Time Being

The love I thought was strong enough to get me through this is in trouble. We met only 6 months before my diagnosis so it is a shock that he stayed at all. But, he did and he was great. Not great, incredible. And then chemo ended. Physically, I started to rebuild. Emotionally, I was and still am a mess. Instead of the supportive man he was during the most physically taxing portion of my treatment (TCHP), he started to turn on me. Perhaps the price was as expected…too high.

A passage in a book I’m reading struck me as a truth so vivid and terrifying I had to put it down for a while:

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I don’t know how much time I have. Neither do you. A unique difference between me and most others is that, because of cancer, I have a deep and visceral sensation of time as it is happening. I feel it all around me, in every breath and mostly in every smile. I also feel it in every moment of sadness. I can feel time going away. It causes me enormous stress, which I try to relieve by packing my life so full of things that I won’t feel cheated when the time is up.

I tried to define clear goals and hoped that he would support them or even share them. But, he didn’t and that hurts.

While it is completely unfair to expect anyone to share the sensation of circling the drain with me, those around me must be above average in the gentle department or they must leave. I admit I’m fragile, sensitive, and anxious, personality flaws that don’t usually do well in the relationship game. The instability of my life is on par with California’s fault lines. I needed extra love and instead I got yelling, leaving, and confusion.

Eventually, the hurt began to span weeks, months, and now even years, time I wasn’t sure I’d have and certainly not time I wanted to waste. Was cancer the culprit? Yes, in a way. Cancer took everything from me and left me to pick up the pieces where they lay. Cancer made me need more out of the time I have left, a lofty predicament indeed. But, cancer also opened my eyes to the preciousness of time and how I had been spending it. There just is no going back.

I’m definitely struggling with letting go of the only comfort I had during my terrible treatment. But, like all things – winter, reading War and Peace, even cancer – this too shall pass. I hope there is something better waiting for me on the other side.

I’ll do it a thousand times again

June 7, 2017, my (hopefully) last chemo treatment ever, came and went. I completed 6 rounds of TCHP and 12 more rounds of Herceptin. I’ve been doing this every 3 weeks for 1 year. Add 3 surgeries, probably a hundred needle pokes, nearly a million dollars, and over a bagillion tears and it ends up being quite an eventful year. It must sound like a monumental understatement to say that I’m glad it is over.

I anticipated it being a day of immense relief and joy, like I would have pride in accomplishing something so hard and celebratory to not have to do it anymore. Instead, I felt tired, ready to get on with it, and very, very worried. Treatment is over. There is nothing more I can do to keep cancer from coming back. In fact, if the cancer comes back, it could be Stage 4 and terminal. Instead of feeling elated at my last treatment, I felt solemn as this realization sunk in.

Immediately, my busy mind got to work cataloging coughs and aches and blaming a metastasis. A sore spot on my spine landed me back at Radiology for a bone scan.

Negative. Likely a result of the Shape of You Videodance class at Ballet Austin. Or was it that fall on the boat? Maybe it was that heavy, new bathroom door installation.

Remember, Rach, life is getting back to normal. Sore backs are normal for someone who dangles from aerial silks, stumbles around on boat docs in various states of sobriety, and flings herself across dance floors in 7 inch platforms.

Worrying about this for the rest of my life is just simply not going to be sustainable. I never worried about being hit by a bus or murdered before cancer so why start now?

When my busy mind starts to get the better of me, I remind myself that I did it. And I’ll do it again if I have to. I’ll do it a thousand times, for myself and my parents and Cindy and Cinco, for all the people that helped me this year. I’ll worry about it when it happens, not before.

Smile as you walk by

Last year on this day my life abruptly changed forever. I sat in the gynecologist office and only remember him saying, “It’s bad.” My boyfriend sat in my hatchback with me in the parking lot while I cried. My charmed life was over. I just got a lot more interesting. The transition was a lot like driving into a brick wall.

There was only one way to proceed: one foot in front of the other until the end, just like before, only a little harder.

As independent as I like to believe I am, I knew I couldn’t do this alone. I called the person I knew could handle a crisis of this magnitude and she dropped everything for the next 6 months to help me.

The single most important piece of advice I can give to the women who come after me is to surround yourself with capable people before you need them. Cultivate meaningful friendships, especially with other women. You never know when you’ll need to call in your troops. Make sure you have them. I simply could not have done this without her.

As this day approached, I anticipated cringing at the date May 17. Terrible, no good day! This day caused me and many others so much pain. I wanted to skip this day. This day…I can’t even.

My boyfriend wisely reminded me that tough girls would take their day back. It doesn’t have to be a reminder of the pain but instead a reminder that I’m still here, a day to celebrate all that we did. So, I’m taking it back. My mom, so charmingly, said it is my day to say, “I won!” and then make lots of noise.

Okay, then. Noise starts now! Loud.

♫  Your life will be just fine and troubles do not stay. They get replaced with good times. Now you got a great life! Smile as you walk by. Thinking about the Day.  ♫

New Toons…in more ways than one

Maybe I shouldn’t have. I really can’t afford it. I’ve got credit card debt now and enormous medical expenses. But, happiness should not be postponed indefinitely. After all, cancer happens.

I bought myself a brand new, beautiful pontoon and today she got a pink tattoo to recognize, honor, and hopefully make up for some of the pain of the last year. I also hope this boat serves as a reminder to myself and anyone who sees it just how fast it can all be taken away, how much we should all cherish every day we get.

I asked my wise Dad if I should do it. He said he didn’t know. If floating around listening to Louis Armstrong sing La Vie En Rose in the sun is how I want to spend my time, he figured it was a good thing to consider. Happiness, he said, is a choice you make. If it makes you happy, then do it.

He told me to ask myself how much happiness it would bring to my life. When I told him how I love to watch the swan family at my boat doc, how I could sit there every evening and watch the sun set over the water and how peaceful it made me feel, I basically talked myself into it. This is how he gives advice.

I don’t know what about the boat inspired a breast cancer pink ribbon decal. I was quite opposed to pink earlier on actually. Something about gifting myself happiness seemed to require it. When a decal appeared on Etsy that also said “survivor” I was struck. I am a survivor. That’s big. I hadn’t considered it like that before. I’m in the club. I earned that ribbon. I cried at my desk at work.

I’m not a flippant spender. I don’t make decisions lightly. Something has changed, however, and it is uncertainty. I don’t know what will happen. So, I choose happiness…just in case.

 

Humpty Dumpty

5c8206c8f7793ae56c1a84dfbc0deda0I’m at the chemo room preparing for Herceptin #? I don’t keep track of Herceptin treatments. I just know they will end in June. Yet another countdown is on.

I don’t leave the house much anymore. I just don’t feel like it. I’m down. I don’t sleep well. My doctors think I have anxiety or post-traumatic stress disorder. It is possible. I’m definitely not myself. But, who could be after all this? Who crawls out from under a life-crushing avalanche and walks away whistling like everything is okay? Everything is very much not okay.

My time and nervous energy are not wasted though. I’ve devoted every free moment of time to a condo renovation. More on that later but it is my only solace. I can crowbar, smash, or break things. Or I can gently resurface a wall with joint compound. I can patch holes and clean up and correct imperfections. I can sand things until they are smooth while the dust rises up all around me. It settles on me in a fine layer so that I look like a ghost. Sometimes I just sit in the dust and think. It is all very therapeutic and a bit metaphorical. Right now I’m putting “Humpty” back together again, in more ways than one.

Let’s (You) Talk

captureAt my final chemo treatment and bell ringing ceremony I was presented with a certificate of achievement. It delightfully proclaimed I am now qualified to talk about my experience with anyone who will listen. I’m afraid I jumped the gun. Now, I’d prefer to listen.

I have been talking, ad nauseam, about my experience and feelings for 5 months now. I’ve spent enough time in my own head and I’d really now like to know what everyone else has been thinking but not saying.

I realize withholding things from me before was polite, even necessary at times. I wasn’t capable of hearing it at first. It is one of the reasons I didn’t tell very many people until chemo was complete. But, things are different now so lay it on me.

I want to comfort. I want to commiserate. I want to tell you everything is going to be okay. I’ll scream and yell and curse this thing that happened together if you want to. And I know there are a few of you who want to. Because this thing didn’t just happen to me. It happened to us.

We can also talk about something else. Trust me, I’m so ready for a new topic.

Knowing what to say to someone who is sick is really difficult. (This might help.) Expressing fear and anger or confessing what you need is hard also. I feel the same! But, getting back to normal requires one of two things from all of us: address the elephant or ignore him. I’m ready to do either.

Vibe = Tribe

wp-1475849245204.jpgMy grandma sends me my horoscope weekly from her home in Wyoming. It is truly adorable. This week my horoscope really struck me.

Perhaps it was my birthday or spillover emotion from my last chemo or a very brave live podcast by this amazing breast cancer advocate (also a Libra) but I’m very emotional.

When I look back on my life, I see so much beauty and love. These last 5 months perhaps were the culmination of that love. So, so many people have moved this mountain with me. I am overwhelmed. I am humbled. Sometimes I am even speechless. (Some of you just shook your head in disbelief on that last one.)

Your cards and texts and phone calls and visits have made this summer so precious and this challenge worth doing. Even during the hardest parts I could feel my tribe rooting for me, believing that we would pull this off. I know my tribe is proud of WE did.

My home is about to fill up with some of these incredible people for #ACLfest. I can’t wait to make some new memories. I couldn’t do this without you! #YourVibeAttractsYourTribe

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