A whole lot of nothing

So, I’ve obviously gotten out of the habit of writing. It’s okay, though. It’s been so chaotic, I haven’t had the energy. Or time to do much of anything. There have been more trips to the hospital than I can count, and I’ve been getting sicker and weaker. Fortunately, I have finally been able to start on my keto diet. It’s frustrating as Hell, and I still have a lot to learn. I have always been such a food person, and now it feels like I know nothing at all when it comes to food. I have a few recipes and there are several old dishes that can be altered a little

I’ve practically been living on the sofa, lately. I’ve just been so sick. I hope above hope that the upswing will be starting soon. The ex-husband is in ICU due to a malfunctioning insulin pump and obscenely high blood sugar levels. I’m hoping that Violet doesn’t start getting stressed out over all of this. The poor kid has had to see me go into the hospital on an almost regular basis, and then all I can do when I get home, is sleep. I like the sleeping part, but I know Violet doesn’t like any of it.

I seem to have gotten myself stuck. Everything is gray and lifeless. At least, that’s how it looks to me, right now. It’s like I’m slowly disappearing and I’m running out of anchors to cling to. I’ve been watching the Secret and hilarious cartoons to keep my heart from getting too heavy. Methinks I need to find some quiet time in nature very soon. I need to go and purge the noise in my head. I’m not sure when or how, but I am going to get a camping trip in very soon. Maybe nature will help me recenter myself and become more accepting of my surroundings. Until I can make my escape, perhaps I can lose myself to the scent of petrichor here and there to keep me sane. <3

What can happen in a year...

I knew it had been some time since I last blogged about anything. Still, I was a bit surprised to discover how long. So much has happened. So much has changed, I’m not even quite sure where to begin. I’m still doing chemotherapy and have just started on two new types, intravenously. I’m bald, with a giant tattoo on my head. Yes, I said tattoo on my head. So, I suppose I should start there.

I decided that since I was going to have to be bald again, I should make the best of it. I’d seen pictures of cancer patients getting elaborate henna tattoos and decided that a little cranial décor might just suit me. This was during the time in which I was really focused on manifesting good into my life, mainly with the intention of completing my Reike Master training in Mt. Shasta on a retreat that would be sure to change my life.

Financially, the retreat was looking rather bleak. I had no idea how I was going to raise the funds I’d need to attend, but I set my energy toward it anyhow. I had to be there. I had waited and learned, chasing my mastery for several years with many disruptions and setbacks. It was time to finish the journey. This is where inspiration for my tattoo came in. I felt something related to the crown chakra would be perfect with what I was aiming to achieve. I’m not sure at what point I decided to go from henna to permanent ink, but when I did, it felt perfect. It felt right. My next task was to find an artist and get a price so I could start raising the money I’d need. At some point, on the retreat side of things, an anonymous sponsor who had heard my story came forward and funded half of what I’d need for the retreat. I was floored. It meant so much that someone out there, whom I’d never met (to my knowledge, anyhow), cared and believed in me enough to do such a thing.

I was blessed in the tattoo department as well. Almost as soon as I made my first Facebook post asking for advice on where to go, I was gifted the work from the wonderful Jeremiah “Gingerbeard” Beale out of Holdfast Tattoo in Seaside. He and his wonderful wife have come through for me in other beautiful ways, too.

Things came together. My sponsor ended up funding my trip in full, and in two sessions, my tattoo was completed with only a few weeks until my training. Mt. Shasta and my training turned out to be a monumentally important and beautiful journey. Even with all that’s happened since then, I’m immensely grateful for the experience and always will be.

Shortly after returning home, I had to go in to see a dermatologist about some strange marks on my abdomen. A sample was taken, and after a nervous wait, I was informed that it was more breast cancer…it had spread to my skin. This information knocked me back, to say the least. I had just returned from a profound, life-altering, spiritually powerful retreat and training. I knew things would be different when I returned home, and they were. I was different…I’d been split in two. I had emerged from my experience as a fully trained healer, and my cancer was spreading at the same time.

I went through radiation treatment for it. My discolored abdomen was covered with silver dollar-sized blisters. I actually went to Faerieworlds with bandages beneath my corsets. Ironically, the compression helped my burn tremendously!

Any further pursuits involving Reike had to be placed on hold, as it was apparent that my health needed to once again take center stage. The next several months are a tumultuous blur. There were several hospital stays, changes in medications, and a dangerous drop in weight. My personal life suffered a serious blow when my father rejoined Facebook.

I won’t go into too much detail, but after his behavior became abusive, I started to relive the hell of my childhood and all the abuse he put me through. Looking at all the years I just wanted him to love me for who I am, I’ve had to come to the conclusion that he never will. At least this time he was dumb enough to share his abusive comments publicly on Facebook, so all my friends and family could see it. I have not read his nasty tear-down as I was strongly encouraged not to. I did receive a few screen shots of the comments left and updates from Jesse and a couple of others. I got the “highlights”, if you will. It’s nice to know my dad thinks I’m so worthless and that I should give up on “reaching for the brass ring”, no adventures, no getting help. I should just wait at home to die; this all being communicated between insults and false statements. My father thought he could tear me down on a public forum, but I’ve come long way from that frightened child he used to scream at and belittle because I had an independent way of thinking, and a vagina. I spent a few days crying and spewing rage at the walls before coming to the conclusion that he had to be eliminated from my life completely and permanently. It’s been a few months, and I haven’t had any contact. The more time that passes, the more I feel that it was the right decision.

Time since then has been largely spent on a roller coaster. I’ve been in and out of the hospital quite a bit, and my mother is staying with us for a few months to help me stabilize. I recently dropped to 108 pounds. My normal weight is 130-135. Needless to say, things were scary for a while but I feel they’re improving. I managed to work my way back up to 120lbs and I’m currently working on getting to 130. I’m on two chemotherapy drugs, one week on, one week off. I’ve also recently been seeing a naturopathic oncologist along with my regular doctors. My insurance doesn’t cover it, so I’m having to raise the money to do it. My mom has been helping a lot. I’m slowly implementing some lifestyle changes. One of those was to step away from my beloved Krav Maga. It hurts like you wouldn’t believe. I feel like a piece of my heart has been ripped out and kicked across the street during rush hour.

Tonight, as I sit in a dark room at Legacy Hospital in Salmon Creek, I am having to make more decisions about my treatment that are very emotionally taxing for me. The cancer has returned to my skin, and it has spread. The fluid around my right lung is rebuilding at an alarming rate, so it looks like I’ll be having a small drainage tube in my body, so I can drain it at home and stay out of the hospital so much. Do I want this? No. No, I do not. When these changes take place, it feels like the cancer is fighting back and it scares me. I had a couple of good cries today.

Things have definitely become strange. I’ve become that sick person that no one wants to visit. I’ve had a few people come by on occasion, but for the most part, people tell me to contact them if I need anything. So when I started reaching out for help, I was met with the sound of crickets. I’m trying not to take it personally. People have busy lives and I know that seeing a formerly healthy person so weak with cancer is scary and uncomfortable. It reminds them of their own mortality and let’s face it; that can be very uncomfortable and kind of scary. It was really depressing and hard to accept at first, but oddly enough, I’m becoming a lot more of a hermit. I’m enjoying the solitude more and more. A visit now and then is okay, but most days, I’d rather be left alone. The solitude has become my companion, my safety cave. I have my mom, Jesse, and Violet, and really that’s all I need. This may change at some point, I don’t know. Financially, things are a disaster. I’ve been too sick to make jewelry, but I think that is going to improve very soon.

So here we are: Jesse, Violet, my mom, and myself in a strange situation. I’m not sure what’s going to happen. I’m doing what I can to get better and they are trying to help. There are still a lot of changes to be made and I’ve got a lot of old wounds to heal. Mom is doing her job remotely from the living room, Jesse is going to school, and Violet is also in school, as well as the Boys and Girls Club, and karate. Keeping my girl in a routine is important right now. She needs structure, and I am doing all that I can to provide that for her. That child amazes me every day. She’s changed so much since starting in kindergarten. It’s almost like she’s someone else with how quickly she’s blossoming and I marvel at all that she is.

So yes, it’s been a year of many changes, and I’m sure it’s not over yet. I work very hard at being positive and invoking the Law of Attraction into my world. I still have my days, though. The anger and melancholy still manage to creep in and it throws me into a hopeless and painful depression. Just today, I had a good cry about it. I’m determined to live. I’m determined to raise my daughter. I must win this for her. However, some days, it feels like the Universe just wants to ty with me and beat me down. I was working so hard at becoming the person I want to be, and I was getting close. Then, out of nowhere cancer knocked me back with a critical blow. Sometimes I get so angry. I have never been one who likes to whine about things being unfair, but well; this is fucking unfair. There. I said it; and that being said, I think I’m going to take a much-needed rest and work on how to maneuver my way through this mess. Fair or not, there are still things I need to figure out and accomplish. Giving up isn’t an option, no matter how desperately I want to some days. So here I go, one step in front of the other, one day at a time. There’s a destination in the distance and I must get there. I must do it for Violet. She is everything to me, and I must see to it that she goes into life with the same confidence and strength I see in her every day (even when she’s being a butt, lol)! I just hope I can pull this off. I don’t have a choice.

Learning to Live

We’re closing in on a year and a half since my fateful diagnosis. Many things have changed since that day, as would be expected. The specifics of the changes, however, are not all going as I would have anticipated. Of course, there was the initial shock, rage, despair, what-have-you. Then I began to plan my treatment and how I wanted to handle my life as someone with an invisible timer ticking away above my head.  What was I going to do with “The time I have left?” How was I going to live with “incurable” cancer, and what was going to become of my daughter whose father is living in a health crisis as well?

That was the beginning. That was a mindset quite different from the one I have now. I’ve changed, because you can’t have that kind of bomb dropped on you without becoming drastically different in a lot of ways. I don’t see things the way I did in the beginning. I no longer see this as “terminal.” Many would say that makes me naïve or deluded, but they have no clue what the universe looks like from my angle. They don’t have my perspective.

In the beginning, I was looking for ways to cope. I joined a couple of support groups on Facebook. I shared what was happening openly, as I do with almost everything. I planned to remain at my job for as long as I could work, and I did stay there for a few months. I talked about “quality of life” and how I wanted to spend the time I had. I talked about not knowing how much there was left for me. It was all so bitter and bleak. It was all about dying and death. It was about giving up. It was about accepting my fate as opposed to chasing my destiny.

Well, I grew tired of “fate” rather quickly. All the sadness, death, and pain tasted so sour, I couldn’t keep swallowing it. I just couldn’t do “dying” anymore. I began to research and read. I began to think and ask questions. Since then, I have been learning more and more about how this doesn’t have to kill me and even if it does, it doesn’t have to be for a very very long time. I could easily live another twenty years or so with this, and Hell…I might even be able to eliminate it permanently. So many stories have come my way about people who have beaten the odds and healed from what they were told was not curable. I’ve been learning about alternative treatments and lifestyle changes. Above all, I’ve been learning about the depth and persistence of my own will. And that is what it boils down to: my will.

I’m not interested in dying. Not at this time, and not before I see Violet well into adulthood. There are things I want to do, places I want to see, experiences I want to get lost in. I just turned forty, and I feel like my life is just beginning. There’s a future out there that I want, and I’m going for it. I’ve been slowly implementing lifestyle changes, starting with my diet. I’m not quite that good at it yet, but I’m working on it. I take Rick Simpson Oil twice a day, and I’m always looking at new ideas. The most important part is that I’ve been changing the way I think. I’m shutting down what wants to shut me down. I’m taking words like “terminal”, “No cure,” and “dying” out of my vocabulary. See, that’s the thing. There ARE people who beat this. We just don’t hear of them as often because they aren’t nearly as common as the ones who don’t make it. Most people who are told they have an incurable disease just accept it. My brother accepted it and we lost him at the age of twenty-four. So many people hear that they are going to die, and it feels like they immediately rush right toward it, even though it’s something they dread.

I had to leave the support groups because it felt like that’s all the women in there would talk about. They would discuss “how much time” they had left and talked so much about dying. I couldn’t stomach it. I couldn’t swallow all that despair. I honestly do not believe that I’m dying. I do not believe that I have a terminal illness. Am I chronically ill? Sure, I can deal with that. I’ve been in and out of the hospital so much it would make your head spin. Yes, I’m sick, but that’s just right now. As I said, I am not interested in dying and I’m even less interested in letting others dictate the outcome, including my oncologist (even though I love her to bits). There are way too many people who seem to insist on referring to me as “terminally ill” or “dying” and it is not sitting well with me. Perhaps I’m being overly sensitive about it, but when it happens, I just find myself filling up with rage. I know it’s never meant to be hurtful and it comes from good people, but I can’t help feeling like I’m being rushed toward death by people who keep trying to put nails in my coffin with their words. I feel like they’re giving up on me.

If you’re one of those people and you’re reading this, I love you, but please...STOP. Stop calling me terminal. Stop seeing me as a victim wasting away. Stop putting nails in my coffin. Even if you truly believe that’s where I’m headed, I need you to understand that I don’t believe it and I don’t want to live like I’m dying. Those kinds of words do not help me at all. They make me feel like a living ghost in your life and that’s not what I want to be. I’m here. I’m alive. I’m working toward a future. I’ve made a contingency plan for Violet because no matter what, it would be irresponsible not to, but that’s as far as I’m letting the whole death business go.

I’m not here to die. I’m here to live, and the truth is, NO ONE has any idea how much time we have left. I’ve often said that I could be hit by a bus tomorrow, but I’m not going through every day expecting to become street pizza. I’m not dwelling on it so, why are you? I know I’m ill. I don’t need to be reminded. I have daily pain, exhaustion, and regular sickness to remind me of that. I don’t want to focus on that. I want to focus on the good. I want to raise my daughter. I want to go back to Krav Maga (which I’m hoping to do soon). I’m almost done earning my associate’s degree at Clark College and I want to go back and finish it. Maybe I’ll even go chasing my bachelor’s or higher. I haven’t decided yet. What I am learning from this is not how to bow out gracefully. I’m finally and honestly learning how to LIVE. Now, more than ever, I don’t have an excuse not to. Why would I want to waste it with thoughts of my demise? That just makes no sense.  

So please, if you love me, stop telling people that I’m dying. Stop calling me terminal. We all make our exit at some point and none of us knows when that will be. Let’s not waste any of it by dwelling on death. Now is the time to really and truly live.

Enjoying the Journey

To say I’ve become inconsistent with my writing would be an understatement. So much of my timeline is a blur these days. Perhaps that’s cause to write more. I would like a clear picture to look back on. As usual, there have been changes. Some of them quite large.

It’s been a nice stretch out of the hospital. The capecitabean (oral chemotherapy I was on) stopped working. I chose an intravenous method which has rendered me bald, once again. The day after my fourth cycle of this new drug, I was informed that my tumor marker had been knocked back over 50%...FIFTY PERCENT!!! That is amazing. That is huge! It has me living in possibility and gratitude! It has me planning for what I want the future to be.

We financed a car today. It’s a 2015 Volkswagen Passat. Gorgeous deep, sparkly gray. We had been hoping to avoid car payments, as our finances have been frightening as of late, and we were doubting anyone would work with us anyway. However, Jesse now has a little income, and my credit score has been going up bit by bit. We needed a reliable car, especially after my Taurus died a few days ago, I’m talking not worth the cost or trouble in repairs, two-ton paperweight. Jesse’s Jeep was in bad enough shape that fixing it was also going to cost more than we were prepared to spend. Fortunately, it had trade-in value, and Ron Tonkin was willing to work with us. Boom! Car. We drove it home today. It was certainly a bizarre experience. We walked in, were greeted kindly, and things really looked grim. I even puked during the test drive…into an empty coffee cup. Imagine my surprise when we qualified for a car with payments we can manage! Don’t get me wrong, I am beyond the realm of cautious. Jesse and I are both a little squeamish about it. It had been nice to pay off the Taurus and have no car payments for a couple of years. Still, this car is already a tremendous improvement to our life. It’s safe, it’s in fantastic shape, I could go on. It’s nice. After all we’ve been through, we deserve it.

It’s been becoming apparent to me that I’m living in what feels like a completely different realm of existence from those surrounding me. Here I am, with this serious illness, I just turned 40 (oh yes, that’s a thing that happened…February 6^th. I’m 40 now), I have an ex-husband, and a daughter. Why do I feel like my life is just beginning, sometimes? It’s like everything has been gearing me up for what’s happening now, or what’s soon to happen. I can’t quite describe it. I feel it, like light managing to peer down at you when you’re beneath the ocean. It’s that sliver, that crack, that flash of color that paints a sudden, possible future. The things I want seem closer now, and what’s better, is that I already have so many things I wanted that I can now be grateful for. Is it life with my wonderful Jesse that’s doing this to me? Is it the fountain of smiles and laughter, and beauty, that is my sacred, sacred daughter? It’s worth it. Everything has been worth it. It’s not perfect. In fact, it’s far from perfect, but it’s good. I have reasons to be happy and they are not getting lost on me as they once were. It’s fantastic and impossible to recount all the things I’ve learned and all the secret glimpses I’ve gotten of the universe. And I do see a future. I really do. 

Finding Focus

This time I came prepared!

Another trip to the hospital, via ambulance. This trip, I’m staying the night for observation. The pain in my esophagus only just subsided recently, and I was elated to see it go! That was some of the most intense and difficult pain I have experienced in my life. For a month, everything I ate or drank was like swallowing broken glass. Even with heavy narcotics and lidocaine, it was pure torture. I reached the point of not being able to eat more than one meal a day, and that was usually eaten slowly over a couple of hours. Almost every swallow had me pounding the wall or furniture with the side of my fist. I lost weight, and obviously Krav was out. Now that it has passed, I’m dealing with a strange and crazy sort of pain on my left side, stretching to my back and sometimes my chest and abdomen. We’re not sure what’s causing it, so here I am. Since my lengthy stay here in October, I have had to deal with some intense, continuous pain of one sort or another with only a couple of fleeting breaks.

I have been working very hard at changing the way I think; using positive thoughts, energy, and motivation to better my relationship with myself as well as work more harmoniously with the laws of the universe. The Law of Attraction states that what you focus on is what you get, whether it’s something you want or not. Now, this means practicing mindfulness with our thoughts and sticking to language and ideas that promote and bring about the things you want. It is also very important to practice daily gratitude. I’ve been getting rather good at it, except when the pain overwhelms me. That is where I’m struggling. Of course, it’s perfectly normal and okay to have a bad day once in a while, and as important as practicing positive ways of thinking and being is, allowing for occasional sadness, anger, discomfort, or even a healthy dose of self-pity once in a while are acceptable and important. However, it is vital not to dwell in those places. It is important to place focus on the positives and the wants over the negatives and don’t wants. We’ve all known that person who complains about everything all the time. And what typically happens to them? They keep getting what they complain about and then some. It’s a vicious cycle that continuously feeds itself and I’ve been stuck in it on more than one occasion. Many people would not blame me at all for being miserable and negative considering my current circumstances and the horrendous traumas leading to this point. But that’s not how I want to live or feel; not anymore.

My current situation puts me in an odd spot with my studies and practices concerning the Law of Attraction. I have already experienced a massive positive shift in my life, just by practicing daily gratitude and setting up positive intentions for each day. However, the longer I live in such severe physical pain, the more difficult it has become to focus on the positive. How do you focus on positive over pain when it is right there, forcing your body to feel it every day? How do you take the focus and energy away from something that is so intensely pervasive? I am not a wimp. I have an extremely high pain tolerance by this point, and there have been more times than I can count as of late, in which the pain had me crumpled in a ball, sobbing desperately for a break. I know I can get past this, but how do I practice gratitude when I’m suffering so? Don’t get me wrong, I still do my best. I still look at and think about the things I’m grateful for, but how do I cut off the pain’s energy supply? Am I just bringing more to me by letting it get to me? I’m so new to all of this. I know there’s an answer and a way to do this. I just hope I find it soon.

I suppose, though, the most positive thing I can take from all this pain is that I now know without a doubt, that I am one tough motherfucker. Growing up as a very shy, strange child, an “Ugly Duckling” if you will, and a meek one at that, there were two things I frequently focused on and asked the universe for. I always wanted to be beautiful and I always wanted to be strong. The beauty part is subjective where others are concerned, but I do finally see my own beauty and it’s taken my whole life. I am also strong. I may not be the strongest in the world, but I do know that I have more strength than most, and I’ve earned it. I’m not talking physical strength so much as strength of psyche and of spirit. Do I crumble at times? Oh Hell yes! I also insanely explode once in a blue moon. That’s okay, though. I believe that sometimes falling apart is the only way to build something better. So now that I’ve crumbled again, how do I most effectively use my focus? I hope the universe provides me with an answer soon. Until then, I’ll just keep trying and falling until eventually I’ll get that whole flying thing down. Then just watch…

Getting Up

Today (yesterday, since it's now past midnight) I completed my ten-day radiation course on my spine. It was bittersweet, much like last time. As I sit here awake, trying to soothe my burnt esophagus with cold chocolate almond milk and dilauded (poor thing got caught in the crossfire), I am missing the wonderful staff there. I even miss Seymour a little bit. My long-time readers might remember that Seymour is the name I gave the radiation machine.

"Feed me Seymour, feed me now..." ~Little Shop of Horrors

 One of the techs was from last time, and she remembered me which had me floored, since I have breasts (fake ones, but still) and hair now. Plus, that was a few YEARS ago. Jesse says I'm a memorable person, but that's been a difficult one for me to grasp with my history of being an ugly duckling and feeling invisible most of my life. It was good to see her again, despite the circumstances, and the other techs were amazing as well. I'm really going to miss them, but mostly I’ll miss Dr. Siddiqui. Our interactions have been brief, but very meaningful. He’s not just a good doctor, but a genuinely good human being with a lovely soul and we have the best conversations! I’m sure there will be a checkup or two with him at some point. It will be nice to get to say hello.

There is a stereo in the radiation room, which I could hook my phone into. This time around, I was drawn to Wardruna. The drums, the chants, the sounds of Earth, the magic of their songs…this is what I needed as Seymour rotated his great head around my body sending radiation from beneath and then above me. Where I suppose many would feel weak and drained by the experience, I felt empowered. I felt alive. Music has always been magic to me. While I am in no way religious, I consider myself to be a deeply spiritual person, and music is one of the things my soul rejoices in the most. My time with Seymour and the techs became an almost spiritual practice with Wardruna guiding the ceremony. It was a strange sort of beautiful. What was strange about today was that one song in particular, my phone chose to play twice. This has never happened before, so naturally I took it as something I need to pay attention to. I believe deeply in the little messages the universe sneaks in. The lyrics are all in Norse, so I looked up the translation of this specific song. I’m not sure how it applies to my situation other than the fact that I believe in dwarves and other fair-folk. “Warrior” is also a title given to me by many, and I’m learning to embrace it. And hey, who doesn’t love to party with a little ale, huh? I shall have to delve deeper into Norse studies, which I already have an interest in.

“Beneath dwarfs of the hall

Swells sound to its sides

Between table rows

Dance of fire passing for the vent

Flickers in eyes,

They steal glances at skirts

Where warriors sit

cheerful in the beer-hall

Drinking toasts from the ale-bowls

the bard strikes his strings

The dice its silent chant

Your fortune and fate

Where warriors sit

cheerful in the beer-hall

Pertho is a bottomless source

of fun and games

Where warriors sit

cheerful in the beer-hall”

Even though I’ve only just returned, I chose not to attend any Krav Maga training this week. I had forgotten how very exhausting radiation is, and with regular pain meds on top of that I was absolutely wiped. I’m learning to listen to my body and sometimes it tells me I need to rest. So rest, I did…sort of. There has also been a frenzy of reorganizing and moving furniture in the apartment. I have also been busying myself with delving fully and deeply into the study and practice of using the Law of Attraction as introduced to me in “The Secret” documentary and a couple of the corresponding books. So far, it seems that the most important part of getting the Law of Attraction to work in my favor means continuously practicing and expressing gratitude. And you know what? Call me crazy here, but…it seems to be working! The more grateful I am for things, the more things seem to be going my way! Am I “out of the woods” yet? Does it matter? I’m on a journey, an adventure! So, I have stage 4 metastatic breast cancer. So, I have PTSD. So what! Those things are not who I am! Most of my life has felt like a complete shit-show, but that doesn’t matter anymore. In fact, I’m grateful for it. I’m grateful for the lessons, as they have served to temper my steel. I am finally accepting the fact that I am an incredibly resilient person and one of the strongest you might meet. This doesn’t mean I never crumble. Strong people crumble, and then we get back up. I have always gotten back up and I always will. This time, added to my quiver is the arrow of gratitude to shoot into the darkness of doubt and fear. I am ready, I am getting up, I am grateful, and I am fierce.

Poor hand positioning here, but this was after three months of no Krav and two weeks in the hospital

One Year

It was a year ago, today that I sat in a small room in my oncologist’s office sobbing, as I was told there is no cure. The horrible news I had received in the emergency room just a couple of nights before was confirmed. My cancer was back and I was now stage four. Jesse and Violet were in the waiting room as I shook with horror and near-disbelief. How could this happen? I was in remission! I had been cancer-free for over three years! I was better! Since then, I’ve learned a lot about breast cancer and even more about myself.

This past year has been nothing short of tumultuous. Much of it has been documented herein. I had originally intended to write a book, but inspiration has been lacking as of late. Right now, I’m just trying to get through each day, replacing negative with positive, retraining my brain to think differently. I’ve been working on a new diet, one that is supposed to help combat the cancer, but with Jesse out of work, I haven’t been able to afford it. I know that’s a temporary thing (as everything in life is temporary, even life itself), so I’m taking it to mean that until that is resolved, I just need to work harder on my positive thinking. A big part of that has been about returning to Krav Maga. I believe I missed about three months, which was a devastating blow to my mental health. My PTSD began to rear its ugly head and every day was a fight with my own psyche. While I knew that creating and maintaining a positive mental space is essential to my survival, when physical pain becomes a daily occurrence, it’s a lot more work and you fall down a lot more often. Since the cancer has grown in its existing locations and spread to my intestines, I’ve had to rely on heavy narcotics daily and I started radiation on my spine just last Thursday. I am currently in the middle of my week off from chemotherapy, so the sickness hasn’t been as severe. Mornings are still hard, but I’ve been playing “The Secret” on Netflix almost daily and that helps me turn things around most of the time.

Last Wednesday evening was my return to Krav. Mr. Eric was awesome as usual, and since the class was odd, I had two partners and I adore them both. My instructors, classmates, and East West Martial Arts in general, have all been extremely supportive and encouraging in all of this. It was like returning home. There are more limits to what I can do than there were before my spine started hurting, but radiation will knock that down and training regularly will build me back up. I need it. Krav Maga has become one of the most powerful tools I have against depression and PTSD. I’ve noticed that the longer I go without, the worse everything else seems to get. When I go regularly, I can function. And so, I have resolved not to allow that kind of absence again. I can’t afford it, though I have scaled back to basic classes until my spine has improved. Mr. Eric agrees that it’s a good idea.

I’m in an odd place, mentally and emotionally. As I learn to balance my energies and build positive thoughts, I have been experiencing a sort of yo-yo effect. There’s a lot of back and forth almost daily, but I know that with practice and mindfulness, it will get easier. Terrible things are happening in the world and in America lately (insert rant about the devastating election and its results here), which weighs heavy on empaths like myself. We feel EVERYTHING and when explosive emotions happen on such a large scale, it’s like being bombarded from all sides and it gets so very heavy. I’ve had to really watch that. It can destroy my entire day if I’m not mindful. I also lost a “friend” recently because he/she did not agree with a choice I made regarding the use of my daughter’s image on a t-shirt. That stung badly until I could absorb the situation completely and come to terms with the fact that this person simply wasn’t who I had raised him/her up to be in my head. Then I could analyze it for what it was and realize that the problem was not with me but with the other person and that he/she isn’t worth that kind of upset. I cannot afford to let the judgments of others impact my happiness. As an empath, this is vital to my survival. Even further, I do not intend to just survive. I intend to thrive. 

So Seymour...we meet again.

Detours

I took a detour.

It’s amazing how distant and yet how close August still feels. It’s amazing how much can transpire in such a short time. The theme of summer was buzzing in preparation for the Faerieworlds event that Jesse and I attended last summer and had been looking forward to all year. I had been counting down the months, planning my outfits, giggling in anticipation. This year, we got to camp so I had much to look forward to. The best part was the plans we had to grab Violet for the last day of the event so she too could experience the faerie magic I had been wanting to show her. Finally, the day arrived for us to pack our gear into Jesse’s Jeep Wrangler and head into another realm.

Travel and arrival took a little longer than expected, but we still arrived in decent time. I had purchased a 12-man tent with 3 rooms (yes, just for the two of us), and was excited to set up and get dressed for fun. Jesse and I both opened the tent carefully, unpacked every piece, and assembled it. Once it was together, we saw that the rain cover and room dividers were missing. We checked inside to look around. Everything was laid out and stretched flat, with no sight of the missing items. Naturally, I was beyond annoyed. I knew we should have done a test-pitch before we needed it, but it was too late now. Both of us feeling irritated, we decided to find a store in the nearest town where we could at least acquire a tarp for the weekend. I would have to write to the tent company later to see about the missing parts. I was not about to let the weekend spoil over something so silly!

We got back in the Jeep, I turned on my GPS, and we looked for a store. Per my map, there was one about 8.5 miles away or so.

GPS was wrong.

I’m sure we had gone well over ten miles on very curvy, very wet, forest road under sprinkle of continuous rain when we realized that my GPS might not have been totally honest with us. We continued onward, Jesse driving slowly, enjoying the scenery. Then, after several sharp turns, we were met with another. This time, it was too sharp and we couldn’t stop.

Some of it is blurry, but I clearly remember the slide toward the edge of the road and the bump. I remember Jesse slamming the breaks. I remember going over the edge. I remember screaming. Down, down, down, we crashed. Through trees, over rock and rubble, the force seemed unstoppable. We tipped onto the driver’s side momentarily, shocking me into flashbacks of how my dear friend Andrew looked after the accident that had scalped him and almost took his life six years ago. I thought about Violet. I thought about my cancer and how it couldn’t end like this. It just couldn’t.

And then we crashed to a halt.

There we were, after a good 50 foot-or-so, very steep slide. Upright. Unharmed. Alive.

Alive.

I can tell you right now, that in any other vehicle, we would not have made it. As we sat there in shock for a moment, broken beer bottles soaked the back seat and some of our belongings. I looked back to see the side where Violet normally sits crunched. I looked at Jesse. He was okay. Dazed, we climbed from the wreckage and began the steep climb back to the road between my fits of shaking and frantic tears. When we reached the top, even though I am now a non-smoker, we both went for the pack, no questions asked. When Jesse made mention of being glad that Violet was not with us, I lost it. Something terrible had happened, but it could have very easily been so much worse. My girl was safe with her father and there I was with Jesse at the side of a lonely and dangerous road, feeling everything imaginable, including the presence of George. My baby brother was watching out for us, and perhaps someone else too.

I called 911 and help was sent our way. As we paced, shook, cried, hugged, babbled and marveled at the few cars who passed us without even stopping to see if we were okay (it was obvious that something terrible was happening) I guiltlessly sucked down one cigarette after another half in-denial. I was determined to have my Faerieworlds weekend. This was not going to ruin anything. A police officer showed up, and then a tow company. Since Jesse only had liability insurance, we had to fork out $250 for the tow. Ouch. It took a bit of work, and resulted in the tow truck needing a bit of its own servicing. The Jeep’s hard top was crunched on the rear driver’s side and the front passenger tire was thrashed. We put on the spare and…the damn thing still worked!!! Yes, we climbed, walked, and then DROVE from an accident that I was almost certain was going to claim us.

I feel that now it is fair to say that whereas before Jesse and I were indifferent about Jeeps in general, we are now staunch Jeep enthusiasts.

We were cold, shaken, shocked, and ready to just get back to the weekend. We figured we deserved to enjoy it after escaping the way we did. We traveled the rest of the way to the store we needed (it was more like 20 miles…THANKS, GPS). We made our purchases, including an extra tarp and duct tape to cover the top of the Jeep and slowly…very, very slowly…made our way back along the winding road, vowing never to come that way again.  

Photos by Jesse Lanier

While I had initially been adamant about participating in the opening spiral dance that I had missed previously, I was now okay with just being there. We made our way back to our partially set-up tent and I stepped inside.

Now remember, the missing pieces that had forced our perilous detour had ben NOWHERE to be seen inside or outside the tent. Upon stepping inside to assess the situation, the flat, stretched floor we had left behind was now raised at the center. We lifted the tent and reached beneath, pulling out…you guessed it. The missing pieces were RIGHT THERE. RIGHT FUCKING THERE!!! They had NOT been there before we left. That tent was pitched, tight, and flat. There was nothing…NOTHING to indicate anything beneath it. We had set it up and walked in it. It was flat. There was nothing. And yet, here we were. Nothing had become SOMETHING.

We enjoyed the weekend, though I had been over enthusiastic in my initial celebrations of you know, not dying, and drank too much. This caused me to spend most of Saturday in the tent, feeling like crap. Then back issues from the accident surfaced and I had to spend some time in the medic tent getting fluids and morphine. Oops. Lesson learned. I was glad that I got to enjoy my favorite performers of the Weekend. We had seen Wardruna the previous year and even attended Einar Selvik’s seminars on runes and things of the ancient Norse world. This year we missed out on the seminars, but were enthusiastically present for their second-ever US performance. They delivered last year. This year, they outdid themselves.

Photo by Jesse Lanier

Sunday was special to me because Violet got to be there. We headed back home that morning to meet with her father and get her ready. We had him follow us in his vehicle with Violet (since the Jeep is not safe for her until we get it fixed) and paid his admission. Violet was free. I got to show my girl the world of Faerie as can only be done in such an enchanted place. I even got to introduce her to Einar. I had hoped to meet Lindy-Fay Hella as well, but sadly missed out.

My little faerie and I danced by the stage to Delhi 2 Dublin. I bought her a flower hat and matching wand for her faerie costume. She explored with her dad. Jesse took pictures of us together. Then she went home and I was left with a mixture of gratitude for the dances we shared and a longing for more magic with my girl. The weekend had not been perfect, but it had perfect moments. We left before the last act and wearily made our way home to recover and rebuild.

 Photos by Jesse Lanier

The back pain persisted and since my spine is one of the places my cancer has taken up residence, I felt it would be wise to see my oncologist and request some scans. I had also started with a new therapist and felt seeing her would be beneficial as well. Since the beginning of summer, I had been experiencing some disturbing thoughts and emotions. Things from my upbringing I thought I’d reconciled were surfacing in strange and painful ways and I had also begun to relive the traumas of the summer before…the dark summer. The one I almost didn’t survive. Suddenly I found myself in mental and emotional chaos and I couldn’t understand why. My car wasn’t working and Jesse’s was now no longer fit to transport Violet, so I couldn’t get her to karate or myself to Krav Maga. The apartment was turning into a trap I couldn’t escape from. So many old traumas were surfacing and my coping mechanisms were beginning to fail. I couldn’t understand it.

What was triggering all this madness? Part of it I know was from Jesse’s Narcissistic ex refusing to leave him alone. After a decade of suffering and having no access to his own friends or family, he had become unable to cut her off. Being a survivor of abuse myself, this was beginning to trigger other things in me on top of the rage I already felt for what she had done to him. Her continued manipulation of him bore into my psyche like a white-hot drill bit. I had taken the stance of not telling him he couldn’t talk to her as I do not believe in controlling others, even though I had tried multiple times to explain to him that you cannot recover from narcissistic abuse if you don’t sever ties with your abuser. I tried to help him understand how dangerous talking to her was, but he only got defensive. I understood as best I could, but Narcissistic Personality Disorder is dangerous. Stockholm Syndrome is very real and very ugly. My reasoning and explanations fell on deaf ears, or so it seemed. Finally, on one of my many phone calls from him during work (the wonderful man called me on every break and every lunch just to talk), I was in a bad downward spiral. My mind and emotions were in complete chaos. I felt like I was unraveling. He sounded worried and helpless. He said he wanted to help me but he didn’t know how. So, I finally had to say it. I told him that it would help me if he would stop talking to his ex. I didn’t want to make any ultimatums. I didn’t want to make demands. I just couldn’t handle knowing that the person who damn near destroyed the man I love wasn’t going to go away. I couldn’t handle knowing that she was still using him as an energy source and he didn’t see it. I was going mad. I broke down. I let him know that I couldn’t take it.

Later that day, he informed me that he had severed ties. Yes, I believe him. I felt a rush of immense relief…and guilt. While I knew that things were going to get better, part of me felt like a horrible and manipulative person. I thanked him and apologized to him profusely all at once. I told him why I felt guilty and I promised him that he will finally start to heal for good. So far, it seems I was right. He is less guarded. He is learning how to be himself again, and oh how beautiful he is! I just hope I don’t get in too much trouble for this post. I might. Almost no one knows the truth. She is the textbook Narcissist: very popular and adored. No one knows what she is and few would believe me if I told them. I fear for her current partner who is already showing signs of her abuse, but there is nothing I can do. I didn’t write this to “out” her. I’m writing it for my own healing and while I am not interested in slander, I won’t go out of my way to protect her cover either (though I doubt any of her acolytes will see this anyway). I just hope her current victim gets some help before it’s too late. Her psychological abuse had left Jesse a shell when he first came back into my life. One giant PTSD-triggering issue was now resolved (the diagnosis is still unofficial, but highly likely). I was already breathing more easily. Now I could start to focus on why this was happening and take steps to get my mental health under control, as well as make sure I was doing okay physically.

I got in to see my plastic surgeon first to make sure that none of his work had been damaged in the accident. It is holding up fine, thank goodness, and we scheduled for my next surgery just to even things up a little (one implant is too big and I need a few more fat injections on the other side). Things seemed good there, and it’s always wonderful to see Dr. Gabriel and his staff. Then I saw my Oncologist, Dr. Smith. She agreed that it was time for scans anyway, so we set those up and I went in. I wasn’t terribly worried about the results. I just wanted to be sure my back was okay. I got more information than I wanted with the results.

The cancer has grown in the places it already was and has now moved into my abdomen.

I wasn’t ready for that. I wasn’t ready to learn that it was time to go back on chemotherapy. I couldn’t be on the losing side. I couldn’t let it get the upper-hand. No. Just, no. It was too much. I began to feel that same old fear and despair creep into my veins, sharp and icy. No. Please, no. I think I lost my mind for a while. My Facebook posts were dark and angry. I began to spew my turmoil all over social media, unable to stop myself. I’m sure I put quite a few people off.

Bitterly, I accepted the situation, and I started my chemotherapy pills. Then a couple of weeks ago, I found myself being hauled off to the hospital via ambulance, unable to breathe, with a plummeting pulse.

No. Not this again. No, please. No.

I’ve lost track of how long exactly, but over just about a two-week period (I believe), I spent less than four days at home. I’d be hauled in, stay one or two nights, come home for a day or so, then wake up gasping for air and collapsing, having to do it all again. The worst morning was the one in which Violet had to bear witness to it. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to understand enough to be afraid or sad. I just didn’t want her to see it. That was my last trip in and it was bad. What I remember was very unpleasant and terrifying. After hours in and out of consciousness in the ER, I was placed in ICU for a night (my second ICU stay in this series of visits). By next morning I was doing well enough that they felt I could be in the general building. So, I essentially lived at the hospital for a couple of weeks. My friend Sarah, who is mine and Daryll’s chosen guardian for Violet in the worst-case-scenario and mother to Violet’s best friend, stepped in to care for her. Daryll’s diabetes has had him unable to care for her for more than a night or so at a time over the past few weeks. I’m glad Sarah was there. I’m glad my baby was in good hands.

Photos from my Instagram

During all of this, I grew more and more depressed about being unable to be with Violet and be at home with Jesse. While I was struggling with my emotions, his job fired him for taking time away to care for me. Yes, that is why they did it and his boss even stated as much publicly under one of Jesse’s Facebook posts about getting fired. Some other stuff happened there. We may be considering whether we can take legal action, but right now things are still settling.

Once I was finally able to be home for real, it took a while to get myself back. Today marks one week and one day out of the hospital. I was in a dark place emotionally, and cried frequently over missing Violet since we decided not to have her home until we were sure I was stable. Finally, Jesse and I took a friend’s advice and watched “The Secret” on Netflix. I was just what I needed. It’s time to end the brooding and start building positive energy back up. It’s time to be hopeful and happy. Does it take work? Oh yes. Yes it does. I am determined, though. Does this mean I’m not allowed to have bad days? Of course not! However, the time has come to focus, really focus, on building an overall better emotional state. Attitude is everything and I shall remain mindful of mine. It helps tremendously that as of today, my car is up and running again. This means I can get Violet back to Karate and myself back to Krav Maga. I’ve weathered the shitstorm with Jesse by my side. My babygirl is home with me again. It’s like having my heart returned to me after a long absence. Now it’s time to relax into the flow of things getting better. Sometimes, you just have to take a few detours, that’s all. 

The Way to Life

“I’ll never live the life that wakes me in the night.” ~Fiona Apple

I was going to be a psychologist. I was going to major in psychology and double-minor in sociology and women's studies. Every time I've gone back to school to better myself, I've ended up with cancer. Do you know how close I am to having my associate's degree? It's ridiculous. We’re talking maybe just over one quarter of classes at the most (but probably less) and I’m done. You know what the biggest hurdle is? Math. Fucking math. I have one math class left and it was a miracle I made it that far. Last year, before I knew my cancer was metastasizing, I was taking a statistics class (since I was sure there was no way I could handle college-level algebra and stats is more geared toward my chosen field anyhow) and I BOMBED it. As in, I did not understand it at all. I just couldn’t do it. Math has always been extremely difficult for me, but this…this was a special kind of impossible.

My brain simply does not work as well as it used to. The medical industry is only just scratching the surface of what cancer treatment does to the functionality of the mind, but I can tell you from experience that the effects of “chemo brain” are real and they are devastating. The thing is, when it’s a subject more directly related to my chosen areas of study, I excel. I don’t like math. I’ve never liked math. It’s difficult for me. Humanities are my forte. My brain is not mathematical. It’s humanitarian. Its analytical capabilities eat human behavior and social sciences up like candy. Math? Hard science? No.

It has long been a great frustration of mine that in order to attend a four-year college to pursue my heart’s chosen fields, I have to first muddle through community college, taking courses that do not relate to those fields at all. I am already in debt up to my ass due to having to take classes I have no interest in. It’s bullshit. And now, I’m looking into having my student debt forgiven (which requires some serious hoop-jumping) because I have a “terminal” diagnosis, even though I do not plan on dying anytime soon. If I succeed at that task, what happens? Am I no longer allowed to pursue my education at all? Is it even worth pondering? If I wanted to take out more student loans to finish, I’d first have to pay to retake the failed math class out of pocket and pass it anyway, since I’m out of appeals. I could try to raise the money to pay for said class but again…I’d have to actually PASS it. I just don’t know if my mind will do that, even with tutoring. I’m angry. I’m frustrated. I’m sick of the whole system.

Today I finalized my divorce. Something huge that has been needing to end finally ended. There have been a lot of big endings for me over the past few years. There have been some beginnings as well, but here I am with cancer for the third fucking time, still wondering when my life, my REAL life is going to begin. It’s not like I haven’t been working for it. It’s not like I haven’t been trying like Hell. And honestly, I’m not trying to sound like a victim here. I’m just trying to figure out what the fuck happened and how the fuck I can get around it. Why can’t I have the same opportunities so many others have to build a good life if I’m willing to work for it? Why does tragedy and disease have to continuously keep these things out of my grasp? I don’t want to live on social security and in poverty for the rest of my life! I don’t want to just not die. I want to LIVE, really fucking LIVE! I want to create my destiny, the destiny I want and deserve. Destiny, not fate. Not this fate. It’s making me feel like my existence is a waste and I don’t want to feel that way.

I want to pursue my academic dreams. I want more than just an associate’s degree. I want more than just a bachelor’s degree. I want a masters, maybe multiple masters. Maybe I want to follow this shit all the way to my doctorate. But my brain doesn’t work. It won’t do the stupid math I am told I have to do just to earn the right to go to school for what I really want.

I want to live a life of purpose and joy. I want a house and a yard. I want to be a part-time (or maybe full-time) Krav Maga instructor, but I can’t even take the belt tests until I get this damn cancer the fuck out of my body. I want to be the mother that Violet deserves. I want to see the world, starting by returning home to Australia. I want to become a Reiki master. I want to pursue my art and writing without being continuously buried under bills, chores, and stress. I want to know what life is like when you can afford vacations and shop for food without worrying if I’ll have enough to feed my household for the month. Did I say it yet? I think I did, but I’ll say it again. I WANT TO FUCKING LIVE!!!

I want to live.

I want to live.

I need to find a way to live.