the elevators.

I don’t break down until I am in the car. Then I am a snotty, sobbing, weeping, sniveling, snorting, coughing, choking mess for about five minutes. And alone. Horribly alone. And also very glad to be alone because I don’t have to worry about making anyone else feel better about my breakdown. I text who I need to text. I need to get groceries while I am down here. It’s funny how the trauma and the mundane activities intersect here. I need to get food. I also need to get home. I start the car and go to Giant, and mindlessly wheel the cart up and down the aisles, tossing shit in I don’t really need, but I have a fuck-it-you-only-live-once attitude and decide we’re having a fucking rib roast and ask at the butcher counter for a small incredibly expensive rib roast. Two hundred dollars later, I’m checking out of Giant with my rib roast. I forget to buy water. I’m not even hungry. I need to go home and that’s the last place I want to be. My iPod won’t fucking charge. I’m not going home until I have the opportunity to sing loudly with my iPod, and preferably with OWTH, until the pain inside is purged. I must also see my friend, Pony-Pony. I need some normality in this surreal scene. I also need gas. Actually, GAS first.

So I drive – first to a gas station. I fuel up and head to the MHS barn to see Pony-Pony. He’s not there. They probably are making him be the stupid donkey is some live nativity somewhere. I keep driving. I see my friends, the goats, at the goat barn, and I yell “fuck you” at the sheep in their pasture. My iPod is still not charged. I see some cows. I see another pony, and another, none of which are Pony-Pony, but at least I saw them. I keep driving. I realize my blood sugar is quite low, and I am a little shaky – I’ll got to Hardee’s. This whole time I feel like I am in weird freaky film where my character is in a dream world unbeknownst to everyone who sees her. It’s like none of this is real. I finally get the iPod charged enough to commence screamsinging. Fortunately, RTE 322 is not busy and I can cry and sing and drive all at once with no worries. It’s not real. It’s not real. I get to Hardee’s and order some sort of burger and onion rings. I manage to choke down the onion rings. I head home.

The drive was cathartic. And pretty scary. Occasionally I would look down at the speedometer during pauses between songs. I pushed 100+mph more than a few times. It’s not really my fault the car goes that fast. I slowed down several times. I wanted to get home and then I didn’t. I would have to tell Andy and then other people. This is the part that sucks. I finally drove home – I walked in and Andy was all excited to tell me about his trip and the game – and I killed that with a look. He asked how the visit went and I lost it. I sobbed and cried and told him how sorry I was he had to go through this all again. My kid is a good hugger. He told me I was the strongest person he knew and it was just cancer, and I could beat it. Then he proceeded to hug me some more. When he was adequately covered in snot, he went and got the groceries from the car. I didn’t want my expensive rib roast being stolen in this neighborhood

The C-monster is such a fucking burden. Not only do you have to worry about being sick, but you have to worry about bills and work, and the house and telling people and not upsetting people all while being told that this is the time you are supposed to focus on yourself. If there are people who are able to do that, I wish they would have a network where you could find out their secret. Because once you recover from the shock, you have to think about who to tell, and when and where and how and how are they gonna react and if they are old, like my dad, are you going to kill them? And then there’s the logistics – appointments and chemo and food and laundry and the joys of all the changes in smell and touch and taste. And when you have been the head of household for the last 24 years, that just doesn’t stop, you still worry about that. It’s just a lot. And no matter how much you have people tell you they will do whatever they can to help you, you don’t want to ask, because you don’t want to be a burden, and you want to be strong and tackle this yourself.

I’m tired of writing tonight, and I am tired of watching this fucking pathetic Steelers game while I type. I’m tired of being sick and doctor’s appointments, and not wanting to get out of bed. At least there’s minimal pain. At least there’s plenty of food in our house and we have functioning utilities. I can still write. My bed is comfy. I have a new blanket to take to chemo with me. It’s all gonna be over in 18 weeks (it better be). Tomorrow is the MRI – it will be a whole new experience for me, so look forward to that blog entry. I sure hope there’s no metal inside that suddenly gets torn from my body like I’ve seen in horror movies.

Good night my happy people…I’ll be keeping you updated – hug on your loved ones and do something fun with them before they can’t, or you can’t. Sleep well. Oh, about those resolutions, still working on them. I won’t be bound by your constrictive linear timetables. Kisses.

Oh yeah – three years ago yesterday, I got my first diagnosis. Happy Anniversary. I didn’t know the 3rd anniversary was also cancer.

Make Your Own Damn List…

I’m procrastinating. I was playing with my big girl designing toys and they are all over my bed, and I don’t want to have to put everything away (although, I can’t actually sleep in the bed until I do) so I thought I would write (and suck down two tylenol pm, because anxiety has been a bit of an issue lately, so pretty blue pills may me sleep – you know, actually most pills are pretty, but again, that’s another journal entry).

Actually, I’m feeling kind of jovial, and over-tired, and those of you near and dear to me know that lack of sleep is like lack of happy pills…my wit sharpens, my tongue (or in this case, finger) becomes razor sharp, and I get a little snarky, unless I harness the energy. So to prevent me from “throwing some shade” on facebook until I get tired, I thought I would do a positive, feel-good, unicorns-pooping-rainbows-over-a-milkshake-sea, furry-bunny, cotton-candy post. To give credit where credit is due, this is in response to something I saw trending on twitter, #50thingsIhate. I can’t imagine hating 50 things. I can’t imagine hating 10 things. That takes a lot of energy, and makes me sad. So, I decided this post should be about 75 things I love. And if you are one of my faithful readers, I challenge you to make your own list too. Some of you who read one of my old blogs on xanga…(does xanga still exist? I better check…some of my best writing is a journal there) I used to challenge the girls I worked with in my self-esteem workshops to find 10 things to love about themselves, something we don’t do enough of…we are always looking at what’s wrong, and what’s missing and what we need to fix, when the key is to count blessing, joys and good things about yourself. So anyway, I want to get the 75 things done before these tylenol take me to sleep.

These are in no particular order, except for the first two.
1. Andy
2. My friends
3. The sweet smell of cut grass.
4. The Pacific ocean in winter.
5. Storms coming off the Pacific ocean.
6. Corgis.
7. Babies laughing.
8. Stars.
9. Learning.
10. Reading.
11. Water.
12. The Daily Show.
13. The Jesus and Mary Chain
14. Meditation,
15. Dalai Lama (he makes me feel joyous just looking at him)
16. Pizza.
17. Pebble beach near Pescadero. Not “The Pebble Beach”
18. Fast german cars.
19. Birds signing in the morning.
20. Porch Swings.
21. Ripe peaches.
22. Cherries.
23. Country drives.
24. Splashing in warm summer puddles during a thunderstorm.
25. Singing loudly to OWTH while driving fast.
26. Highway 84 to the beach/Old Pescadero Road.
27. Pumpkin picking in Half Moon Bay.
28. Going to the Zoo.
29. Cheetahs.
30. Vampires.
31. Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
32. Sleeping in.
33. Gardening.
34. Swimming.
35. Sea Otters.
36. Fog.
37. The Mavericks (not the team, the waves)
38. Tide Pools.
39. Warm brownies with white chocolate peanut butter spread on top.
40. Andy making me laugh until I cry/stop breathing.
41. Road trips.
42. Northern California
43. Disneyland
44. South Dakota
45. Covered Bridges
46. Taking pictures
47. Cemeteries
48. Sylvia Plath
49. Pablo Neruda
50. Donnie Darko
51. Against Me! (especially live)
52. Dancing.
53. Fireworks
54. Shotoing stars.
55. The first snow (and that’s the only snow – it needs to go away in a day or two)
56. Feminism
57. Good debates.
58. Christmas
59. Thanksgiving
60. Pecktivus
61. Finding lucky pennies.
62. Laughing hysterically.
63. Storm clouds.
64. Cool breezes.
65. Thunderstorms
66. Cotton clothes.
67. Indian food.
68. Chinese Festivals
69. State Fairs.
70. Spontaneous long drives.
71. Ice cream with cherry dip.
72. Making things.
73. Point Break.
74. Hugs from little kids.
75. Tattoos.
76. Windchimes
77. Irish folk songs.
78. Sons of Anarchy
79. Tall goth boys in skinny jeans.
80. Chanting.
81. French doors.
82. Balconies
83. Hammocks.
84. Picking huckleberries.
85. Bleenies.
86. Hanging out talking feminism and socialism and theocracies with my like-minded chicas.
87. Teaching
88. Doing self-esteem workshops for kids.
89. Great Art
90. Museums.
91. Flowers.
92. Ginger Beer.
93. Classical music.
94. Wood fires.
95. Crafting things.
96. Trying new things.
97. Making up words.
98. A good fan.
99. Air conditioning.

I was going to do 100 after I realized I had more than 75, but if I go to 100, then I will be compelled to keep going, and going, because there must be thousands of things I love. Like the massive amount of fireflies that you can see on 743 heading out of Hershey on a warm summer night. So there you have it…I challenge you to make your own list. It’s better that whining about what is wrong with your life.

So with the sleepy eyes of one who self-medicated with some tylenol pm (someone text me tomorrow and remind me to call for another prescription for percocet before Monday, so I can pick it up, ‘kay?) I bid you wonderful readerlings sweetest candy-apple dreams. Oh yeah, I love comfy blankets to. I’d like to also point out that not only do I love the things on the list, I am also quite grateful for them. Nighty-night.

(Special note to JMC: I know you know. Everything is energy and it’s all connected. Things fall apart and come back together – streetlights, snow angels, laughter, and bottlerockets. Good times my friend, good times. We don’t have to accept that time is linear. MYA)