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!

Fear

I am afraid daily.  I was anxious when I found the lump.  Was this serious?  How long has this been here without me noticing? I was deeply troubled when they biopsied it.  I didn't know they were going to do that.  This appointment was supposed to be a simple ultrasound.  What was wrong?  I was petrified when they told me it was cancer.  I had so many questions and so few answers.  What kind of cancer?  What is the treatment?  What do I do now?  What’s going to happen to me???

A friend sent me a link recently about a fellow cancer survivor Jennifer Glass who is a bit of an internet sensation right now.  In her video (Fear. Less.) she says that while we as cancer patients are not fearless (as some people might believe,) we try at least to fear less.  She said that her friends and family called her fearless in the face of cancer – but she admitted that she wasn't.  I can relate. 

People in my life think I am strong – that I am a hero – hell I even call myself a hero some days.  But the reality is that I tell myself that to battle the fear.  I am terrified daily.  What if they missed some cancer cells during surgery?  What if the treatment fails?  My biggest fear – what if it comes back? 

Despite surgically removing the tumor, destroying my body with chemotherapy, blasting my breast with radiation and popping anti-estrogen pills for 5 years – there is still a 9% chance that the cancer will come back (according to my oncologist.)  I try not to think about it – I passionately hate chemotherapy. I am 24 days away from my last chemo treatment and I can’t bear the thought of having to go through this again.  If cancer recurs, the survival rate drops dramatically.  They are throwing everything they have at it right now.  If it comes back what more can they do?

I wrote a piece on fear several years ago called The Commonplace War– before I knew what real fear was… Or did I?  One doesn't have to have cancer to be afraid.  We are all afraid of something.  Some people dread being alone, while others panic at the thought of falling in love and the potential heartache it brings.  They are millions of mental and physical ailments in this human life that cause us to be afraid.  Fear presents itself regularly in our day to day lives.   There are a great deal of “garden variety” type fears like driving in the city, heights, spiders or public speaking.  Many of us fear change.  And many more are afraid to die.

Whatever your fear is, I believe it is important to understand that it is valid, despite what anyone tells you.  Even though logical thought might tell you that it is foolish – that your fear is silly and you should not be afraid – it is a genuine human emotion that exists in all of us.  All human emotions are valid - they exist and we cannot just will them away.  You cannot tell someone (or yourself) that they should or should not feel something (fear or otherwise).  We feel what we feel.  We can manage our emotions, but we cannot deny their existence.   Those who claim to be fearless are lying.  Courage is not being fearless.  We are courageous when we act despite the fear – when we acknowledge its existence and stubbornly persevere, unwilling to allow our fear to hold us back.

Fear can be overpowering – even debilitating at times. I often feel as though I can’t talk about my fears with anyone.  People tell me not to worry – that worrying will not help, or they say tough it up, cupcake (well okay – maybe that’s what I say).  And of course, my favorite is the one I hear more often than any - Stay Positive. Perhaps by talking about my own fears I make other people’s fears more real.  I know that I am not the only one who is afraid.  My loved ones fear for me as well.  Maybe people feel like they need to be strong for me to help me get through my battle.   The thing is, most of the time I am positive and finding myself being the strong one for friends and family.  I don’t want them to worry and I try to ease their fear as well.  Are we all foolish?  Each of us hiding what frightens us to put on a brave face for the others?  The thing is, I don’t think that being aware and afraid of that 9% chance means I am being negative. I think I am being realistic.   And I don’t mean I sit around trembling and terrified, refusing to live my life because I am afraid.  But the fear is real.  The cancer could return.  And sometimes, I need to be able to talk about what scares me.  I think we all do. 

Fortunately for us, our wide array of human emotions contains a counter attack for fear – hope.  Hope is always there as well, helping us fight through the fear.  Hope is what keeps us alive inside when we feel like our lives are crumbling.  Hope gets me out of bed each day and keeps me counting down the days until this ordeal is behind me.  If we lose hope, we have nothing. 

No one ever wants to hear the words “You have cancer.”  I sure as hell didn't.  And yes, of course I am afraid.  But I cling to the hope that is very much alive inside me.  I have hope that I will beat this wretched disease.  I have hope that it will never return and I will live out the rest of my life cancer-free.  And I have hope that my story might be able to help ease the fear of someone else going through their own battles – be it with cancer or otherwise.  Stay strong my friends, and stay hopeful xo!