The Year the World Didn't End

Wait. Where did the year go? I remember bits of the beginning. I had a new baby, I was a student, and everything had changed. In January, my milk stopped coming in. I cried a lot over it, at first. Nursing Violet was one of the most amazing things I have ever done, next to carrying her in my body. I really did grieve over losing that. February, March, April went by while I worked at balancing school, and caring for a newborn. Then everything changed, again.

Spring has become such a strange time for me. My brother died in the spring. Finances plummeted the spring after that. And then I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I can't recall the exact date, but it was sometime in May. For the last few years, it seems that catastrophe always strikes when the grass is new, and the trees are covered with blossoms. I've always loved spring, but now it carries a slight sense of dread.

What is so strange about having cancer for the second time, is that I was prepared for it. The treatments have been more drastic, and my body has been permanently altered, but I accept it. Sure, I have stressful days, but that's mainly due to losing income, rather than the illness itself. I can't count how many times I've stated that if cancer and Violet were all I had to worry about, I'd be fine. Fortunately, we've had a lot of help along the way. This year, I have learned a lot about how amazing people can be. Friends, relatives, and even strangers have rallied around my little family, helping us in ways I could not have imagined.

Christmas was amazing! As usual, things were extremely tight, and we weren't sure if we'd be doing much of anything. I really didn't need a lot. All I wanted was a tree, and something for Violet. I did not anticipate that there would be so much more. Without warning, gifts, money, visits and an overwhelming abundance of love came pouring in! We hadn't asked, it just came. Violet was showered with incredible gifts, as were we, and we even had a little for Daryll and I to do something for each other. Humbled is an understatement.

Maybe it makes me weird, but above everything else, I feel lucky. I have been the recipient of so much love, how could I not? Of course I have bad days. Things are tight, and so much will remain uncertain until I can get back into school or work. We'll be okay, though. We'll survive. After all, it's what we do.

In a couple of weeks, radiation ends. Then, all I have to do is heal, build my strength, and prepare for reconstruction. That could be a lengthy process, but the cancer treatment itself, is almost done. It's kind of difficult to wrap my mind around that, just yet. Like everything else, I'll take it as it comes.

It's been crazy, tumultuous, and at times, just beyond any description. Over all, it hasn't been a bad year. I'm alive, I've got the most beautiful daughter in the world (which didn't end), and there are a lot of people who care about me. So really, I can't complain too much.  

Almond Milk

A warm cup of almond milk, with vanilla, cinnamon, and nutmeg...my insomnia drink. I don't know if anything in it actually helps, but perhaps the warm comfort is all I need. This autumn has been mild and pleasant, even with the last few days of heavy rain. But with winter closing in, I am already feeling the promise of its chill. Opeth is the music for the moment. Something about it feels fitting to decorate the walls of my limbo at this time. As much as I know I'm going to feel like hell in the morning, sometimes I find more truth and sight in these sleepless hours, than I do anywhere else. It is MY time. I belong here. Once the noise in my head has established the pattern for the night, and it gets me out of bed, I am often rewarded for doing so, and as stated above...punished for it later. This is fine. There is nothing a nap won't cure.

I need this. I need the time to think, sort, re-prioritize. While it's nice to reconnect with the “real” world as I am walking this landscape, I have found that I need to back away, as well. I am on a very important journey, and I prefer to focus on what I can learn from it. Parts of me may be missing, but if I continue to look and learn, I will walk away with so much more than I lost. There have been too many distractions as of late, and I have been spending too much time getting involved in the lives of others. This is not what I need, right now. It only leaves me feeling more alien and exposed, even with my awesome new “stunt breasts” to make me look somewhat normal. Having visitors from time to time is good. I like staying connected, but in short bursts, and from a safe distance.

I have started my second week of radiation. So far, it's not so bad. In fact, I kind of like the fact that I have to get up every morning to do it, because that way, I can get myself on a decent schedule for Violet. Even in limbo, I'm a mother. That will never change or become less important. My daughter and my husband are really all I need, most of the time. I know that when this is all over, I'll have to return to that other world, so I'm doing my best to enjoy the solitude of this one. Even though I know I'm going to get better, and it's what I want, I sometimes wonder if I'll miss the quiet of this space. Even though I still have a long way to go, it will be over before I know it, and I'll have less time for such introspection. There are things I want from this. Not just my life...that's a given. I want to learn to let things go, release burdens, move on, and grow. I want to shed the self-doubt I've carried all my life, embrace my strengths, and become the best version of myself that I can. Being able to do that seems even more daunting than cancer, sometimes. Nevertheless, it's what I need to figure out how to do. I must be careful in what distractions I let through, and I must learn a new way of living. I've shackled myself long enough.

I get a lot of people telling me that they don't understand how I manage to laugh and smile as much as I do. I have a hard time answering that one, because I don't know how else to be. In fact, I've feel more at peace than I have in a long time. No, I don't enjoy having cancer. Maybe part of me is just relieved to have a break from the mundane. I'm sure that must seem very weird, but it's true. I get to stay home with my baby girl, and be here to see all the things she does and learns. I have the freedom to work on jewelry and art. Yes, money is tight, but that's nothing new. I'm enjoying my quiet life, with my awesome little family.

So, I guess that's enough rambling, for now. I think I'll finish my cozy beverage and try to get a nap in. Yesterday, the radiation machine was down, so I got a day off. I doubt it will happen two days in a row.

My Favorite Freckle

The hospital gowns are quite cozy when you wear two of them

On Wednesday, it will have been a month since surgery. I'm no longer taking pain medication of any sort, even though I'm still uncomfortable a lot of the time. The mobility in my arms has increased significantly, although the left one is lagging a bit, due to the removal of 14 lymph nodes. It's taking a while for the glue left from the surgical tape to come off, because my chest is still very tender, and I can't really scrub it off...but it's slowly washing away to reveal clean skin surrounding the two large scars, where my breasts and nipples used to be.

Before surgery, I half-jokingly asked my surgeon if I'd get to keep my favorite freckle. It sat just to the right of my right breast, just a couple of inches before my armpit. I don't know why, but I always liked it. It was cute. She said I could keep it, and I smiled about it, even though I knew I'd be losing so much more.

As I began my recovery, I could not see whether it was still there, or not, due to the surgical tape. The tape eventually came off, but as mentioned above, the sticky residue lingers. I thought about my freckle, and occasionally wondered if it had survived the operation. As more time passed, I began to think that it was probably gone, and decided to dismiss it.

In this parallel existence, there are days full of color, and days in which it's all been coated in a wash of gray. Both leave me feeling full of experience, but disconnected from the real world. This is not a bad thing, really, but sometimes I need to feel human again. I need to feel like I'm real. The things that bring me that feeling, come in various shapes and sizes, different lengths of time, and some are complete surprises. Sometimes, they snap me into my body with a vividness, and a full breath. Life flows in, clearing the sleep from my perception.

Today, that moment came, after I got out of the shower, and began getting dressed. Before covering my chest, I examined the changes in tape residue, and remembered my long, lost freckle. Looking in the mirror, I turned my attention to where I felt it should be. At first, I didn't see it, but looking more closely, I could see how the shape of everything had changed. The place where my freckle had been was gone, but the freckle itself, had in fact, just moved a little. The tape was clearing from where it now sat, exposing the little brown dot I had periodically wondered about. As I leaned into the mirror, I touched it, and tears came to my eyes. Maybe it's silly that something so small meant so much. It was certainly unexpected...but I cannot describe the relief that washed over me to see that I had one more thing I get to keep. I smiled through happy tears, as I was snapped back into my former self just long enough to really feel alive, and then the vividness rippled, and the haze of non-reality took back over. I came back into my parallel place, carrying a gift to sustain me for the day.

The rest of the day brought a trip to the Cancer Center, with its friendly staff and large, mysterious machines, followed by some bizarre exchanges with friends. There was an argument with one, a misunderstanding with another, and a warm visit with yet, another. All of them ended more positively than they began, which is a good thing, all around. Now, as I should be heading toward bed, I am reviewing the events of the day, and I'm realizing how some of the people in my life have been like my freckle; not always in sight, and sometimes faded from mind as time passes, but no matter the circumstance, the resurfacing is a happy surprise that snaps me back into where I need to be.

There it is!

Somewhere Between Comedy and Tragedy

We fed each other cake! Photo by FX Vargas

There's something about a warm chai latte, especially this time of year. November is the month for cozy things and savory comfort foods. I'm not entirely certain what this one will bring, but a lot of things are uncertain, these days. This isn't necessarily a bad thing.

Surgery was about two and a half weeks ago, and the time has been intensely full. My mom was here for the first two weeks, and my sister for a few days. It's been a rough recovery, even with the added help. It was only yesterday that I began working toward regaining the use of my arms, and I've been able to pick up Violet a few times. That was the worst part...not being able to pick her up. I'm glad that part is over.

I'm still in pain, but it's getting better, and I'm weaning myself off the narcotics. There's a spot on the back of my left arm, just above the elbow that feels prickly and strange, and my sternum aches. Sometimes, it feels like I still have breasts, until I look down, or touch my chest, then I feel that same prickly sensation, only less intense. There's really nothing there, but two long scars, stretching across the concave places where my breasts once were. I'm nowhere near as horrified as I thought I would be, but it is quite surreal to look at. Every time I undress in the bathroom, I see the strangest reflection in the mirror, and I am instantly transported to some sort of bizarre dream-scape. I'll be attending my first support group meeting, later this month. I had to come to the conclusion that I can't keep doing this on my own. Talking to women who have been here really helps me. I'm ready to reach out.

Even with all of this, there have been wonderful things happening. In the time since surgery, I've had the opportunity to see some incredible musicians perform, and even met a few (including one of my favorites), my beautiful baby turned one (we had one hell of a baby birthday bash), and I celebrated seven years of marriage to my wonderful husband by taking Violet and my youngest stepson out trick-or-treating. It was all very exhausting, and I know I overdid it, but it was so worth it! I got to experience multiple once-in-a-lifetime events, while simultaneously living through one of the most difficult.

With Seth Siro Anton of Septicflesh

That seems to be a recurring theme in my life; the juxtaposition of immense joy and shattering pain. Oddly, I am grateful for both. It's not that I wanted cancer, and I certainly didn't want to watch my brother die, a couple of years ago. So, perhaps I should clarify: I am grateful for the beauty that finds me, even when in the depths of darkness. There is so much to learn from it, and so much to see. I hope I use this time wisely, as there is much that I can glean from this experience. Of course there are times when I fall apart. Who wouldn't? I think falling apart from time to time is just as important as laughing and smiling.

Believe me, I'm not rainbows and sunshine about this, all the time. It is serious, I know. It's also very hard. However, with all the love and support that I receive on a daily basis, it's impossible not to feel humbled, thankful, and warm. When this is over, my next challenge will be in finding the best way to live my life in a manner that fully earns all that I have been given from those who don't have to care, but do, anyway. I've still got a long way to go, before I am done. Again, I hope that I can use this time wisely.

My little faerie-bug!

Inside

“6:58, are you sure where my spark is?” Tori asks, when it's really closer to a quarter-to-two. My tea is still too hot to drink, but I've got the last of the chocolate chip cookies to keep me busy while I wait...waiting, waiting, waiting...

Daryll asked me how I'm doing. It wasn't just the on-the-surface “how are you doing?”. It was much more like the serious, “what's going on inside you?” way of asking. I don't remember how I answered, exactly. It was a long string of verbal thoughts floating, dancing, spinning, and hovering, and then coming to a halt at a simple “I don't know”.

The operation went well, my hospital stay was smooth, and I'm healing without a hiccup. I'm at home now, and I'm doing my part in taking care of myself in the areas where outside help can't reach. There is so much outside information on how I'm doing, but none of it sheds enough light to see how things are on the inside. Right now, I'm living on whispers, hints, and obscurities, where the truth of how I am is concerned. Even the microscopic icicles seeping into my veins, don't really clear the fog.

I won't say there aren't emotions, because there are, but all I'm getting are fragments. There is so much happening...so much, that I can't pin it down. The mental and emotional white noise rising behind the Percoset haze has me aware that preparations must be made, but I have no idea what to prepare for. Of course, there is a very obvious element of horror to the whole situation. My breasts have been removed, along with the nipples. In their place, are a couple of dents in my chest, each one with a diagonal scar reaching from one side to the other. Over this, I am bandaged and bruised, and there are drainage tubes suchered into my armpits. At the end of each tube, is a squeezy little container that must be emptied a couple of times a day. Yes, it's a rather disturbing sight, I suppose. However, I knew this part was coming, and had been over it countless times, so I didn't go to the surgery table naive.

As I do with every major situation, I spent some time comparing it with George's death. Nothing compares to the pain of watching your baby brother die, but I handled his passing a lot better than I ever would have guessed. I've noticed for a while that I have been handling breast cancer with significantly less grace, at least where the mastectomy has been concerned. Sometimes, when having a fear moment, I've reminded myself that losing my breasts is horrible, but George lost a sixth of his brain, and then his life, the following year. It has kept me in-check, most of the time.

Perhaps the emotions are so mixed because this particular cancer story has a lot of events taking place. Every day, my daughter brings me unparalleled joy. Could it be she, who is fortifying my spirit with her indescribable beauty and unconditional love? I am surrounded by support, the likes of which I never would have imagined, and it has been unbelievably touching.

On the darker side of things, I'm having to deal with cancer for the second time, and this round is costing me body parts. Recovering from surgery, so far, has been a lot better than I anticipated, though it is definitely uncomfortable and a little gruesome to look at.

So, no...I really don't know how I feel. I don't know if I'm going to be able to keep my chin up, or if it's all going to slam in on me when I least expect it. Is it really of any importance whether I know, or not? I might be doing okay, or I might be a crumpled mess, tomorrow. Does it matter which, as long as I work actively toward getting past this? This is temporary. I know it will pass, and I will emerge from this chain of events as a stronger, happier, more determined person. In the meantime, I'll take it all as it comes, and do what I have to do in order to stay afloat. I've got a long way to go...one foot in front of the other...

Tea and Transformation

I'm pretty sure that this is the absolute best cup of Rooibos tea I've ever had. I've still got half a cup-full left, and I'm already planning a second. Though I typically drink coffee, I have long adored tea, especially when it allows for creamer and sugar. I use coffee to enhance the enjoyment of a moment, or conversation, whereas tea is more like sipping inspiration and daydreams. Tea almost creates the moment. 

While my two days in the hospital was mainly about recovering from surgery, I feel like being home is where the healing truly begins. So far, it's been both relaxing and challenging. It's nice to be able to take naps as I need them, so I can't complain, there. Allowing others to do my daily tasks for me, gets sort of frustrating, however. We never realize how much we do until we can no longer do it. Of course, in my case, this is temporary. I just need to keep that in mind. 

I'm tired, sore, and I have drainage tubes  stitched into my armpits, but amazingly, I feel worlds better than I guessed I would. Honestly, it's not so bad, and yes, I've seen myself with the bandages off. It's a little disturbing, but I try to see my empty chest as an empty canvas. It will be filled in, eventually. Another one of my dear, old friends came over and prepared dinner. It was delicious, and his company warmed the apartment. 

So, I guess this is my life, for the next little while. Another stage in the chrysalis. I must take care in sculpting my reality, through this. The thought of opening my creative self to this new world, excites me, but I don't want to get too lost. There  is much to do, and I need to keep it together for Violet. 

Well, it's beginning t feel like sleep and medication are taking over, and it's time for bed. I shall have to lose myself in the steam of my tea, a little bit later.

Captains Log, Supplemental:

Yes, I know...I'm a gigantic nerd!!! I'm also not in the hospital. I was just feet away from the car, and Daryll was putting my bags in the trunk, when my surgeon's office called to cancel. In a word: GAH!!! I was SO revved up to go in and face this!!! I had decided to face my fear, I had packed my bags, and I had tearfully kissed my baby girl goodbye. Then, my charge forward was abruptly halted. A friend of mine used the term "emotional whiplash". Yep. That's exactly what it felt like. After coming back upstairs, and announcing that surgery was off, I sat with Daryll, not knowing what to say or how to feel. Shortly thereafter, the adrenaline I had built up wore off, and we crashed until about 1:00 in the afternoon. I'm glad my mom is here to help with Violet. We needed the sleep!

Of course I'm not mad at my surgeon. She apparently has the flu, and she did what she had to do for her health and mine. Fortunately (or unfortunately, as the case may be), they called back and rescheduled for this Saturday. I'm still not thrilled about losing my breasts, but it has to be done, and the journey can't continue without this step. I'm not sure if I'll have a build-up of the same emotions. I feel strangely at peace. Maybe it's because I have a few more days. Maybe I found a way to be ready for this. I won't know for certain, until it happens. Either way, I still plan to join a support group, and I still plan to move forward, while learning all that I can from my time in limbo.

Chaos, Fear, and Tai Chi

I should be sleeping, but I'm still getting things together for the hospital. Check-in is at 7am. Right now, I'm somewhere between chaos and peace. The time has come to really face this.

Severing the Dread

So much for taking a nap.

It's been about a week and a half since I had my very last chemotherapy treatment. Just as I was coming out of feeling like crap, I was blessed with a stomach bug. Blech. Finally, I'm beginning to feel human, again. I know there is still a long way to go, and more frightening things are in store for me before this is all over, but being done with chemo was beginning to feel pretty good.

I had just settled down for a power-snooze, not too long ago, when my surgeon's office called. I now have a pre-op appointment scheduled, and a tentative date for surgery. This is really happening. They are going to take my breasts. I know that's not the end of it, and I know that I'll be getting new ones after radiation, but still...it's sitting like an ominous silence in my gut. I don't want to do this. I don't want to go without breasts. I know the ones I have are small, and believe me, I've heard all the jokes. I could try to play it off like there's not much there to lose, but there is. They're MY breasts and they're a part of me...even though they tried to kill me.

I guess it's like ending a bad relationship. Just because it's for the best, doesn't mean it won't be traumatic and painful to sever. Sever...that is suddenly such a frightening word. I know I'll get past this, and I know that I'll be able to choose the boobs I want as my reward for making it through all this shit, but right now, I just want to run and hide from it.

I spent a few minutes sitting in the patio garden, after I hung up the phone. The pre-fall breeze felt good, even as the tingling of dread began to rise in my thighs, and my head began to swim. There is no running and there is no hiding. This is going to happen.

How do I sever the dread?

Blessed by Friends

Wow. What a day. It started by getting up much later than I'd intended...but that happens a lot, these days. I hadn't even had my coffee yet, when a man in a yellow hat pounded on our door, and handed Daryll a slip of paper informing us that he was here to shut off our power. Nice. For those who wonder, during the summer, there is no law to protect you from such a thing. He tried to talk the guy out of it, but to no avail. He had a couple other places to shut off first, so that bought me enough time to call the power company. Now, I'm not keen on delivering sob stories and I HATE using my situation to reason with people, especially when I rightfully owe them money. However, things being what they are, I had no choice but to explain my situation as the mother of a ten-month-old baby who lost half our income when I came down with cancer. As if that wasn't bad enough, I broke down crying as I did so. Ugh. I felt utterly pathetic! And of course, all it got me was two extra hours before they shut us off, anyway. I wanted to be angry with the woman on the phone, but deep down, I know she couldn't do anything, anyway. I wanted to yell, but all I could do was sob so uncontrollably, that she had trouble understanding me. Call this an all-time low for yours truly. There was nothing I could do. Frantically, I began to devise ways in my mind to just snatch up my little family and run away somewhere...anywhere. Logical, right? Yeah, no.

Not knowing what to do, I decided that I should take a shower while we still had light in the bathroom. It was during this time that Daryll let a few people know what was going on...not to ask for money, but to blow off some pent-up anger. Well, what we didn't ask for came to us, anyway. Some friends we've come to adore, who we haven't even met in person yet, came to our rescue. I can't even begin to describe how humbled, how grateful, and how incredibly blessed I feel to know these people. They're not wealthy, they didn't want anything in return, and they did it with such grace, love, and understanding, that I didn't even experience the typical shame and embarrassment I feel when someone has to bail my sorry ass out of a bad situation. These people, who live literally on the other side of the continent, cared enough to make sure our power stayed on.

When things like this happen, it's hard not to feel like a colossal failure. It's hard not to beat myself up for screwing up my life. A lifetime battling low self-esteem will do that to you. It's taken a lot of years and a lot of work to learn how to love myself, and I still fall short more often than I should. I was reminded today, by these wonderful friends, that too often, bad things happen to good people. I've been doing all I can, and so has my wonderful husband. I realized how ridiculous my demands on myself can be at times. Everything I do is with the intention to better myself and life for my family. Everything I do is to provide a future for my daughter. Rather than settle for a miserable job that doesn't pay the bills, I went back to school. I began to fight for a future, instead of settling in the present. Sometimes I get angry with myself for not being farther along in life than I am, but then I remember that beating myself up with the mistakes of the past is fruitless and destructive. It took me longer than some others to choose a path, but I did choose it, and I chose it with conviction. Cancer had other plans, but then...I have plans for cancer, and it won't like them. Does knowing these things solve all my problems? No. However, I will keep doing my best. I will keep looking for ways out of this financial catastrophe that my illness has created, while trying my hardest to keep my chin up. Breakdowns will happen, and I have to allow for that. Hopefully, I will find a way to bring in some income. I've got my online jewelry store, and I'm working out plans to cut costs on as many things as I possibly can. Hopefully, it will help. The good thing is that in a few months, I'll be able to get a part-time job, and work my way back into school. Things are hard, but I'm tough, I'm stubborn, and I'm surrounded by people who love me. That alone makes me one lucky mama.

“I will not feed your hunger.

Instead, I bite the pain.

Looking not back, but forward,

I bite down”

~Chuck Schuldiner

Breathe

The thing about insomnia, is that you are not awake because you're not tired. You can be absolutely exhausted, but your mind is so determined to keep you up, that no matter what you do, sleep refuses to come. At least tonight/this morning, I actually have enough energy to be out of bed so that I can do something to occupy myself, instead of just tossing and turning. So here it is, just after 5am. Dead Can Dance is playing, and I'm supposed to be up and getting ready to go somewhere in just a couple of hours. Yep. Today is going to be a real treat! **insert sarcastic eye-roll**

I have been an insomniac for virtually my entire life. What can I say, I have a busy mind...and currently, there is a lot for it to get caught up in. Of course, there's the cancer. Right now, there's always the cancer. There's my daughter. There's the time off I'm taking from school to deal with all of this, and the financial fallout it has caused. The land line and cable are shut off, with internet soon to follow...possibly the cell phones, too. I think about my darling husband and the burden of having to take care of a sick wife, the apartment, the dogs, the baby. I do what I can on my good days, but as treatment progresses, there aren't as many of them.

I know it looks bleak, and often times it feels bleak. To be honest, cancer is the least of my worries, right now. I've said several times that if all I had to worry about was that and my daughter, I'd be fine. I know what this is, I know it has a cure, and I know what it's going to take to get there. I know Cancer. We've met before. Last time, all I had to worry about was getting better. This time, I have to worry about how we're going to pay for things while I'm in treatment. That and...it hurts to know that after my mastectomy, I won't be able to hold my baby girl.

So, what's a Cancer Mommy to do? As Ann, my dearly departed Women's Studies teacher and hero often said, “remember to breathe”. It's amazing how frequently and how easily such a simple, yet important thing is forgotten. I must remember to breathe. I must remember to take it as it comes, knowing that some things are out of my control. This has never been an easy practice for me, as I tend to fret about everything all at once. Then I freeze. Then I forget to breathe. There's no time for that, now. I have healing to do and obstacles to overcome...one at a time.

Remember to breathe.

Last week, I was surprised with this bouquet of flowers. They were just sitting outside my door. The card did not indicate a sender. It read, "If there was a flower for everyone who loves you the room would be filled with pink roses". Sometimes, things like these come along just in time to keep me from breaking.

Fatigued

Today has been a challenging one. A good portion of it was spent in bed, as I have had little to no energy since Saturday afternoon. Now, I love a good nap, but when I am too dizzy and exhausted to be up for more than a few hours at a time, it takes much of the enjoyment out of it. True, I'd probably be better to just enjoy the downtime and soak up as much sleep and lying around as possible while I have a valid excuse to do so, but I hate missing the day with my husband and daughter. I know Violet misses me when I'm out. She is always so happy to see me once I finally haul my carcass into the world of the living.

I'm tired most of the time these days, which is to be expected. For some reason, the tiredness would not leave my mind, today. I've been in a dizzy fog since morning and can't seem to shake it. Even now, I'm blinking furiously to keep my eyes open. I know, I know...I should just go to bed! Call me stubborn. I let Daryll handle most of the heavy duties, even when I wanted to pitch in. I hate feeling like I can't do anything, especially after more than a day or two of this. I gave Violet a bath this afternoon, vacuumed and Febreezed the sofa this evening, and tidied the living room a little bit. Then I lit some scented candles. It took a lot out of me, but that sense of accomplishment felt good. There is still a lot to do around here, even with Daryll's diligence. Even if I only did a little, it was enough to ease my mind. I like feeling like I've contributed to the peacefulness of our home.

As I type this, not feeling sure how much sense I'm making, and not being too concerned, Tori Amos is blessing my ears with her “Little Earthquakes” album, and my daughter has finally slipped into a peaceful slumber on the living room floor. The heat of day is now the cool of night, and I am dreamily wavering between worlds. I am not even half way through this process, but I know it has an end. However, the end is difficult to comprehend at the moment. Right now, this is my life. This is how I'm living...set apart from the rest of the world. I watch, I think, I wonder, I fear. I witness my daughter grow and learn. I see my husband do what he does each day. They are the closest ones to me, of course. They are my connection to the world. I have visitors and friends, I have my internet connection, and the occasional outing, but it feels as if my residence is on another plane parallel to the reality I was in just a few months ago. Rent is the same, and the dishwasher still needs to be fixed.

Things outside of me function the same. It's the inner workings and surrounding elements of my self that maneuver differently and reside elsewhere. Is this state of being permanent? No. When this is over, I shall no doubt return to the world I knew before, only I will be different. I will be transformed. And somewhere through this veil of awakened sleep, I'm excited to see how I change.

Behind the Brave Face...

The week is half over, and it already feels like a challenging one. I seem to have somehow accidentally traded my usual (as of late) happy and philosophical self for an emotional, stressed, and anxious version. I'm not sure where it's coming from. Is it just the cancer? No, it can't be. I've fully accepted what is happening to me and I know what is to come. Sure, I've still got a long way to go, and it's going to be hard, but I already know this. I also know that at the end of it all, I'm going to be okay and I'll look fabulous with my shiny new boobs. Perhaps it's all the uncertainty outside the cancer. When this is over, I'll have to get back into student-mode, so I can finish up with community college and get into a university. As of right now, it's about going through treatment, taking care of my daughter (with Daryll's amazing help), and finding a way to keep our bills from eating us alive.

The thing is, this isn't new. So why am I feeling this way? Monday, I had a meltdown in the bathroom after realizing that several exciting events are going to be taking place shortly after I have my breasts removed and I have to start radiation. For the first time since beginning this journey, I broke down and sobbed. It was probably a good thing, as I needed to release something sometime. I suppose we are all entitled to the occasional pity party, including me. I can't wear my brave face all the time. Still, it bothered me. Today, as Daryll was trying to fix the dish washer (with no luck...maintenance has to order a new part for it), we got a little snappy with each other, nothing serious mind you, and I decided to feed the cats. As I was doing so, I bumped my head, which didn't even really hurt, and the next thing I knew, tears were streaming down my face uncontrollably.

I know that the definition of bravery is not to be unafraid. Being brave is about doing what you've got to do, even when in the clutches of fear, doubt, and despair. I remind myself of this whenever I feel this way, even if it takes a while to sink in, and the good moments are all that more sacred to me.

One of these moments came in the form of an almost neon-greenish-yellow cabbage butterfly, yesterday. As I was preparing dinner, I got out my blender, set it on the counter, and continued gathering the other things I'd need. Turning back to the blender, I was greeted with this lovely and delicate little creature resting on the shiny, black base...vivid and bright against the surface on which it sat. Immediately, I was humbled and awe-stricken, for it seemed to have come out of nowhere! We always have our screen windows and door closed, so how this magnificent little creature got into my kitchen, I haven't a clue. So strange that something so simple and small could touch my soul in the way it did. We scooped it up and placed it in the patio garden, so it could be free and safe. I took quite a few pictures of it with my cell phone, because I had never seen one in this precise color. It was so lovely!!! However, none of my pictures turned out. They all showed as empty files on my phone...all of them. I had taken other pictures that day, before and after the butterfly. Those turned out just fine, but my illusive little visitor has been saved only to memory.

Perhaps I am over-thinking the butterfly. Perhaps I am over-thinking everything else. Either way, I know that things will be what they are and I can only do what I can do. Even as people tell me how brave I am, I feel like a bumbling novice most of the time. Does this make their words untrue? I doubt it. We are often our own worse critics. Whether I'm having one of my fearless and happy days, or one of my crumbling and frightful days, things will continue to move forward, and I will always eventually get back up. I have to. I won't always do things “the right way”, but I will do the best I can to make the journey count. Hopefully, I will pass the good things onto my daughter and hopefully I will do right by her. I know that in her life there will be times of pain and struggle. There is nothing I can do about that. As long as she takes time to look at what's beautiful and important, there will be butterflies for her as well.

Not Thinking About the Hard Part

As the heat and humidity of the day begin to cool, all is calm. My youngest stepson has come to live with us 3 days out of the week, starting this past Wednesday. It's nice to have him around. It's nice for Violet to have a sibling under the same roof, even if it is only part time. At 13 years old, Zack is now a big brother. He seems to be okay with it. He's a good kid. They're all good kids.

My hair finally started coming out. Not that there's much of it anyway, but it grew back enough for me to notice it happening. It's much better knowing that I struck first by shaving it. Last time, I pulled it out in the shower, which was definitely a traumatic event.

My second round of chemo kicked my ass for about 4 days. I'm starting to feel much better, now. Next time will be worse, I'm sure. The last treatment will also be tough. I look forward to the month off between chemo and the mastectomy. I'm not at all looking forward to the surgery, though. I keep telling myself to join a support group, and I really should, but I've been so busy. Perhaps I've been hesitant, too. Maybe a part of me is avoiding the part where I have to lose my breasts. Everything else I can handle, but that part...that part bothers me. I know I'll be getting new ones after radiation, but that couple of months with no breasts frightens me. I don't like to think about it. I need to start thinking about it. I need to stop hiding, because I know it's going to happen. Why is this so hard?  

Goodbye, Aunt Chris

Today, my Aunt Chris died of cancer. I haven't seen her since I was a child, but I remember her. I remember her beauty, her grace, her gentle way. I remember her bright eyes and her smile so beautiful, it lit up the world. I haven't seen or heard too much from Uncle Ken, Aunt Chris, or my cousins since they moved to New York, years ago...but they were always family. We may not have communicated a whole lot, with life events and distance getting in the way. We all still loved one another, though. Last summer, when I was having a hard time, Uncle Ken reached out to me. I didn't know that his lovely wife was in the midst of such a harrowing battle. When I learned she was sick, I hoped for the best, of course. It is my wish that everyone afflicted with cancer beats it. Hearing that she was terminal a few weeks ago, weighed heavily in my heart. When my mother called me today with the news of her passing, the sorrow hit like a surprise freight train. Neither time nor distance can destroy the love I have for my family. I was glad to learn that she died at home, surrounded by her husband and children, but I couldn't help picturing that moment when she was gone, and what it must have done to them. I remembered the sounds of my family wailing over my brother's body in the hospital, two years ago. Nothing sounds like a family's grief, and it will be with me for the rest of my days.

Aunt Chris, I am sorry I didn't get to see you through this, but I'm glad you had so many who were there for you. You were and are such a shining light. We will miss that smile, those sparkling eyes, and your graceful manner. We will miss your warmth, your kindness, your beauty. We will miss you.

All my love,

Larissa

Gratitude

Photograph by FX Vargas

It may seem strange to some, but lately, I have been happier and more at peace than I can remember. I have been gifted with the most beautiful daughter in all the world, I have a wonderful husband, and friends...so many friends! I am continuously amazed and humbled at all the love I am receiving, right now. Even people I've only just met on Facebook are sending me words of strength and encouragement. I really am quite lucky.

I know I'm still at the beginning of a difficult road, but this journey holds so much wonder and so much to be thankful for. There are some scary bits. I recently learned that after chemo, I'll have to undergo my mastectomy and then do 6-7 weeks of radiation before I can start reconstruction. That's the only part that really bothers me. I'm a little afraid of that time without any breasts. Maybe it bothers me more than it should, but I know there is no way around it. I know that in order to survive this, my body has to be brutalized and mangled before it can heal. I keep reminding myself that George had to go through worse...they removed a sixth of his brain, and even that couldn't save him.

Yes, I am lucky. Even though I'll be feeling like hell, the farther I get into treatment, I'm kind of grateful for this. What I have been given is time...time to ponder, learn, see, dream, create, and love. Aside from focusing on getting better, I get to enjoy freedom from other obligations for a while. I get to be with my little family. When I'm not resting, I'll be able to write, bead, visit with loved ones...I might even get back into drawing. The most amazing part in all of this, is the constant encouragement, and kind words I am receiving from countless others, some in other parts of the world. Even strangers have been showing such touching support. They tell me to hang in there, be well, take care. They send me love and it feels genuine. I receive words like strong, beautiful, brave, and warrior, daily. This is not to brag, for I am humbled almost to the point of speechlessness. A lot of the time, I feel that these sweet well-wishers are being far too generous. I could ask what I've done to deserve all this positive energy coming my way, but I don't think it's about what I've done. It's about what I do with the rest of my days. It's about earning what I'm receiving by the way I live from here on out.

I could never thank any of the people reaching out to the capacity that they deserve. Some levels of kindness are beyond my ability to repay. So I shall do the next best thing. I will live my life the best way I can, and I will pass kindness and love onto others. I will remain in a state of gratitude and work harder at taking the good from everything and sharing what I can of it. I know it is easier said than done at times, but it it something to be conscious of and work toward.

This bliss, this calm, this place of introspection, is a wondrous state of being. I know it won't last forever, but I think it will be easier to find from now on. It may be strange for someone who can't even pay the bills to say I have so much, but I have so much. And to everyone who has and will continue to show me love and kindness...thank you. A thousand times, thank you.

A House to Call Home

It's funny how cancer seems so small compared to other things. I think other people see it as a bigger deal than I do. That's not to say that I don't find it important...I most certainly do! Cancer is a big deal, but for me, there are things that are much bigger.

As I was playing around on Pinterest earlier (oh, what a dangerous addiction this could be), I found myself re-pinning a picture of some lovely children's bunk beds that had been made into part of the wall of a house. I can only assume it was a house. You can't typically do those things in apartments. Maybe it's silly to feel a little saddened by these things, but it did dampen my spirits a bit. There is so much you can't do with an apartment. I thought about how I couldn't sleep last night, dealing with bone-pain from medication, and thinking about not having a back yard for Violet to play in. I was wondering to myself about inflatable kiddie pools, and how much they cost. I thought about her two adorable bathing suits that were gifted to us that she hasn't even worn, yet. I pictured how cute and happy she would be, splashing around in a little pool in her bathing suit, wearing the sunglasses she got yesterday. I want to find her a kiddie pool, but we have no place to put one. I suppose if they come in small inflatable sizes, we could haul it across the street with some jugs of water to play in the park. I suppose that would be alright.

I don't know why it is so important to me that she has a back yard with a kiddie pool. At this age, it's not like she'd remember it, anyway. I guess what it boils down to is that I want a home for my family...as in a house with a yard, where she can grow up, and we can have a real garden. A place that really feels like ours. The thought of never making this goal worries me far greater than cancer ever could. After I am well again, I'll be back in school, but buying a house will still be so far off. Maybe I just need to work a little harder.

Clover

I love being a mother. I knew I would, but I am continuously amazed at how much I love it. Every day, Violet gives me a reason to smile, to laugh, to keep working past the obstacles that life has thrown my way. I sometimes wonder what people must think, when they see a new mother who obviously has cancer. Do they feel pity, sadness, or something else? Maybe it's a mixture of things. I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me, but I am sure there are those who do, as I'm sure I would to see another in this situation. It's alright...I think the situation is tougher for people to watch than it is to live through.

My beloved baby is eight months old, already! She can sit up, she chatters away in her baby-talk, and she loves Sesame Street. Yesterday, we discovered her first tooth, and she's getting ready to crawl. It won't be long before she's running around, getting into things, and finding new and amazing ways to melt my heart. This is incredible.

Sure the cancer is there, but it pales in comparison to the powerful force I feel for my child. Today, as I watched her sit peacefully in the grass on a friend's front lawn, in the early part of evening, when the light was golden, I lost myself in her wonder as she played with the clover. The traffic hummed, and the breeze blew her soft wisps of hair about like dandelion seeds. It was a blissful magic that I know I will cherish forever.

Now as she sleeps, curled up in her crib, a part of me misses her while she's away. The time is approaching for me to flee to the realm of dreams, myself. Maybe I can play with her there, too.

Beading a Necklace on a String of Thoughts...

Well, so much for sleep...at least where last night is concerned. It's a strange thing to have insomnia at a time when I should be exhausted. But then, as I recall, this happened to me once or twice when I did chemotherapy fifteen years ago. I was warned that one of the drugs could "wire" me, but I assumed that would have already come and gone, since it's three days later. Perhaps it is something else keeping me up.

I tossed and turned for as long as I could bear it. I spent part of my evening making jewelry and my mind has been brimming with ideas I want to try, with a backdrop of recordings my mind has made of the past few days. Violet woke up about fifteen minutes ago, crying in her crib. She is now nestled in our bed next to her daddy, as she finishes all of her mornings, these days. I should be with them, but sometimes the flow of this "in-between" world takes me elsewhere.

"In-between": the place in which I seem to reside frequently in my life. Always in a state of change, of seeking, of reaching for the next phase. There have been points of stagnation, but perhaps those were just really times of movement too slow to catch the naked eye, or consciousness. Even as my life is once again "on hold" for cancer treatment, it does not feel like I'm stopping, but traveling, walking "that world", cloaked in a chrysalis, barefoot and bare-headed, taking in the scenery, and making it all part of my being. If only I could accurately describe the view...

As Klaus Thomas, my “Nomi Cat” curls up in a purring ball in my lap, I am reminded of how cats are often said to dwell within those same in-between places. Perhaps that's why I have such an affinity for them. They understand my existence, and I marvel and delight at theirs. Perhaps these are just the sleep deprived ramblings of a first-time mother with second-time cancer. Either way, I don't think that's the important part. I think the important part is that I catch and savor these moments, even the mildly annoying ones. There is something more to learn, here. There are places within that I need to reach outward to.

My computer has just informed me that it's 6am. Maybe I'll have some coffee and get back to that jewelry for a bit.

First treatment down...

We're in the wee hours of Sunday. Bed is not far off. Friday, I finally started chemotherapy. It wasn't so bad, really...all things considered. I've been given a good supply of anti-nausea meds. I also had to go in yesterday morning for an immune system boosting-shot. Mainly I've been tired and spacy, with brief bouts of nausea. No puking, thankfully.

Chemotherapy is cumulative, so I know I'll be feeling like hell soon enough. I was disappointed to learn that after my chemo has been completed, I'll have to undergo six weeks of radiation, five days a week. As it turns out, the breast tumor is twice the size previously thought, and it has attached itself to my chest wall. It's still a good prognosis, but we have to be aggressive with it.

The chemo room has windows lining the east wall, with easy chairs facing the view of Vancouver Clinic and some trees. It took a while to get my treatment started, so I had extra time to look around and play with Violet in my lap. She, of course, was an instant star, gaining attention from the entire staff. We went in as a family, with pink scarves on our heads. Violet's came off quickly, but it was still adorable.

It took a few tries to get a good IV started. Consequently, I have a bruise in my right inner-arm. We ended up using my left wrist. It aches a tiny bit, once in a while. We started with a saline drip, then added to it some anti-nausea bags. When those were done, the chemo was started. As it turns out, I'm part of that lucky 10% that gets congestion and headaches from that particular set of drugs. A benadryl drip with a shot of morphine (in the IV tube, not my skin, thankfully) took care of it.

By the time we got home, I was feeling pretty out of it, but not too bad. Even with the added radiation to come in three months, I'm still okay with this. I'm still ready. This is a good thing. This is a time to learn, reflect, explore, dream, and love my little family as much as I can before the mundane world comes to reclaim me. And of course, this is also a time of rest. Speaking of rest, it's time I crawled into bed.

Calm and at the Ready

Well, I went in for my chemotherapy appointment on Tuesday only to discover that due to some hiccups with test results and pending insurance approval, that it had to be moved to Friday. At first, I was irritated, especially since I'd already shaved my head for the occasion. I wanted to get this moving. I want to beat this monster. As my impatience cools, I have had a couple of extra days to think on all of this. Being bald really isn't so bad. It's not that I don't miss my hair. I definitely do. This extra wait has just confirmed to me how ready I am. I am almost surprised at my level of calm in all this. Is it because I've had cancer before and I know what to expect? Is it because I've watched my brother die, my daughter be born and through those things, I've simply learned to ride the waves, as it were? I'm not deluding myself. I know this isn't going to be easy. They're going to poison me for a few months and then take my breasts. Sure, I'll be getting new ones, and my hair will grow back...but it's still a pretty big deal. Cancer is always a big deal. I guess I'm just that ready. There are and have been many chaotic points in my life, but in this, I seem to be finding my place of zen. As my body is being ravaged by the illness and the cure, I feel at peace with it. I have been assured by my oncologist that tomorrow we will proceed. Is it odd that I almost look forward to it?

I suppose that there are a lot of people who would ask the “why me?” questions. I think when I was twenty and doing this, I did. Today, my response is “Why not me?” Why not George? Why not anyone? It's not a nice thing. It's a painful and difficult thing, but it is what it is and it happens to people. I am no more or no less deserving than anyone. It happens. I'm okay with that.

Well, the hour is late. I think I'll finish my decaf latte, tend to my teething baby, and call it a night. The battle begins early tomorrow, and I am ready.

"Did my time among the strong.

Some are here and some are gone.

Did my time among the cursed,

praying that my brain would burst."

~Glenn Danzig