On My Own: Facing Cancer as a Single Woman

When I was a little girl, I didn't play with dolls.  I didn't dream of wedding gowns and tiaras or of finding Prince Charming.  Mostly I was a tomboy who played in the dirt with my brother and the neighborhood boys.  Even as I got a little older and girlfriends around me were tearing pages from bridal magazines and planning their happily-ever-afters, I was imagining life as a typical Cosmo girl – tough and strong, with a cool apartment, lots of parties and friends - and maybe a scooter (think Vespa in baby blue).  I dreamt of freedom.  I dreamt of independence. I wanted to be on my own – to make my own rules.  I guess even then I knew I wasn't the fairy-tale princess type.

How funny life is.  I have everything I ever wanted (except my Vespa – give me time – it will come!)  I subconsciously veered my life in the direction that my 8 year old self envisioned, despite the ever-constant pressure (even in this day and age) for a single girl to settle down and find a man.  In fact, I am so stubborn that it may have been that pressure that led me away from ideas of love and marriage.

They say don’t knock it until you try it - and I tried it their way.  I fell in love at 23 and I reveled in the sweet euphoria that only love can bring.  And I don’t mean I did it just because they said so – I was really in love – and happy.  I lived the small town pseudo-WASP life.  I went to the social events, the soccer-mom vendor parties, the country-club fundraisers, the family gatherings - I tried to play the dutiful wife – I was just really really bad at it.  It just wasn't me.  I was trying to live in a shell of someone I simply wasn't.  I am impulsive and often irresponsible.  I crave external stimulants and chaos and noise that only life in the city can bring me – and eventually that small-town life smothered me.

So now I do it myself.  I live alone and I pay my own bills.  If I want something, I buy it.  If I wake up in the middle of the night coughing, I get my own water.  When my legs ache at the end of the day, I run my own bath.  If I picked up too many things at the store (which always happens), I make two (ok three) trips in from the car.  If I feel sick, I figure out my own meds.  And I take out my own trash!

Now don’t get me wrong - I have PLENTY of help when I am sick – I am not discounting the help I get from my loved ones during this wretched cancer ordeal!  Friends and family have been there for me endlessly – preparing meals, taking me to appointments, helping with housework, letting me cry on shoulders as required.  My chemo life would be impossible without them and I will never be able to repay their kindness! 

What I am saying is that in regular day-to-day non-cancer life (yes – I do have one…it’s around here somewhere I’m sure…) I’m on my own.  And most of the time, I love it. I don’t have to share my bed, I don’t have to consider someone else when I make plans and I watch what I want on Netflix (I never have to watch sports!)  I sleep when I want, take care of myself (and my little fish, Ishy!) and I pee with the door open.  I make my own choices, I hang out in my pajamas and I enjoy my quiet mornings alone with my coffee and my laptop (P.S. – this phrase also works by replacing coffee with wine and mornings with evenings!)   I am single. This means I have to sleep alone.  It also means I get to sleep alone.  I am self-indulgent and set in my ways.  I love my apartment, I don’t like to share my things and I am terrified of commitment. Clearly I am too childish for a mature relationship anyway!

As always, to you my readers, I will be truthful – I definitely have my melancholy moments. Sometimes, this is all very tedious – particularly during chemotherapy.  Every now and then I long for someone to be here to help ease my struggles – to rub my back and tell me I’m pretty – to hold me when I am sad – to get me a snack because I am just too damn tired to get it myself.  I think that everyone at some time or another just wants someone to hold their hand and say with honesty “I will never leave you.”  I sometimes fantasize about being a cliché protagonist from a Sophie Kinsella novel.  Little miss independent fights hard on her own and one day some Romeo shows up to sweep her off her feet, despite her hardened exterior, and they live happily ever after.  Except, there is no Romeo for me right now – only cancer.   And no one wants to date a sick person.

I was on the verge of one of these woo-woo-poor-me moments a few days ago.  I was chatting with a friend about her marriage and I caught a glimpse of what my married friends have that I just might be missing – unconditional love and support.  A partner in life to share the joys and help bear the burdens.  I couldn't figure out why I was unable (unwilling?) to find something that so many people had found.  Was there something wrong with me? (Answer – I make terrible choices when it comes to men...unfortunately that is all me - that is not something I can blame on cancer. Dammit – I hate when I have to accept responsibility for my own choices!) 

Within minutes of this potentially gloom-inducing conversation, there was a knock at the door.  City Census.  An older-than-me woman with a friendly smile and cheery eyes.  She asked the standard Census-type questions:  Marital Status?  Single (she winked at me and exclaimed Good for you!)  Employed?  Yes, full time.  Do you drive?  Yes I have a car.  Rent or Own?  I own.

This was one of the many little so-called “coincidences” in my life that prove to me that God is real.  The timing was impeccable. Those four simple questions snapped me right out of my petty feelings of loneliness and instilled a sense of validated satisfaction with my life.  I am not a rocket scientist.  I have not made any world-changing discoveries.  I am not a super-mom maintaining a family, I am a terrible housekeeper and I don’t own fancy things. But I am smart, strong and successful.  I have a job I love, my super-cute condo and an immeasurable amount of love from family and friends. I have all these things as a single woman AND I am beating cancer.  I am a superhero!

Being diagnosed with a life-threatening disease does change one’s perspective on certain things and my perpetual singledom is no exception. Prior to my diagnosis, I had decided to take 2014 off – no dating – focus on me: My health, my faith, my family – Year of Nicki!  I am really bad at keeping commitments (especially to myself) so the cancer came at the perfect time. Of course there is no right time for cancer, but for me if it had to happen, I am glad it happened now.  It has forced me to slow down and to focus on the things I have been letting slide – Faith in God – love of family – compassion – human connections. I know that I don’t want to be alone forever.  But I also know that I am fine on my own if that is my fate.  I am done changing myself or my beliefs and behaviours to suit other people.  I believe that God has a plan for my life and I am willing to wait for it to unfold. If He can get me through cancer treatment as a single person, He can get me through anything.  Whatever joys or challenges await me in this life, single or not - I am ready.  Bring it on!

How Are You Feeling?

How are you feeling?  A common phrase for a “sick person” to hear, often many times a day.  It is asked at work, at home, on the phone and via pretty much every online communication method that exists.  It seems like a simple enough question, and one that is predominately anchored in care and concern.  I am asked quite frequently how I am feeling.  My challenge lies in figuring out how to answer.

If you have read any of this blog, you know that I am working very hard at staying positive throughout all of this (though don’t you dare tell me to stay positive!)  I am human and I am generally (occasionally?) able to acknowledge my flaws and failures, and overall I am trying to keep things as normal as they can be under the circumstances.  Yet this innocent and sincere enquiry has actually proven to be quite difficult to answer.  Do people really want to know?  Do I tell them that I feel like garbage, that my legs are trembling and that I am sweating profusely under my hat?  Or do I flash a smile and toss out a casual “Peachy keen, jelly bean!” as I am often apt to do?  Both answers are honest – even when my body feels like it is killing me from the inside, most of the time I am able to maintain my tough and (dare I say) sunny disposition.  (Well, ok – maybe not sunny - it’s more like an upbeat sarcastic-and-inappropriate-humor type disposition.  I am who I am. Deal.)

So in order to effectively respond to the concerned questioning of well-wishers, I have decided that this blog post is going to address a few of the physical side-effects of chemotherapy.  Not as much fun as other topics I’m sure, but these are things that I want to make known – both to the people in my life and to anyone who might have a loved one dealing with chemo as well.  I’m not going to lie to you – it ain’t pretty, folks!

Right now my body is fighting two unrelated infections and I am on so many drugs I can hardly keep track.  They have me on SO many different pills - Anti-viral, anti-biotic, anti-fungal, anti-nausea, steroids, pain-killers and quite a few more.  I get dizzy often.  I get a lot of headaches.  I am regularly nauseated and unable to eat the things I used to love (oh yogurt how I miss you!).  Not to mention the other stomach ailments that chemo causes.  My tummy literally screams in pain sometimes (I’m not kidding!  It is soooo loud!)  It’s obnoxious and unpleasant, to say the least.

The hot flashes are DESTROYING me - seriously – they are so frequent – I’m talking 2-3 per hour.  My sleep is completely disrupted since I wake up every hour either sweating from a hot flash or freezing because I have unwittingly stripped down to my birthday suit and kicked off all my blankets. During my waking hours I get overcome with heat and sweat, then 5 minutes later I am cold because I took all my clothes off and blasted the AC.  I am literally to the point where I often HOPE this is menopause because I don’t think I can endure it more than once!  It is possible that this is a chemo-induced temporary shut-down of my inner lady parts (trying to keep it clean for the boys reading!) but early-onset menopause is another probable side effect.  There is no way for me to know at this point which I am facing.  I may get “normal” again during the year after chemo.  Or I may be permanently “changed.”

Another big one for me is the fatigue.  I want to go out.  I want to shop, to run errands, to visit friends and family, to do Yoga, to go on vacations, to go to concerts – to just get out!  Unfortunately I can’t.  I am still working 30-35 hours most weeks (and don’t tell me to take it easy – I am a workaholic – that is taking it easy!)  My work is my “out” time.  I leave the office (aka trailer) usually mid-afternoon and I go home and crash.  I don’t have the energy most days to do my dishes, to go to the grocery store, to do my banking – often to even stay awake. I NEED to lie down.  This is a big one that people don’t understand.  I can’t just have an extra cup of coffee and be fine (trust me – I've tried!)  I can’t go out and play, or have backyard dance-parties (a frequent occurrence for me and mine!) or do Wine Wednesdays with the girls, or go to my parents’ for dinner. The weather is finally getting nice and I SO badly want to sit on a patio on Whyte Ave with friends and sip a cold beer or a margarita!  These are the things I love and I just can’t do them.  It is very frustrating and might be the hardest part of all this for me.  I have always thoroughly enjoyed my independence and I genuinely hate feeling so needy.

There are many other treacheries of chemotherapy.  My bones ache terribly because of the drug I take to boost my white blood cells – an injection called Nulasta that has to be jabbed into my stomach the day after chemo.  My steroids cause intense heartburn.  My legs are weak and sometimes buckle because the chemo is attacking my muscles and nerves.  I get disgusting mouth sores to the point where it hurts to eat or drink.  And even on the days it doesn't hurt, my taste buds are broken and everything mostly tastes like cardboard.  For the first week after treatment, everything - even water - tastes poisonous and I have to force myself to eat and drink.  I am not allowed to get sick – even a minor infection can turn serious very fast for a chemo patient.  I can’t get a mani-pedi or go to a public pool (aka West Ed Water Park!) because of the risk of infection.  I have to be careful my skin doesn't get too dry and crack, because those little cuts can become seriously infected.  I have to take my temperature several times a day to ensure I don’t have a fever. My chemical-infused blood has weakened my body and I can’t fight off the simple human ailments like I used to.

This damn Chemo has changed things in my life (albeit temporarily – Thank God!) and one of those things is my beloved social life. Friends and family often ask me, “When can we get together?  When are you free?”  Valid questions – for the pre-cancer Nicki – little miss butterfly whose schedule was jam packed with dinners and parties and wine nights.  Nowadays I can only tell people to call me and if I’m awake, I’ll answer. I can’t make plans.  I can’t commit to even a coffee date.  It always depends on how violently the side effects are kicking my ass that particular day.  Don’t get me wrong – It’s not always so taxing – some days are better than others.  I just never know.

So ask me – How are you feeling? Nine times out of ten I will tell you I am great.  Five by five. Dandy and spiffy and excellent! But every now and then you will get me at one of my low points and I will tell you that I feel wretched – that my body hurts – that I am sick as f#@& and I need a nap or a lobotomy or something.  I am not saying this to play poor-me or to seek out your sympathy. I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me – or to feel helpless, as I know is common when someone you love is suffering (MOM! xo).  When I tell you I am fine – I am not lying.  Emotionally, I don’t think I have ever felt stronger.  I am merely trying to allow people to understand that physically, I am a little less than ideal these days.  I am hoping to effectively illustrate the naked truth about life for a chemo patient – without all the sugar and glitter and rainbows that I usually throw in. 

If you have someone in your life who is dealing with this wretched beast called chemotherapy, please don’t stop asking.  In fact – ask more questions.  Then they can tell you what’s really going on.  I think this might apply to anyone (everyone?) who is suffering – not just chemo patients.  Doesn't everybody ultimately want to be understood after all?  Even when I can’t answer your questions honestly, it still means so much to be asked – to be cared about.  Just know that generally a chemo patient always feels sick in one way or another – less than par – not quite themselves.  We just don’t know how to tell you that without making things weird.  But thank you – I mean it - thank you - for asking.

People

People are funny.  You never know how they are going to behave.  I mean, you think you know, but they surprise you sometimes.  When I found out I had cancer, I didn't tell many people at first.  I was worried that it would change the way people see me – the way they treat me.  And it has.

Many people surprised me when I went public.  I received emails, texts, FB messages and phone calls. I was offered TONS of unsolicited advice (and we all know how much I LOVE that!)  I became the latest hot topic for the gossip gals.  I became a pariah.  I became a hero.  I lost touch with some people.  I rekindled friendships with other.  So many different people with so many different reactions.

A person from my past with whom I have not spoken in many years sent me a beautiful encouraging message that left me speechless - while an everyday buddy literally avoided talking to me because cancer was too depressing. 

My ever-thoughtful ex sent flowers and genuine care and concern (those who know me will know right away who Mr. Ever-thoughtful is!) while a new man in my life dropped me instantly without an explanation.

An estranged childhood friend reached out and we are rekindling our relationship, while a few former gal-pals gossiped away without contacting me.  (If you want to know, just ask – seriously)

I received an unexpected visit from a precious friend and I got broken plans and empty promises from others. 

People I don’t even know offered love and prayer and support (and even cash!) yet some of the people I held dear faded away. 

Some people cried.  Some people prayed. Some people ran.     

                           

One thing about getting cancer – you learn a lot about people. 

At first, I passionately resented those who shunned me.  I had so much anger.  It hurt me.  A lot.  How could they be so cold?  How can MY cancer cause THEM discomfort? How stupid!  I was the one with cancer!  It was ME who was going through this period of uncertainty and fear and (let’s face it) ugliness!  Who could have problems worse than cancer?  Who could turn away from me when I needed love now more than ever?  How could they be so damn insensitive? What do you mean it isn't all about me……..??

Hmm… I’m not going to lie - I am still not 100% over that anger.  But I am working at being more compassionate.  I am trying to put myself in other people’s shoes (which is WAY easier said than done by the way… especially since my shoes are so super cute!)  Everyone handles life the best way they know how with the information they have. And everybody has their own pain.

I think the majority of people are uncomfortable – they don’t know what to say.  I mean, how can anyone know unless they have been there?  I certainly didn't.

Maybe they have their own traumas going on in their lives – I have said before that everybody has a story.  It is beyond selfish for me to think that my disease should be any more important to someone else than whatever they may be going through.  Not everyone is as open as I am.   I don’t know their story.

It’s very likely that they have lost their own people and it frightens them. I know my own dearest K and L have cancer scars in their families and they have told me that they are scared sometimes.   They need me as much as I need them. (I love you more than words K & L!)

I am sure that my flippant attitude and inappropriate humor doesn't help the situation.   But to be completely honest, I don’t particularly care.  I decided early on that I was not going to be a “sick person”.  I was not going to let cancer rule my life or bring me down.  (Again – easier said than done.)  And I am not going to walk on eggshells because someone else thinks my attitude is too bold or that my jokes are offside.  I am sorry that those people can’t handle me – but I am who I am and I’m doing what I need to do to get through it.  I refuse to play poor-me (for the most part anyway.)  I refuse to sit around feeling sorry for myself.  I am open about my strengths and my weaknesses – or as I like to call them, Opportunities for growth (though I have to admit – opportunity knocks quite often in my life – unfortunately these days I’m usually taking a nap.)

The truth is that my problems are not isolated.  I am not the center of the universe and it is foolish of me to get upset about other people’s reactions. Yes, the actions of the people I love can hurt me. And let’s be honest, the actions of the people I don’t love can also hurt me.  But I need to be more understanding of the rest of humanity.  It isn't all about me.  It never was, and it never will be.

The gossip girls? Well, they weren't really gossiping.  They were talking with each other about me with care and concern.  They wanted to know what was happening but didn't know how to ask.

That pal that avoided me? He has lost quite a few people to cancer and I was being so nonchalant (Superman complex again).  He wasn't sure how to deal with it happening to a close friend.  He showed up after my first chemo treatment.  He brought me to doctors’ appointments and bought me a milkshake.  And he is there now when I am in need. He helped in the only ways that he knew how.

Those empty promises and broken plans?  People have their own things going on.  And they don’t know what I am dealing with.  They can’t possibly know and they can’t be held responsible for that lack of knowledge.  God knows I had no idea until I had to face it myself.  My situation does not make anyone else’s problems less real.  We all have our own crosses to bear.

That new guy in my life that dropped me?  Actually, yeah… turns out he’s just a dick.  Thank you cancer for helping me dodge THAT bullet!

Yes, many people’s attitudes towards me have changed.  But that’s ok because my own attitudes and perspectives are changing.  Things that mattered, don’t. And things that didn't, do.  My challenge is accepting that people are people – we are all only human. Few people are able to fully understand the pain I am dealing with and I need to learn to understand that people don’t understand.

People are people. We are what we are. We are stronger than we think, smarter than we give ourselves credit for and ridiculously emotional, despite our pretenses or intentions. We are capable of affecting each other and we sometimes are blind.  We are who we are.  And I love us.

Losing my Hair

Those who know me will eagerly tell you that I am very vain.  I am the kind of girl that doesn't even go to the gym without at least mascara.  I like my nails done. I like clothes that flatter my body (and show off the good parts!) I don’t like being overweight.  I wear lipstick daily and I have shoes for every outfit.  I have not yet mastered the level of confidence required to accept myself for who I am and to not be so concerned with outward appearance. And I really loved my hair.

It was long and thick and a rich chocolate brown. I loved brushing it and curling it and straightening it.  I wore it up and down and in braids and pigtails.  People would compliment my luscious locks and I would play the shy and quiet “Aw shucks” girl – but I secretly glowed with pride inside with every comment.

When I found out I would be getting chemotherapy I was more worried about being ugly than anything else.  I did not want to lose my hair.  I did not want to lose my lashes (I just got a new mascara after all!) I did not want to look sick.  I liked the way I looked and this just wasn't fair. But, being that I am Superman, I decided to own it.  I took the opportunity to chop it off and color it blond and pink (which I think I pulled off quite well, thank you very much!)

It started to fall out two weeks into my first treatment.  Sometimes it happens quickly, sometimes slowly.  It was a Wednesday morning when I first noticed it.  Then on Thursday I took off my sweater at work and there was a clump of pink on my shoulder.  And another in my car (which is STILL there by the way… sigh).  The worst was Friday when I finally washed it.  It came out in handfuls in the shower.  When I finally got up enough nerve to look in the mirror there were giant bald spots all over my head. I was home alone.  I poured a glass of wine, stood in the mirror and cried.

As a rule (… ok, ok...guideline), I generally only allow myself the briefest of poor-me moments, so within minutes I called K and L.  Being the amazing friends that they are, they headed over to my place to hold my hand and cheer me up.  My roommate got here first.  He took one look at me and my tears and said “Harden the @#%! Up!” as is his nature to do.  By the time the girls arrived he was charging his shaver.  We were going to shave my head and I was going to own it!

We had some fun that night.  We played some girl-power music (think Katy Perry and Spice Girls).  We had wine. We made videos and took pictures. I had a cute pink Mohawk at one point. I have fantastic friends who do all they can to try to help me to feel “normal” during this ordeal.  And they did a great job.

But when it was all over, no amount of music or laughter (or wine for that matter) could change the fact that I was now bald.  That I looked different now.  That I looked like a cancer patient.

I’d like to be able to say that in seeing myself without hair, the gravity of the diagnosis sunk in and that was why I got scared and sad and anxious.  But that would be untrue and I must tell the truth in this blog otherwise what’s the point?   I hated the way I looked.  Hated it.  People tell me I look fine – that I rock the bald – that I have a nice-shaped head – that I don’t look like a boy.  I don’t believe any of them.  I want my pretty hair back and I want it now. 

I hibernated.  I was completely thrown at how bad the depression took me that first week.  I mean, I thought I was ready.  I thought I had prepared myself for this.  I cut my hair super short so that I already looked drastically different from myself (or as my 6 year old nephew says, I looked like a stranger!) I avoided phone calls.  I didn't go to work.  I cried and felt sorry for myself. I had a full blown baby-lala pity party.  Luckily I had to pull myself together by the weekend for my second chemo treatment.

The next few weeks were filled with searching for the perfect head covering.  I tried the wigs (hot and itchy).  The headscarves made me feel like a pirate (hmmm… idea for Halloween?)  I wore bandannas a few times but I couldn't get over how much better I looked in a bandanna when I had hair! (You know that I-swear-I’m-not-even-trying-I-just-finished-gardening-I’m-really-just-this-cute look?) Some of the hats worked a little, but again I was too hot during the day (Dreadful hot flashes – but that will be a blog post for another day).  Fortunately, I met a lady at my third chemo treatment who unknowingly helped me put things in perspective.

This woman was in her early 50s and beautiful.  Bald as an eagle and rocking it.  She was on her third cancer – her 14^th chemo treatment.  She had been hairless for years.  She talked about the fun things she did with her girlfriends.  She talked about how people are super nice to you when you are a cancer patient.  She said when she is stuck in traffic she takes off her hat and people wave her in.  She told stories of hockey games and shenanigans and parties.  She told me how she organizes her pills by size and color because she can’t remember their names.  She laughed and she laughed and she laughed.

So here I was, depressive and angry and hiding from my life like a spoiled little child.  And there she was – on her fourteenth chemo treatment!  And still laughing, still staying positive, still having FUN!  It was humbling to say the least.  I was shamed.  What right did I have to linger in my silly little pit of despair over something so foolish? Who did I think I was feeling sorry for myself?  Why couldn’t I accept the fact that I AM a baldie – I AM a cancer patient and that it doesn’t matter what I look like?  At what point in my life did I start defining myself by my outward appearance and how could I change that attitude? 

The following Monday at work, I took off my hat.

I’d like to say that instantly I was changed - that I beamed with certainty and confidence and that I didn't care what anyone thought.  But enter the honesty piece again – I was considerably horrified.  I had to ask the girls to tell me I was fine.  I nearly panicked each time someone entered the trailer for fear that it was someone who hadn't seen me yet and would be freaked out by my appearance (as if everyone had remained magically unaware of my baldness in the weeks prior to the hat coming off!) But it was a step.  And each day since then I am more comfortable with the way I look.  I am learning (ok TRYING to learn) to accept things for what they are and avoid wishing for something impossible (like for example waking up with my beautiful brown tresses miraculously restored!) 

I have a very long way to go before I am able to fully let go of my foolish vanity.  But I am comforted in knowing that I took the first step – I took off my hat.

Ode to Chemo

(I have already posted this on Facebook - but I figure it belongs here as well.)

Ode to Chemotherapy

So the cancer has found me. I'm another of those

Who gets to learn firsthand how chemotherapy goes.

My head is all patchy. My eyebrows are sparse.

I have so many pills they won't fit in my purse!

My nails have gone brittle. I bruise with a touch.

For a wild social butterfly I don’t get out much.

My skin’s dry and flaky. My cycle's a mess.

My meal plans depend on what I can digest.

I show off my power - my courage - my flair,

But I cried in my wine when I lost my pink hair.

I'm bald as an eagle. I'm losing my lashes.

I'm an unwilling victim of frequent hot flashes.

My bones are like daggers.  My muscles are sore.

But good news - I don't have to shave anymore!

My stomach just hates me and yells all the time.

My mom's freaking out, though I told her I'm fine.

My taste buds are useless. My mouth's sore and dry.

Most days I look like I have two black eyes.

My house is so dusty. A maid's what I need!

To scrub stains off my pillow from midnight nosebleeds.

I have aches in my body. I have pain in my head.

I spend most of my time all curled up in my bed.

So chemo I hate you, you pain in the ass.

But I'll fight my way through it…

For THIS TOO SHALL PASS.

Gratitude

A cancer diagnosis is a very emotional thing.  We are told this by all the doctors and books and websites and of course by well-meaning loved ones.  Naturally, I was going to be different. I was impervious to silly things like fear and self-pity and well, common sense.  This was NOT going to change my life.  I liked my life!  I had finally reached a point where I felt satisfied – comfortable.  I loved my job, my home, my friends and family (which of course I STILL do – very much!)  I had it all.  Cancer ha! Didn’t they know who I was? I didn’t have time for this foolishness – I had work to do, boys to flirt with, parties to attend… a LIFE to live!  2014 was going to be Year of Nicki.  I had plans.

What I have learned (and am still learning – I am very stubborn) is that I don’t always get to make the plans.  Sometimes God makes the choices for us.  I can look back at my entire life and question everything that has ever happened.  Cancer is not my first challenge (although so far it is the toughest).  I feel like my prior trials and tribulations were in some way preparing me.  I am Superman and I can handle anything.  I have been hurt and broken so many times in so many ways – yet I am always ready to start again with a determined flash in my eyes and a smile (sometimes fake) on my face.

Everybody has a story.  Everyone’s life is filled with twists and turns and triumphs and challenges.  Upon diagnosis they sent me to a program called Healing Connections or as I like to call it, Cancer School.  It was an amazing opportunity to meet and get to know a few fellow cancer patients.  The leaders always stressed the importance of NOT comparing one’s situation to another’s less it cause us to feel worse about our own situations.  Maybe there is something wrong with me - OK let’s face it – there is a LOT wrong with me… and I just can’t stand when someone tells me what to do.  So instinctively I do the opposite - I compare my situation to others all the time. 

I had a lumpectomy.  This means they removed the tumor and I got to keep my breast.  Many women lose it.

I am a chemo patient – I am sick and tired and generally feel like garbage most days. And it will be finished this summer.  I have friends with painful chronic illness such as MS and rare brain disorders like Chiari Malformation.  These never go away.

I am a single woman fighting cancer.  I have no husband living with me to take care of me.  I know a few single mothers going through the same battle – and they are taking care of themselves AND their children.

I am bald and self-conscious.  It will grow back.  I know people for whom hair loss is not due to chemo and is permanent.

Surgery and treatment have caused me to gain a little more weight than I like to carry around.  I have a strong and beautiful friend who was put on a steroid for Rheumatoid Arthritis and gained a lot more than me in a short period of time.  Only now is she able to try to get her body back – several years after the fact. (PS - You got this LA!)   I also know people with Thyroid problems for whom weight is a constant and lifelong battle.

I am only stage 2. My tumor and infected lymph node were removed swiftly and effectively.  I am young enough that my body is strong and can handle the treatments. I am surrounded by supportive friends and family (near and far). I am supported by my employer.  I was able to get my drugs covered. I can still work and socialize and shop and do all the things I want to do (albeit in moderate amounts now). 
This is temporary. This is temporary. This is temporary.

When life plans go awry and bad things happen, it is very easy to throw our hands up in the air and have a full blown pity party.  Don’t get me wrong – it IS hard and it IS emotional and I hold no judgement for those who face it with tears and anger and despair.  My close friends and family will confirm – I am certainly guilty of many many poor-me moments.  But for me, there is no choice.  I do not plan to roll over and die so I will just keep fighting through.  There is no other option.  And I try to do it with a smile on my face and often with an inappropriate cancer joke on my lips (it makes people wildly uncomfortable – you should try it!)  So rather than blame bad luck or curse God for giving me cancer, I thank Him for my strength and all the love and support in my life.  I am truly one of the lucky ones.