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.