The Good Life

     As I mentioned before, those 5 stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance) are slippery. I have been sliding back and forth for awhile now. Today finds me happily ensconced in acceptance. I am thinking that ovarian cancer can be a manageable chronic disease. I am thinking that even though I live with cancer, I can still live pretty good.

     For a moment today, traffic came to stop as a little blond chihauhau raced down the middle of the street. I tried to follow him and coax him into my car, but he was too skittish and ran down the road the opposite way. He was FAST and I lost sight of him. I am sad to think of his fate and even sadder to think of his owner. I greeted my own pooch  more enthusiastically upon my return home.

     For a moment today, traffic came to a stop as a frazzled woman tried to restart her older model pickup that had stalled in the intersection. I was preparing to stop and help (how I was going to help I don't know) when the engine roared to life and she drove off. I drove off in my newer model car that has only stalled out when I can't manage the clutch properly.

     For a moment today, traffic came to stop at the red light on the corner of the street where the homeless have set up camp. The city allows them to stay there and has dubbed this area "Tent City". Tent City has a population of several hundred at any given time. The light turned green and I drove to my home, that has a roof and a bed and food in the fridge.

     The evidence is in and it shows that even though I live with cancer, I still live pretty good.  All these things happened on the way home from the fabric store where I wanted to pick up a seam gauge to replace the one I lost. The store was sold out, but as I looked around, I found fabric that I really liked. So I got some yardage. Over $100 worth of yardage. Oh wait, only $80 worth of yardage because $20 was for a bobbin winder. Best thing ever invented. But I digress. The point is that I am able to enjoy a hobby. And I have semi-concrete plans for every inch of those textiles.

No. Nope. Nein. Non. Nyet.

     Found this at a great site http://www.cafepress.com/. They sell all kinds of tshirts, buttons, hats, mugs, bags, etc that are basically design your own, but you can offer your design to others if you would like. This made me laugh out loud because it exemplifies my point of view. Mainly, my point of view is that nothing else matters to me right now, especially politics.

     I live in a state that has been in the national microscope lately because of a close Senate race. The organizations call me every day and ask me about my intentions of voting. I tell them I might vote if my chemo wears off by then, I might vote if I can get out of bed by then, I  might vote if I feel better, I might vote if I cared. It may be rude to those poor polltakers, but cancer has skewed my priorities at the moment. I am selfish at the moment. Cancer has given me permission to say no.

    Those of you who know me recognize that fact that I have had trouble saying no. Not so much anymore. Saying no to those things that I don't want to do is the best possible way to take care of myself. Then I can be the best, strongest, healthiest me possible. Even the airlines instruct you to help yourself first. Why is it so hard to say no? Why do I feel rude if I say no? (Shrug.) All I can say is, I am going to take care of this little corner of my universe first, then I can help you with yours.

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Searching.............

   I'm floundering. I'm not sure I know how to live the rest of my life. I have been through the "mother-of-all-surgeries" and learned that my body is resilient and can heal. I have been through chemotherapy and learned that I have strength. I have been through the weekly blood draws, the neutropenia, the thrombocytopenia, the blood transfusions, the nausea, the vomiting (only once), the aching bones, the sleepless nights, the relentless hot flashes, the loss of ALL my hair (everything except eyelashes) and I have persevered.  I have changed the way I eat in order to more fully nourish my stressed body. I have learned how to care for Oscar, my ostomy. Believe me, when you get to empty Oscar's little collection pouch 6 times a day, you get to witness first hand the results of your food choices. (Choose wisely, my friend.) I have pampered my body, focusing on it's every need for 6 months now. And we have acheived  some degree of stasis and established a new status quo, a new "normal". But I think I have forgotten how to live.

     Cancer is a word that brings one thought to mind, death. My cancer diagnosis did that to me. I learned about estate planning, advanced directives, durable powers-of-attorney, wills, all that stuff. I told my financial advisor that I needed to cash out all my savings. (She talked me out of it.) I thought of all the things I hoped to do in my retirement years and paniced when I realized that my time would expire before I was done. I am not afraid to die  and I was preparing to do just that. I was focusing on my death.

     Fast forward 6 months to today. While I recognize that ovarian cancer will eventually kill me, it won't kill me today. And probably not even tomorrow or next week or next month. I have time. I am not sure what to do with that time. My doctor told me today "Do not forget to live." What if I have already forgotten? How do I remember? I don't know yet. I don't even know what to do this afternoon. I can't even think of a pithy title for this entry.

Bad Days Happen Too

    I want to thank everyone who reads these things. I try to keep a positive spin on things when I am writing. Doing that helps me help myself. It teaches me how to focus on the positive side. But sometimes I fail. Sometimes I have bad days. I feel the need to share those days too. I want to represent a more accurate capsule of my existence. Ready, go.....

   All this chemo is finally catching up to  me. I left the house to have lunch and go shopping with my cousin and somewhere picked up a cold. I have very few white blood cells, thus no immunity, so it wasn't very hard to get sick. I avoid crowds of people because they are so...germy. I am kicking myself for obviously dropping my guard and neglecting my sanitizer.  I have been taking iron tablets because I don't have any red blood cells either and  those tablets make me really nauseous. Then I take my nausea meds and those make me really tired. Throw some cold medication on top of that and I am useless for hours. I had to drag my pitiful body  to the lab twice today. I used to park in the farthest spot and walk to get some exercise. Today I parked right by the elevator. I am short of breath and tired and pale white. It turns out that I have even fewer red blood cells than I thought, my doctor has ordered a transfusion of 2 units of blood.  I look like a ghost, a bald ghost. I am the same color I remember being before my surgeries. This makes me worry about the cancer becoming resistant to treatment and growing again. I am actually relieved to find out I only need some red blood cells. If I can only make it until tomorrow, because I feel like a wet pile of noodles. I am emotionally friable and cry at the drop of a kind word. And I have a huge spider bite on my elbow.

   Whew, that's it. Thanks for reading.

Befriending My Body

       I was angry at my body for awhile. I felt betrayed. I felt like I certainly didn't deserve cancer. The risk factors for ovarian cancer include a positive family history, having BRCA1 or BRCA2 genes,  age, not having children, taking fertility drugs, taking estrogen post-menopause, and obesity. Out of all those things, I am only guilty of not having any children and having plenty of fat. I score 2/7. I know plenty of fat women without kids who do NOT have ovarian cancer. Why me? Who knows? I hated the cancer cells in my body. I wanted them scraped out and burned. I wanted those cells destroyed. Cancer was an opponent, an enemy to be fought and conquered. Cancer put me on the defensive. Cancer eclipsed my self.
     Sometime after surgery, I studied my body in the mirror. My gosh, my scar ran from my sternum all the way down to my pudendum (my girlie parts). 13 inches of bright red scar tissue railroad-marked with 2 sets of staple scars. I have a stab scar from my drain. I have 2 more stab scars from the laprascopy. My belly button is MIA. And my horrible gaping ostomy and fistula are the stars of my belly. These scars hold my belly together, while my body slowly fills in the hollows where tumors used to reside.  Cancer left me empty.
     One day while driving home from the grocery, it dawned on me. My body has started to heal. After 3 surgeries and weeks of wound care and weeks of bloodtests and chemotherapy, my body needs a friend. My body needs an ally. I need to nurture this body. Treat it kindly. It did not deserve cancer, but it definitely deserves a break.  That's the day I gave up my anger and hatred. I have taken up the task of advocacy for my tattered body. I feed it the best nutrients. I give it all the rest it needs. I make it flex it's muscles now and then. I switched game plans from the defensive to the offensive. It feels much calmer on this side. I am better able to be my own friend. I am reunited with my body now, we are one and the same. I might even be better than I was before this all started. I am transforming Cancer by stealing his energy (why is Cancer male? Don't know, but he is) and funneling it into my own plan for me, myself and I. Cancer is not my friend, but he has given me impetus to being a more positive person. I win!