Two Years

Unlike most people’s January, September has always represented for me a time of change – even years before Cancer.  Maybe it is the change in the air as autumn sneaks its way in.  Or maybe its conditioning left over from childhood and new school years starting always in September.  I don’t know – but I do know that a lot of major life events that I have had or major decisions I have made have often been in September.  September 8, 2014 was an especially important day as it was the last day of my Radiation Treatments. 

As a quick recap, from February 6, 2014 to September 8, 2014 I had surgery to have a tumor removed from my left breast as well as a second incision to remove and test Lymph Nodes (which tested positive for Cancer) then 4 months of Chemotherapy followed by VERY LITTLE recovery time to prepare my body for 30 rounds of Radiation Therapy.  Then I was prescribed 5 years worth of Tamoxifen, which is a hormone receptor blocker that has its own set of wonderful menopause-like side effects – Hot flashes, fatigue, mood swings, etc.  It wasn’t my best year, to say the least.

When I think about it – two years is wild – I mean, to me it still feels like yesterday.  One would assume that after two years I would be back to the thriving butterfly I once was, dancing and singing the nights away at Karaoke bars or having Wine Wednesdays with the girls – you know, all of the fun things I USED to be able to do.  I see it in other Cancer sisters – they appear to be fully recovered.  And maybe they are – physically.  But I wonder about the emotional and mental recovery.  It is very tempting to smile on the outside while we hurt or are afraid on the inside.  There was psychological support for a while for me – a counselor, a support group – but I kind of drifted away from that.  I mean, I thought I was healed – but there are so many emotions that happen now and thoughts after going through an ordeal like Cancer.  Fear. Anger. Grief for the life we should have had. Our thoughts don’t instantly stop when treatment does.

 Then I speak with others who are like me – dealing with severe physical ‘leftovers’ and trying desperately to find the right product, the right drug or naturalpath or acupuncturist – Trying everything we can to get some relief.  Dealing with families or friends that don’t understand the reality that Cancer treatment can, and often does leave behind some painful reminders in our bodies and our souls.  Reminders of who I was before Cancer. Reminders of my limitations now.  Reminders of the fact that I will never be the same as I was and that I need to accept a new normal. 

I was hopeful about the two-year mark… way back then.  The two-year mark in the Breast Cancer world is when you are expected to be “healed” – back to normal for some – but some of us didn’t get to go back to the way things were.  Some of us are fighting uphill battles to manage the more permanent effects of Cancer treatment.  I feel as though if this pain was going to subside, it would have by now and I fear that I must learn to live with it.  All of my stubbornness, my strength, my guts and glory – all the things that kept me going throughout my treatment – they can not make my nerve damage heal.  They can not stop the pain.

So this is where I am at in my battle with the Big C – while it didn’t destroy me, it damaged me (perhaps beyond repair) and I am still trying to learn to accept this new reality ahead of me instead of fighting it. I need to accept my limitations and to try not to feel so guilty about my body’s restrictions.  When I first got diagnosed, I was adamant that this was NOT going to change my life!  I would not let it hold me down.  I believed that I would handle treatment like a boss, then after it was finished I would go back to my awesome life.  Man was I wrong!  

 I believe acceptance is the first step towards finding peace in my new normal and getting out under the poor-me moments, which I regret to inform you, have been quite frequent these days.  Sadly though, that acceptance is proving to be much easier said than done.  I don’t WANT to feel pain and fear.  I don’t WANT to be a burden on my family and bail on my friends.  I don’t WANT to accept my new reality – I want my old one back – The one where I had the blessings of good health and freedom from pain and fatigue.

But I am trying to accept it… Slowly.  And I thank God for bringing me my loving husband and my amazing friends who are there for me, in any way they can, helping me every step of the way, one day at a time.  Baby Steps :)

#InvisibleIllness: Living with Chronic Pain

Dear Friends,

It has been quite a long time since I posted anything to this blog – Almost two years actually.  I’m not 100% sure what happened – I didn’t lose interest in writing…. I guess I just got distracted after I was able to finish treatment and get back to living.  Problem is – my ‘getting back to living’ didn’t turn out exactly as I expected.  Simply existing has proven to be quite exhausting actually – but I am back online, my friends – and I have some things I want to say.

Before I got sick, I had no idea about cancer, or illness, or pain.  I was one of those people that got wildly uncomfortable when hearing bad news.  I didn’t know what to say.  I didn’t know how to act.  I am quite sure that I have offended and alienated many people over the years with my utter ignorance.  I believed that once someone went through cancer treatment and survived, that was the end of it.  I thought the same as many people think – you beat it, so you’re good!  Everything is hunky dory and you are all better and all back to normal.  I was so wrong.

One of my beautiful breast cancer sisters posted on Facebook recently about how difficult it has been for her to figure out who she is again after cancer.  It really resonated with me and got me thinking about my own struggles in the last few years.  Treatment ends, but the demons it leaves behind are lasting.  There is constant fear of recurrence, insecurities about the way we look, and pain. So much pain.

The pain is the hardest part for me.  I do live with fear of recurrence, and I do feel insecure about my changed body (although I have been very fortunate to have found the love of my life, who tells me I am beautiful every day, so that helps!)  But I live in constant, 24-hour, 7-day a week pain.

They don’t tell you that this will happen.  And it doesn’t happen to all of us.  The doctors tell you what they recommend for treatment and the possible side effects during treatment.  They want you to do the surgeries and other treatments that have been proven to be effective.  And I understand that.  I am grateful that I had an awesome team of medical professionals that were able to provide me with the research and treatments that, in essence, saved my life.  And even if I had known about the long-term changes to my body, I would still have made the same choices I did regarding treatment.  I just wish I had more of a heads up about what my future was going to look like. 

According to a CBC article in 2014 (Click here for the article) 1 in 5 Canadians suffer from chronic pain.  There are a multitude of causes – illness, injury, genetic disorders, surgical aftermath – the list goes on.  I have friends and family that have suffered for years.  In my foolish naivety, I never understood the drastic impact it has on one’s quality of life.  I just thought, 'Take a pill or something and get on with life... it can't be that bad.'   I really want to punch my old self in the face for thinking like that.  Chronic pain is physically, mentally and emotionally draining – like EXHAUSTING -  and can cause the sufferer to lose friends, family, jobs and even fall into depression, anxiety or PTSD. 

Everyone has had some kind of physical pain at one point or another.  Think about having a bad headache.  You pop a couple Advil or something and you lie down until the feeling passes.  Imagine though, that the feeling NEVER passes.  And imagine that the pills have no effect.  Think for a minute about how wretched it feels when something hurts.  And then think about that wretchedness being CONSTANT.  We all have different thresholds for pain.  And we all can handle a certain level of pain for a certain amount of time - because we know that it is temporary.  But what if it isn't?  And what happens when you have reached your threshold and you can’t possibly stand it for one more minute?  Except you have to.  Because it’s your life.

For me, my pain is a result of severe nerve damage caused by my cancer treatments.  I beat the cancer, and I am alive – but the collateral damage makes me feel like the cancer continues to beat me down every day.  Apparently, chronic pain is quite common for cancer survivors.  (Better than the alternative though…. Right?)

Chronic pain is almost always accompanied by chronic fatigue.  Sufferers are exhausted from being in pain, from the medications we are on, and from the emotional chaos it creates.  We are shunned by loved ones who don’t understand, even though some of them try.  We avoid making plans because we know that there is a strong possibility that we will have to cancel – and most people don’t understand why we cancel.  We struggle financially because of the cost of medications and loss of income for “sick days” for those of us that are even able to work at all.  In fact, I recently lost a job because of my health problems, and I am not the first person to fall prey to this sort of thing.  Employers and co-workers resent us because they do not believe us or they do not understand - because we don’t look sick.  Our marital relationships are often strained.  The person we love the most in the world has to make sacrifices for us that weigh heavy on even the most understanding and loving couples.  And we the sufferers then get the additional burden of guilt – we do not want anyone to have to endure hardship or aggravation because of us.

Chronic pain is extremely isolating – our hearts hurt.  We want to be there when our loved ones want and need us.  We want to get out of bed every day and feel great.  We do not want to cancel plans or to limit the people in our lives from the things they want to do because of our disabilities.  Trust me – we do not want this pain.  We never asked for opiate addictions or weekly doctor’s visits or spending half of our income on healthcare providers.  Yes, in Canada we have great healthcare – but someone with a chronic condition must still pay out-of-pocket for a large portion of healthcare expenses.  (Don’t even get me started on the battles I fought during cancer treatment to get some of my drugs covered!)

We try everything we can think of to find some relief.  I have spent countless hours in physiotherapy, acupuncture, Reiki and massage therapy.  Since diagnosis two and a half years ago, I have been on a barrage of drug regiments, constantly changing to try to find something that works – my pharmacist and I are great friends actually - since I am there weekly and I probably pay his mortgage!  I have found some relief with essential oils, certain supplements, and manual lymphatic drainage – still I often spend hours, days and sometimes weeks in so much pain that getting out of bed is a huge accomplishment.  Many days I hurt, I am miserable, and I am exhausted.  I sometimes feel like a line I read in a poetry book when I was a kid (unfortunately I can’t recall the author – if any of you recognize it PLEASE tell me) – “My time is passed, and still I must continue.”

But I DO continue… and I do what I can to persevere.  I thank God every day for the blessings that I do have – I am alive.  I love deeply and I am truly loved.  I try to be there for friends and family when I can, although I fail often and I pray that they forgive me.  I have started a couple online businesses to try and earn income for my family, despite my inability to work a regular day job.  I am getting back to living – albeit a different version of me than I once was.  And I am still learning – still figuring out how to be me in my changed circumstances. 

I am working one day at a time to figure out how to live with my new normal.  You would think that I would have figured it out by now – but nope.  I keep reminding myself that I am one of the fortunate ones.  I beat cancer (so far so good anyway).  I did it with the help of my amazing friends and family.  And through the roughest spots, I lucked out and found my soulmate (which is a wonderful love story for another day!) But life is harder than it used to be.  I am forever changed and nothing is as it once was.  But that will be okay.

I’ll figure it out   ;)

*Thank you for reading my blog post! Please check out this theory about Chronic Pain that describes it PERFECTLY!  It's called  The Spoon Theory and is very well known among chronic pain and chronic fatigue sufferers as a way to explain to people how we live day in, day out.  

Survivor

sur·vive

 verb \sər-ˈvīv\

: to remain alive : to continue to live

: to continue to exist

: to remain alive after the death of (someone)

<http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary>

I am called Survivor. The next time I go to the Relay for Life, I will walk the Survivor’s walk.  Cancer kills, but it didn't kill me.  So I am a survivor.  But what does this word imply?  That I managed to simply stay alive?  That I continue to exist?  That I outlived other patients?

My last cancer treatment was Sept 8, 2014. Man the tears flowed that day... and still do regularly to be honest.  But it was over.  It IS over.  I fought cancer… and I won.  My mind is blown almost daily when I think about the reality of what I just did. 

I created this blog as a way to express my thoughts and possibly encourage others – then I got too tired to write.  Treatment went on (and on and on and on) and I just didn't have the energy. I wanted to write – and I did from time to time – but here’s the thing – I was determined from the start to keep my life as normal as possible.  So I worked – almost every day (which, I have since been told by the ladies in my Survivor’s group, is somewhat unheard of during Chemo.)  And I went to things I was invited to – Not all of them… not even close to all of them – but I maintained somewhat of a semblance of my previously active social life.  (Although I must admit – throughout all of this I have developed a very powerful appreciation for Netflix nights on my couch!)

In the beginning, I was all about being strong and stubborn and kicking ass.  I am a strong person.  More importantly, I am a stubborn person.  I was simply not having this.  Cancer?  Seriously?  Pish - nothing I can’t handle.  Superman, right??   …False.  It was the hardest thing I have ever dealt with.  Ever.  At first, I thought it was nothing… bullshit to Cancer – I've got this!   And I was in control.  I was calling the shots.  I decided that cancer treatment could piss off with its sickness and side effects and I was going to barrel through it.  I did what was required – because I am a “survivor.”  But things changed.  I had to accept the reality that I am (unfortunately) human and my body couldn't just be OK on cancer treatment simply because I said it could.  She worked against me (and really, can you blame her??  The sick amount of chemicals my body took in – of course she would be angry!) 

I believed that Chemo would be the hardest part – and after my radiation therapy started, I maintained that belief… for about two weeks… then I got tired again. Really tired.  And my skin started burning.  I was so burnt I couldn't wear a bra most days (and trust me that was not a pretty sight!)  I actually think I had a harder time with radiation than I did with Chemo.  Chemo made me feel sick and gross and not myself – but radiation exhausted me.  Imagine that you haven’t slept for two full nights.  Then multiply it by six.  And no amount of sleep alleviates the fatigue – you simply have to power through it.  Most nights I was too tired to eat by the time I got home (don’t worry though folks – I eventually caved and went to stay with my dad and Lori who made sure I was well fed!)

It may have been an emotional thing – going through chemo was so wretched and I assumed that once it was done, everything else would be smooth sailing.  Wrong again.  I was prepared for battle when I started Chemo – I was not ready at all for the penetrating weakness that the radiation brought.

But now – Everything is changed.  I am FINISHED treatment (except for the drugs that I will be taking for the next ten years – which BTW cause MORE hot flashes!  Ugh.)  I have gone back to the gym (albeit in small doses).  I have gotten some of my energy back.  And those who know me will tell you - I am ME again!!

There are many many moments in which I reflect on the past nine months and I am overcome with joy.  I am just so so happy that it is over.  There are also moments in which I am still afraid.  I will have a follow up in February.  This is when I will find out if my breasts are cancer-free.  I don’t think I will sleep easy until then.  The treatment is finished, but the emotions are not extinguished.  I still get bouts of fear and self-pity.  I still get jealous when I see a woman with pretty hair (although my hair is growing back very nicely!) I still get overwhelmed when I really try to fathom what I just went through – Cancer.  Chemotherapy.  Radiation.  It’s actually a little crazy when I start to think about it too much.

Cancer is a messed up thing.  It changes the way you are treated.  It changes the way you feel.  I have really not been me since this whole thing started.  It is hard to think about anything else while you are in treatment.  It becomes your whole world.  Every minute of every day is consumed with thoughts of appointments and drugs and pain and fear. People tell you that you are courageous and strong but you feel weak and afraid.  You fight because you have to – because there is no other option.  And in the middle of it, you don’t even realize you are fighting.  But you fight – trust me, you fight.

I am called Survivor.  But Survival is not enough. I have endured and conquered.  I have suffered and succeeded.  I have felt broken and defeated and ready to die, all while pretending that I was brave.  I fought to keep things as normal as possible.  I fought to be able to stay on my own.  I fought for my life.  And I won.

Anger

Ok.  So I haven’t posted anything for a while.  And I have a reason – albeit it isn’t necessarily a very good one.  Lately, I have been just too damn angry.  If you have read any of my blog you know that I try to put a positive spin on the negatives and keep it upbeat and at least pseudo-positive.  I have not been able to do that this past few weeks.  Everything I have written has been angry – I type fast and furious with hot tears on my face.  Then I read what I wrote and decide, no – I can’t post that.

But I have changed my mind.  So far this blog has basically been me blasting my feelings all over the internet so why should I be afraid to post about my anger?  Because I am having a very hard time staying positive that’s why.  But I have decided to post about it anyway – I am sure I am not the only one with a bit of rage inside and maybe people can relate and even offer me some advice.

Because oh man… I am so damn angry.

For me - and for my family.  We have had a rough year.  Cancer hits most families in one way or another.  I needed every horrible treatment that exists which made me feel like garbage and caused my whole family to worry about me.  THEN my mom comes to visit me for my final chemo treatment – and four days after she gets here, her husband dies.  And there are other (more private-family-type) things that I can’t get into in this setting.  Thank God my family has so much love for one another or none of us would survive.

As I was driving my mom to the airport, she said to me, “God doesn’t give us more than we can handle.”    SHE said that – hours after learning of her husband’s passing.  Her faith is strong and I admire her so much.  I am a Christian and I love and trust God – but I still said back to her – He needs to back the f&#@ off of our family!  It was a moment of pure anger – at life and at God.  Not my proudest moment as a Christian.  I hated feeling that way.  I still do. I keep (forcedly) reminding myself that it could be worse.

When I had my follow up appointment after I finished Chemo, my Nurse Practitioner asked how I was doing.  I said I felt good - I mean I was done Chemo and starting to feel a little better physically… then I bawled like a little girl.  From the moment I found my lump and throughout Chemotherapy, there was no time to be sad or angry or feel sorry for myself.  There was only appointments and medications and being so careful and staying aware of what’s happening.  You just do what needs to be done to get through one day to the next.  It’s as though I was holding my breath for the last six months and at that appointment I finally let it out. 

It’s like your adrenaline is going crazy and you don’t even know that your emotions exist – then once the danger has (somewhat) passed, your mind and body suddenly recognize what just happened and you kind of break.  That’s what I have felt like this last few weeks.  I simply couldn’t be emotional before now – too much was at stake.  Now that Chemo is over I am experiencing a world of emotions – and I just don’t know how to deal with them most days.  I tend to tune out and simply not deal.  It’s a bad habit but it’s as though if I don’t face it, it doesn’t really exist.  I can pretend that I am fine and that I am strong and that cancer hasn’t affected me emotionally.  I can fake it most of the time and lie to everyone, including myself.  I can pretend as though I am not filled with rage all the time.  And I do.

Yet my anger grows exponentially – it creeps like a disease that knows no limits – I am angry that I got the cancer.  I am angry that my mom lost her husband.  I am angry that there are SO many damn people at the cancer institute needing treatment.  I am angry that after all that I have been through with chemo, I am still not done and still spend a large portion of my time dealing with treatment and side effects and an inability to do the things I want. I am angry that deserving people don’t get what they want and that innocent people everywhere have to deal with disease and abuse and hunger and disaster and heartbreak.  I am angry about unrelated tragedies in other people’s lives.  I am fully aware that I have ZERO control over any of these things and that I should just let them go, but I am having a very hard time with that.  I am just so pissed off that life is so unfair.

Do you know how many women get Breast Cancer every year in Canada?  23,800!!  Stupid!

One in Nine Canadian women will get breast cancer.  One in 29 will DIE from it.  Breast cancer is the second leading cause of cancer deaths in Canadian women (the first is lung cancer).  It is the most commonly diagnosed cancer in women.  Luckily, we don’t all have to die from it.

We do, however, have to deal with the fear and the horror and the anger.  We are terrified – and sick – and we often feel alone.  We are so tired and just want it all to NOT be happening.  We know it could be worse and we feel awe and sadness for those who went before us.  We feign courage in hopes that we can fake it til we make it.      And truthfully my friends, we can.

I am fully aware that many people face more terrible things that what I deal with.  I feel like my anger is silly and selfish.  What right do I have to lash out?  Mine was a relatively easy tragedy.  I am alive.  Chemo is finished (Thank God!) and I am getting healthier.  I have great support from family and friends.  I am alive.  I haven’t had to struggle much financially throughout treatment.  My tumor was small.  I AM ALIVE.

So why am I so full of rage these days? 

Are there any of you who read this who are also survivors? If so, please tell me… how did you handle the anger??  Because I have been trying – I wanted to have something more positive for my readers… but I don’t. 

And I am sorry… I wish I could give you some more positivity.  I know that a lot of my readers look forward to my upbeat and foolish attitude in my posts.  I am hoping that posting this message will be liberating for me (as my online rants generally are) and that it will help me begin to heal emotionally.  I don’t want to be mad but I am.   I have never been a perfect person – but did I deserve the cancer??

It’s not fair, it’s not right.  It’s cancer.  

Pray for me.


Charlotte Savarian Poem: The Anger

The Tripod

I have been asked by you, my readers to shed a little light on my fabulous girlfriends.  I have had a really hard time writing this one – these women are so ridiculously special to me and they have done so much for me since my diagnosis (and prior to!) that I will never be able to truly express it in words.  I’ll give it a shot, but know that no matter what you read here, it will never fully encompass the love I have for my girls.

Let’s start with a bit of history.  I met K in the winter of 08/09.  We both worked for TD Bank (a job we have both since left to work oilfield jobs – yeah Alberta!)  Neither of us is exactly sure how we became friends but we think it started with an argument during a stressful day at work. Neither of us would back down (fiery east coast tempers!) and I guess that’s how we knew we would get along.  We started getting together occasionally outside of work and an amazing friendship blossomed. 

L worked for TD too – although she and I never worked together.  I met her through K.  I think our big bonding moment was a Tegen and Sarah concert in January 2010. We both loved the band and we both had a little too much to drink.  We had a pile of drunken feelings and then one of us ended up on the bathroom floor by the time the night was over!  And no – I won’t tell you which one of us it was!

We had ladies night after ladies night, many of which consisted of watching The Bachelor and drinking red wine in K’s basement, much to her husband’s chagrin (Thanks B!)  K and L came to be my uber-besties way before “bestie” was even a word.

  

We have a very childish TV habit.  Maybe this foolishness of ours is isolated to our social circle, but I highly doubt it.  Our Tripod tends to liken ourselves to any show we happen to be watching at any given point in time… You’re Melissa!  No I’m not!  You’re Karla!   You know what I mean, right?  It’s all extremes and no one is really one character or another to a T, but there are always similarities.

If we were Sex and the City (everyone’s ultimate classic!), K would be Miranda, L would be Charlotte and I would be Samantha.  K is the level-headed logical one, L is the pretty wifey one and I am the boy-crazy one (and the funny thing is that Samantha was the one to get Breast Cancer!).   If we were Friends, K would be Monica, L would be Phoebe and I would be Rachel.  K is the responsible one, I am the flirty one and L is the tree-hugger-hippie-clean-your-house-with-vinegar-and-have-homemade-rustic-looking-wedding-decorations one.  On our favorite Netflix sitcom Happy Endings (which by the way should NEVER have been canceled!) – I am Penny – single and clumsy and a little bit cray-cray (I am SO Penny – you need to watch this show!), K is Jane – type A obsessive and a little (alotta?) bossy and L is Alex – cute as hell but… I’ll stop at cute as hell (“I’m not as dumb as I am!”) 

Of course, none of us are the character to the extremes that they are in their given shows.  And there is no Carrie.  Or we are all Carrie.  Carrie is the ideal combination of all the aforementioned characters – including the ones from the other shows.  Carrie is perfect and therefore does not exist. 

But we do exist – and we are awesome!   K is the “mom” of our tripod – although she hates that we call her that.  She takes care of us all.  When I am faced with a difficult (or even simple) decision, she is my conscience.  She bases her life choices on logic and common sense and she keeps track of our schedules.  She works as an Operator at an international pipeline company (the first female Operator the company has had EVER!!  HUGE deal FYI!)  She is an insanely powerful woman working in a typical man’s job yet she still maintains a certain classy-yet-tough femininity.  She takes a lot of flak at work and handles it with strength and grace.  She organizes our girls’ nights, makes time for all of her friends (and she has many!) and plans date nights with her husband. She values her friendships and has a huge heart.  She is always right and bossy as f!@# and we love her for it.  We call her the Kelli-App because she always has it all together. L and I actually relish a little (but ONLY a little!) in the rare moments where she is less than perfect (i.e. she locks herself out of her house when going to a party a block away and has to call a locksmith) because it makes us feel more human.  K is a pro.  At everything she does.  Legitimately.

L is not (and neither am I!)  She gets pulled over regularly (and was once told by a cop that her life was a mess).  Her license / passport / health card / WHATEVER is always expired.   She may or may not have clothing in her car that has literally gone stiff with dirt.  If K is my conscience, L is like the little devil on my shoulder, telling me that my bad choices are okay, because I should just follow my heart.  She makes me feel human.  L is tough as nails, yet sensitive and realistic.  I can be baby la-la with her when I need to be emotional… which happens to me more often than I like to admit!  You know what though?  She too manages to keep it all together...splendidly!  She is a full-time student (and she is hard-core!  She got into U of Calgary for Social Work – one of 16 accepted from hundreds of applicants!  GO ELLE!!!!), works THREE jobs and makes a nice dinner for her husband most nights.  

L is the friend who will pet my hair and tell me I’m pretty when I am having a bad day.  She will make me macaroni and eat it with me in front of the TV if I am feeling sick or depressive.  K will make sure I have my shit together when it comes down to the important life stuff (like – what time do I need to be at chemo again?)  She keeps me strong and disciplined when I can't do it myself.  She will also lovey-dovey me if that’s what I really need (Legit – she has snuggled me to sleep while I bawled uncontrollably on more than one occasion), but her first instinct is to get me to toughen up – which I most often DO need from her whether I want it or not! K gives me a very special kind of friendship – she is really good at it too – she can find way to take care of me without making me too defensive (as is my nature) and I love her dearly for it.  The three of us treasure our time together.  We can be each other’s rock during hard times, and we can also be really silly.  I don’t think that anyone anywhere has ever laughed as hard as we do when we are together.  We laugh and we laugh and we laugh.

Neither of them will let me sit alone and depressed, even when I try to hide from them (and I do… sometimes a girl just wants to stay home and play sad!)  And they both have found time in their ridiculously busy lives to take care of me while I am having chemotherapy.  That in itself is mind-blowing… I will never be able to thank them for this.  Never.  It is so difficult to describe the relationship I have with these women.  We have so much love for one another.

I have always had a hard time accepting love from people and it was strange to me at first that these women loved me, despite my MANY flaws. It was as though I wasn't given a choice – they were going to love me whether I loved myself or not (and at one time, I really didn't).  I love them both so much… more than words. We each have a different relationship with one another and we genuinely cherish these relationships.  We also have a very special three-way relationship with each other.  Ours is a friendship that is rare and timeless.  Our bond with one another is truly indescribable.  I will never be able to fully put into words how much these ladies mean to me. We are more than friends - We are sisters. We are family. 

Childless

My sister got pregnant in 2007 and gave birth to our family’s pride and joy Joseph in February 2008.  I’ll never forget the night he was born.  Our whole family was there as well as his dad’s family – it was a big party in the waiting room! When “little” Joseph finally decided to join us in this world (after many excruciating hours for my poor little sister – crazy kid was almost ten pounds!) his dad brought him out of the delivery room to meet us.  My nephew’s father looked up at us completely awestruck and softly said, “That was the most amazing thing I have ever seen.”  (My sister on the other hand was exhausted and said to me Why would ANYONE ever do that more than once!?)

As time went by and I witnessed my sister bonding with her child, I realized that I wanted that as well.  I won’t say I was jealous – I wasn’t jealous – that word implies negative thoughts towards the object of my desire.  I genuinely was (and still am) enormously happy for my sister, and I love my nephew more than life.  The relationship between my sister and her son and the overwhelming amount of love that she has for him showed me that I too wanted to feel that kind of unconditional love. I can almost understand it when I think about my nephew.  I love him so much sometimes it kind of hurts.  I think about his future and I want to protect him from everything bad in the world and keep him safe from ever being hurt.  At all.  By anyone. Ever!  I am consistently reminded by parents everywhere that I can never fully understand the love of a child unless I have my own (Side note – hey parents – quit rubbing that in to your childless friends!  It’s just mean!)  And I wanted my own, very much.  But cancer has other ideas.

It was never my intention to be childless.  I was careful not to get pregnant when I was in my twenties – never wanting an unexpected pregnancy – always assuming I had time for that later.  Perhaps that was not the right call.  You can plan and plan and plan your life down to every detail but we all know how often plans work out.  I got pregnant (on purpose) in 2011.  I was 30, engaged and going to have the perfect life – wedding, marital bliss and beautiful children to love and raise, surrounded by loving family. I did everything right – I followed the food guide in the What to Expect When You’re Expecting book, I took the pre-natal vitamins, I didn’t smoke or drink, I got plenty of rest.  But still – 9 weeks later I miscarried.

I believe that a miscarriage is one of the most horrible things for a woman to ever have to endure.  We women bond with our unborn children the instant we learn we are pregnant.  I loved my child more than words, even though she was only a mass of cells when I lost her (yes – I refer to her as a girl although I have no way of actually knowing).  She was real to me.  She had a name and a future.  She was so loved.  Losing my baby literally broke me.  And I stayed broken for a long time.  People don’t talk about miscarriage much, which I find strange considering how common it is.  No one seems to acknowledge the grief and pain associated with the loss since the child isn’t developed yet.  You don’t get medical time off work, there are no Hallmark cards and people say insensitive things like, “At least you can try again.”

It is very unlikely that I will ever try again.  Chemotherapy has shut down my ovaries and it is unknown whether it is permanent or temporary.  The Oncologist said that there is a 40% chance I will regain “normal” ovarian function after chemo.  My nurse practitioner Anne thinks that because of my age it is likely that I will become “regular” again within a year.  This gives the illusion of hope – however, once I am finished chemo and radiation, I will then be facing five years of endocrine therapy (commonly yet inaccurately called hormone therapy).  This means I will be taking a drug called Tamoxifin for five years.  I have always avowed that hormones are a woman’s kryptonite and here is my proof - my female hormones (nasty little buggers) promote the growth and spread of the cancer.  From what they tell me, the Tamoxifin basically blocks my body’s ability to produce estrogen.  The benefit is that the drug will help keep the cancer from coming back.  Nasty side effect – the drug can hurt fertilized eggs, induce miscarriage, or cause birth defects.  While my body may be physically able to conceive while on Tamoxifin, it is seriously harmful for a fetus.

So, in five years, I will be 38 – well past ideal baby-making age, although according to my fertility doc, I’m already beyond that and my ovaries are old!  They sent me to the fertility specialist prior to chemo to discuss my options.  Hah.  My “options’” were bullshit.  Option 1:  IVF - I could freeze my eggs (for $10k!!!) then have them in vitro fertilized in 5 years and put back inside me (assuming I had a “donor” - ew.)  In vitro is hit or miss and often unsuccessful.  Option 2:  I could use drugs to put myself into a chemically-induced menopause to help protect my ovaries during chemo.  This option was also pricey and would not guarantee that I would not go into chemo-induced early menopause.  It would require a lot of drugs and would only slightly increase the chance that I would regain normal ovarian functioning after chemo.  Both of those options would mean delaying my cancer treatment for weeks or months.  Or I could do nothing - and this doctor said my ovaries would most likely be destroyed (can’t get a straight answer out of anyone! Grr!) 

Okay - so maybe the options aren't that bad and I should be grateful that they even exist – but I had to decide between my fertility alternatives on the same day I found out I needed chemo and had to choose whether or not to accept the treatment (yes – I could have refused treatment – some people do that and I don’t understand it… but that’s another story).  I made a choice that day that will always be with me.  I gave it to God.  I had been so back and forth for the last few years about the idea of having children.  As you all know, I am 33 and single.  I am already kind of pushing it when it comes to child bearing and I don’t have any potential baby-daddies on the horizon.  If God wants me to be a mom, I will be a mom.  But I decided not to mess with it anymore, chemically or otherwise.  The decision is no longer mine. 

It hurts sometimes (ok often – it’s still pretty fresh).  I tear up now and then when I hear children laughing and my heart hurts when I see little babies – even on TV.  I have to admit though - it’s also somewhat of a relief. I don’t have to stress about it anymore.  I don’t have to feel like my clock is ticking and oh I’d better find a husband quick if I want to have kids!  The pressure is off.  I am free to embrace my life and I don’t have to scrutinize every man I date wondering about his baby-raising potential (What?!? Girls don’t do that!) I can truly enjoy people for who they are without ulterior motives and I can take my time with my life choices without feeling rushed. 

There may be a possibility to adopt at some point.  However my fertility doc also made me aware that adoption agencies frown upon giving babies to cancer survivors.  You know, because if the cancer comes back I could die and the child would be an orphan… again.  I guess that kind of makes sense, but is the kid really any worse off in that scenario??  I mean, better to have loved and lost, right? Seriously though, I understand.  There is always the opportunity to foster or volunteer.  Or maybe one day I will be a step-mom – who knows?   There are always children in the world that need love and I have a lot of it to give.  I’ll find a way.  And I’ll always have my precious nephew Joseph (Courtney will share… I’ll make her!) whom I will love like he was my own even when he becomes a teenager one day and hates us all.

I had my “baby.”  She died in the womb.  I still have the ultrasound pics, the pregnancy test (I know – gross – but I can’t bring myself to throw it away) and a beautiful wrist tattoo to honor the memory of my lost child.  Some people are born to be parents and some are not.  I still don’t know for certain what my fate is in terms of parenthood, but I have chosen to accept and embrace my reality for what it is.  I am no one’s mother.  Chances are, I never will be - but I am someone’s aunt, sister, daughter and friend.  And that’s enough. 

Being Human

If you know me then you know that I am growly.  I growl all the time… a cranky work email?  Grrr.  Friends changed my plans?... Grrr.  I have to stop for gas?  Grrrrr.   I am being serious… I legitimately growl.  My former roommate told me once that my growls sound like something is dying in my throat.  Dramatic much??  I growl when something mildly upsets me and I growl when something seriously upsets me.  I make it known in my (subtle?) way when I am unhappy with a situation or circumstance and I tend to forget that people around me can hear me – this often results in the solidification of their initial suspicion that I am just plain nuts.  And can I really argue with them?

Let’s review:  I am a terrible housekeeper.  My apartment is generally disorganized and I will frequently buy new socks and underwear because I don’t feel like doing laundry.  There are dirty dishes in my sink and I never clean my floors – honestly - who has time for that??  Furthermore, if the opportunity presents itself, I drink wine at 2 in the afternoon on a Tuesday, and I have never shied away from a good bar fight. I have terrible taste in men (but fantastic taste in friends, as K and L will avidly express!)  I am boy crazy (despite being in my 30s!), vain as f*%@ and I care way too much what people think of me, though I always pretend otherwise.  I am a ridiculous clutz, I am bad at math and I correct people’s grammar all the time (my friends just love that!)  I hate washing my hair (when I have hair I mean – it’s bad to wash it every day…seriously!) and I eat beef jerky and chips in bed.  I love to climb trees and jump in mud puddles and dance in the rain.  I am selfish and reckless and impulsive – but hey – bad decisions make great stories right?

I am also a person who is kind and forgiving (although I will admit, there are some resentments I am still holding onto).  I am told I am thoughtful… I frequently bake treats for the guys I work with (they love my banana-chocolate-chip muffins… seriously… they ask for them weekly) and I regularly worry about my friends and family.  I am wildly protective of my loved ones - to the point that some of the above-mentioned bar fights may or may not have been a result of fiercely safeguarding the honor of the people I hold dear!  I am awed by the love and support I am receiving, I am surprisingly good at writing poetry and I have a really great rack… oops I mean had!  I make people laugh – usually at my ultimate clumsiness or some of the ridiculous things I say, I am great at my job and I try not to judge others (considering what a mess I am on a day to day basis, how could I possibly pass judgement on anyone else!)

I am human.  I am flawed.  I am often self-conscious, although I call it being self-aware.  I know I have many failings, and I don’t let that get me down (Well – I try – we all have our moments!)  I believe that people need to accept themselves for who they are.  Striving too hard for absolute perfection can lead to feeling dissatisfied – not good enough – unlovable.  None of us is perfect and we never will be.  Please don’t misunderstand – I am not saying that we should all give up on being better people and instead become lazy, self-indulgent slobs – self-improvement and growth are fantastic and important.  But I think we need to find a balance.  We as people have a terrible habit of judging ourselves so much more harshly than we would ever dare judge anyone else.  We feel guilty for things in our past for which we would easily forgive another.  We blame ourselves continuously for our shortcomings, despite the fact that we can accept other people’s imperfections as a simple part of the human condition.  Why are we so hard on ourselves?  What has our society done to us to make us continuously chase the unrealistic standard of perfection that we will never reach?  Why are we unable to love ourselves, the good and the bad, and accept reality for what it is?  What will it take for us to forgive ourselves?

Setting impossible standards has led me time and again through trails of self-doubt and negative emotions. I have wasted years putting too much pressure on myself to be something I simply am not.  My diagnosis has forced me to slow down and look at my life more realistically.  I am learning to appreciate the little things about who I am.  I can (and often do) laugh at my own mistakes.  I am trying to learn now how to forgive myself the way God has forgiven me and to love myself for who I am.  We all have weaknesses (aka opportunities for growth.)  We all have guilty pleasures (see above beef-jerky comment). We are all human.  And we’re all in this together, whether we like it or not.

Yes, cancer has changed my perceptions on certain life aspects, as you can tell by my blog posts. But I am still me… I am ridiculously emotional but love to pass myself off as stoic and indifferent.  I fail at the simplest social tasks (for example returning phone calls…. I am sorry friends), yet people seem to like me anyway…. Weird right??  I feel like a failure most days but I hold my life together somehow.  I contradict myself daily (hourly?) and I get super shy on dates.  I act stronger than I feel, but that’s okay – I’m going for the whole “fake it til you make it” thing in that aspect. I laugh a lot, I cry when I need to, and I growl.

I’m not going to lie to you, my growling is likely never going to change. I will always growl when I don’t get a good parking spot, or when someone cuts in front of me in line.  My growl is part of who I am.  And trust me… I am fully aware that many circumstances are worth more than a simple grr and many require a lot more delicacy than my inconsequential rubbish.  But I am okay with my growling - I am who I am… foolish, lovable and human.   And besides - Sometimes you just need to growl!