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.