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

The night before chemo...

I am surprised at the amount of calm I feel at the moment. I didn't expect to be terrified or anything, but not this serene, either. I had my friend Bri shave my head so I wouldn't have to pull it out of the shower later. I didn't cry and I don't feel bad about being bald. I guess I really am ready for this. Let's go...

On the Other Side of Reality...

I went in for my MRI, today. It was a surreal experience. The wait was long, as was the procedure. I got to wear comfy scrubs and lie on a gurney with an IV needle in my right arm while the room was being prepared. It was nice, really...I got to chat with an older nurse about her breast cancer experience. I shared a little about my previous cancer treatment, so we had a lot to talk about.

I remember the CT scans I had, fifteen years ago, and I thought this would be the same. Not quite. The machine was smaller, more closed in. Because it was a bilateral breast MRI, I had to lay on my stomach. Getting on the table was a bit tricky, especially since the IV was making my arm sore and a little stiff. The techs offered to redo it, but it wasn't that bad, so I kept it as it was. Facing down, looking into a little window, I was able to see the wall ahead of me. Very clever of them to place mirrors to allow for this. I was facing down, but looking ahead. I saw the machine surround me as I was moved through it.

Suddenly, I felt as if I was out in space, being prepared to be transported somewhere in some sort of futuristic capsule. On the wall ahead, there was a picture of a tropical beach that appeared to be from a calendar. I couldn't tell whether it was a photograph or painting, but as I watched it, it went from one to the other, reminding me of how being in a beautiful place can sometimes look like standing inside a painting...art and reality intermingling...the surreality of beauty.

The machine was loud, even with earplugs and headphones. At times, I would close my eyes, listening to its changing rhythm, wondering if this is where industrial music came from. When the combination of noise and closed eyes became too much, I would open them and watch the picture for a while, then go back to the darkness of my eyelids, letting my mind travel. I thought about a lot of things. I thought about where this was taking me. I thought about George, wondering what this had been like for him, wondering if he was paying attention from his place on the other side. I thought about what Tuesday means...my first round of chemotherapy to come. I wondered if I will be strong enough to have my head shaved preemptively, so I won't have to pull my hair out in the shower, like I did last time.

The MRI itself took about a half hour. When I was pulled from the machine, I groggily sat up, had my IV removed, and made my way to the dressing room where my own clothes waited. The car ride home was as surreal as the experience I had just come from. As I watched the sun on the leaves of passing trees, my favorite Rasputina song played in the stereo. It's achingly beautiful with a soul-filling sadness. “Do you believe in the signs of the zodiac? Haven't you heard that the systems for planning always fail....” And it dawned on me. My body had remained on earth, but in a way, the machine had still transported me to another place. Here I am, in that world between worlds. Not dead, and not dying, but not fully in the world of the living. I walked this dream-scape before, the last time I had cancer. I did not expect to begin the journey in an MRI machine, but that's what happened. Now, as I take this trip, I know to watch the scenery. I know to glean all I can from it. School has ended for the quarter. Last time I was in this place, it was in the winter. This time, I'm taking a summer trip, and I know that the world will be a different place when I return.

Mastering the "Art of Existence"

This evening, it hit me like stage-fright. Yes...that's exactly what it feels like at times, stage-fright. As of today, I am still waiting for a full prognosis. All I've received so far is the knowledge that it's stage 2 breast cancer on the left, and they want to take my breast...nipple and all.

It's a different kind of fear, that rarely makes its presence known. After all, I've had cancer before. I have an idea of what to expect. The weeks that have passed since the initial diagnosis have gone by almost like normal, except I've been beading more necklaces, and taking longer play and snuggle sessions with my daughter, all while bracing myself for the major life-event that will inevitably change me again...but for the better.

It was as I was putting dishes away this evening, when I felt that odd sort of heavy dread hit my stomach, and it felt JUST like it does before I have to do something in front of a crowd. I pictured myself barely able to stand, sort of wanting to cry or throw up, as I often do before I have to recite basic information at a business meeting, tell a story in a classroom, act on a stage, or sing “Blaze of Glory” in a dimly-lit bar with a bunch of drunk people staring at me (the latter was an attempt to cure this dreaded condition). This stage is different. I've been on it before. The view is not of strange faces or judging classmates. It's more like being able to see the whole scope of my life and mortality. It's an incredible thing to look at, really, but it leaves me feeling so exposed. It's like the universe is watching me, and it's my job to pass with flying colors, but only after a lot of pain and humiliation.

So here I stand, much like I did on the auditorium stage in seventh grade, nervously reciting a poem as the popular girls made fun of my shiny forehead (the event that lead to makeup), only I've brought with me something I didn't have before. Hunger. Hunger is stronger than fear. I may be shaking, but instead of wanting to hide, I want to get through it. I want to look this beast in the eye, know exactly what its plans are, and I want to cut off its head. I'm almost bloodthirsty with this desire to do battle and there's even a little thrill in the fear. I have my moments of terror, but terror doesn't own me and neither does cancer. I have a baby and husband who need me. I have an education to complete and a future to start. There was nothing I could do to avoid this down-time to come, but there is nothing it can do to keep me from planning, from striving, from continuing.

I'm scared, I'm shaking, I'm determined...I'm hungry.

Bring it.

This song has been playing a lot in my head, lately. Chuck's words have always spoken to me, but it is especially so, now.

"Same place, different time, same chase

A different line

A chance to heal, to allow what's real

To take its course

Like a brush in hand, to paint a picture

Of what we would like to see

And love to be

The vision is clear, taking charge of fear

For granted I do not take the future

To be changed by triumph

Tears and pain of the past

I gain wisdom

The fragile art of existence

Is kept alive by sheer persistence

The fragile art of existence

No time for self-pity

No time for dwelling on what should have been

But is yet to be

Take the plunge, take the chance

Safe in the heart and soul from elements

Spawned by those void of no self-worth

And no sense of dreams"

~C. Schuldiner

No worries...I've got this.

After the busyness of today, I am amazed at how much algebra I got done before that part of my brain switched off. Seriously...when my mind is done with math for the day, it's done. Even the simplest equation looks like total nonsense after that. Sure, I still have a ton to do tomorrow, and more running around. But even when I'm tired, and the laundry goes unfolded, and Violet interrupts frequently (as babies do), I feel good when I can accomplish something in my school work.

The difference between now and high school (which I dropped out of), is that now I care. Now, it matters. I have a talent for learning things the hard way. It took years of crap jobs, barely surviving, and watching the world go by as I struggled, before I decided I'd had enough of it. Financially, things are still a struggle, but the good part is, that instead of just banging my head against the wall, doing something that makes me miserable, I'm actually going somewhere. And I don't care how long it takes, because the journey in itself is much more fulfilling than catering to unhappy customers, or squirming under the heel of a mean boss's sensible pump while tethered to a phone like a dog on a leash. I'm learning, seeing, doing more than I thought I ever could. For the first time, there is a future out there, waiting for me to grab it. There's a shiny, seasoned, new-and-improved me waiting to break to the surface.

It doesn't matter that I'm doing this at 35 instead of 25. It doesn't matter that I'll be in my 40's by the time my daughter starts school and I'm finishing up. It's not the age in years; it's the depth of wisdom, the flavor of experience, and the vibrant colors that emerge wherever I look. It's knowing that this is not all there is. There is more out there for me. There is better. As a teenager, I could not imagine the future. In my twenties, I felt like I was getting sucked into a future that I didn't want. In my thirties, I am seeing, for the first time, that I can shape my world into something desirable. It will take some time and a lot of work. There have been and will likely continue to be moments in which I feel in over my head. I'm okay with that. Just when I feel myself drowning, something gives me a push, or I kick just a little harder to reach that gasp of air that gets me to the next. There are periods of calm, and moments of bliss. There's my loving husband and my beautiful daughter. Even though I sometimes forget that I'm not stuck, the good times remind me. It's all good...I've got this.

Growing Violet

It's been a whirlwind of change since I first heard the cries of my sweet baby on October 28^th. I held her in my arms as the world took on color in the most vibrant hues. Suddenly, I felt a purpose, and life became so much more than what it had been. Every day since has been an unparalleled gift, and watching her grow and learn to do new things brings me joy like nothing else can. Even when the world seems to bear down on us and stress threatens to tear it all apart, all I have to do is look at her and I can genuinely smile.

In a week, Violet will be six months old. Yesterday, she took her first trip to the zoo. I know she won't remember it, but seeing her watch the otters play and smile at friendly faces will stay with me for the rest of my life. Even the way she fell asleep before the elephants will be a happy memory. Today, was a quiet day at home. We spent some time as a family on our bed, as the sky began to darken in early evening. Everything was visible, but soft and dim. Colors took on a sleepy gray tinge as I dreamily played with my happy daughter, hearing her coos and watching her movements. Her fascination with hands lights my spirit, as does the joyous movement of her legs. She expresses her happiness with her feet and I can't help wondering if she'll be a dancer...or maybe a Kung Fu master? The best part is, she can be anything she desires and her father and I will be here as reminders that she can achieve it.

I know that there will be times when her choices will be upsetting, but that is part of learning. That is part of becoming. For now, we have a laughing, happy baby who fusses at times, but is over all, doing an amazing job at being her and reminding us that there is immeasurable beauty to be found in this world. Just as her life is beginning, it feels like mine is too.