Quote-of-the-Day

    When you have cancer you worry that every new develop in your body is a sign that the cancer is worsening. I was worried that a smallish pocket of tissue in my belly was ascites, or fluid in my belly which can be a sign of tumor growth. So at my last appointment as he was palpating my belly, I asked him about the spot. He felt for a second then loudly proclaimed, "I am happy to announce that that is just fat." You are priceless, Dr. Lim. :)

The Road Ahead

I like to drive. I like to drive on the roads of wide, open, unpopulated spaces. This is the road to Gerlach, Nevada and the Black Rock Desert. It's a straight shot for about 60 miles. Perfect for the meditative process. Driving this road yesterday reminded me of my life. I can see the road. It's clearly marked. I know where it ends up. I have no fear of the destination. But sometimes I can only see a little bit of the road. It seems to end at the horizon. As I get closer and closer, I recognize a little anxiety about what lies just over the crest, the part of the road I cannot see. I know that the road continues even though it's unseen. I question which way does it go? Does it curve and if it does curve, which way? Will I be able to maintain control? What lies just over the crest? An obstacle that blocks my path? Am I prepared for an obstacle? And then I reach the crest and can see the next stretch of road, my questions are answered and I know that I can navigate without any trouble and I continue down the road. And so on and so on. C'est la vie.

My Buddy Cancer

Cancer is a bully. When you aren't paying attention, he grabs your elbow and pulls you along at breakneck speed. He pulls hard and fast. He pushes you past insurmountable brick walls and you wonder if he is going to push you into those bricks. He drags you to the edge of towering cliffs and you wonder if he is going to whip you over that edge. Your heart is pounding. You are afraid. Cancer is in complete control and you are losing.

Cancer is too strong to beat with one schoolyard fight during recess. This fight will be long and last until the end of your life. You resist. You resist by getting treatments, by taking care of yourself. Your resistance is heavy, heavy enough to be the anchor that keeps you from plummeting over the edge of that cliff. Aannndddd......things slowww dooowwwnn. You can catch your breath. You can speak without shrieking. Cancer is still anchored to your elbow, but he is not winning today. And that  is exhilarating.

You will  live your life with your buddy, the bully Cancer, by your side. Sometimes he will be the lead of the bullwhip and you will be flung helplessly around. Sometimes you will be the strong one, standing firmly in defiance. Those will be your good days. Hopefully, on the grand scale of life, the balance of your days will weigh positive.

Quote-of-the-Day

"You're losing some....(pause)...in your chest area. I'm still busty."

The Bald Head

I woke up this morning, fetched the paper, refilled my water glass and then took my shower. As I stepped out of the shower, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Specifically a glimpse of some bald lady. I was shocked for a split second before I realized that I was looking at my own reflection. Then I remembered, oh yeah, you have a bald head because of your chemo because you have cancer. My bald head is a badge of my disease that I am  forced to wear. It has robbed me of my identity and my privacy.

My bald head outs me as a cancer patient. People stare. And they know something intensely personal about me just by looking at me. I attended a charity event that benefited the American Cancer Society. There was a booth selling crazy hats. I thought that was a magnificent idea and wanted to try on some of the hats. I whipped the scarf off my bald head and there it was, the stare. The acknowledgment that I was one of them, one of those unfortunate people with cancer. Maybe I am only uncomfortable with this when I sense pity. Nothing steals strength faster than pity.

My bald head sometimes garners me a little extra kindness. The grocery clerks are more patient. The banker rushes to assist me. Strangers hold the door a moment longer. What is counter-intuitive is that children are not afraid to ask me about my head. I welcome those questions and the dialogues that can follow. These are the interactions that give me strength.

That moment in the mirror this morning startled me. It reminded me that I have cancer. That must be what happens to some people when they first catch sight of the bald head. She has cancer. I remember that initial shock. It is blinding and consuming. I have had time to deal with this fact, I guess I can wait until they catch up. I can accept that fact that they know me as "the lady with cancer". I can accept that fact that they know some of my personal issues without me telling them. I  reject the pity. I look forward to accepting kindness, hopefully with grace.