Friday, November 21, 2014

update - the last 4 weeks have been interesting

So, what an experience these last few weeks have been.

The surgery went abut as expected.  A scratched cornea in the hospital.

The final diagnosis was the best to be expected. No chemo and no radiation.

Big blessings.

I took a nose dive after I got home... lost over ten pounds in about 24 hours.  

Family took care of me. Friends feed me. I felt/feel deeply loved. 

I have been torn down in a way that has built me back up.

I am exhausted, tired and eager to get on with life.

I even drove once!

Sunday, October 26, 2014

Day 26 - 40 days of writing - oh, the indignities…

Aside from the obvious, which is having a shocking number of medical personnel have access and *ahem* viewing rights to my girly bits…

There is also this:


Of all things, this is called "THE BOWEL PREP" and it merits all caps because it's all about prepping my bowels.

And that's just BOWEL PREPPING... For surgery… that is NOT on my bowels.

Puchicas


To make matters ever so slightly more dramatic, I decided to delay my last ingestion of solid food for a while because my breakfast was a bit on the pitiful side when one considers that I won't get to eat until fucking Tuesday (pardon my French, but it just seems cruel to wait that long when gluttony is my favorite sin). THEN (all caps for continued dramatic effect) I chose McDonalds (of all things wrong and awful on this planet) because I didn't want to delay it too much (as I was violating a strict interpretation of my pre-op orders already) and I was in a small town but needed to head home and there was no way in hell I was taking magnesium citrate at the start of a 90 minute road trip because the thought  of forced roadside stops with or without the benefit of a toilet (and more importantly soft toilet paper) seemed like torture.

So, I waited until I was within a 20 minute drive home and drank my cherry flavored liquid (from hell).

That being said, the version of "BOWEL PREP" that I get to do for this operation is so much nicer than what I got to do for my colonoscopy.

Small blessings.

Now please excuse me, I need to powder my nose.

Saturday, October 25, 2014

Day 25 - 40 days of writing - small things and gentleness

It is amazingly easy for me to love.

Being loved is ever so much harder.

Emails, texts, phone calls and conversations with loving support.

Prayers, whispers, meditations, sending of light, energy, vibes… all in my name.

A bouquet of flowers at my doorway.


A tin of gingerbread cookies

I sit in a whirlwind of these expressions of love and am so humbled.

It's hard, I am not one to depend on the kindnesses of others.

I was chatting with my mentor, an allomother. 


Strangely, it is (at this moment) much easier to let go, to give in to this process. Gratitude is just so much more deeply felt, I find that in order to respect it, I need to let go of my deeply ingrained habits of not wanting to inconvenience people I care about.

So, this is about a lot of letting go...

 and wearing my pj's for a while.



Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Day 22 - 40 days of writing - wings

“ You strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do,
determined to save
the only life you could save.”
~ Mary Oliver, from "The Journey", in Dream Work (1986)


So very true. that poem above.

A poem. Ironic, isn't it?

The waiting is over. 

My surgery is scheduled. 

I really like my oncologist. He is a gentle man with a mysterious air of steel reserves that make letting him work with my choices a dream.

I have power over this process, power that the oncologist has given me. This is special.

I have received so many gentle gifts in the words of people I know.

It is so hard to be humble when one feels so betrayed by their body.

I recall the days when I worked to help get Arizona to use the funds allowed to states through the Breast and Cervical Cancer Prevention and Treatment Act of 2000. There was a community lobby day where people went to speak to legislators about the importance of these services.  One of our FEMALE state legislators listened to the impassioned plea of several women who were lobbying that day, many of whom were cancer survivors. The FEMALE (in caps because I am still incredulous) told them that she was unable to support the legislation they were requesting for her to support because "only women who are loose and get abortions will get breast and cervical cancer".

Thankfully, we were able to pass this locally. 

Like my life right now, there is nothing coherent about this post. 



The Bloggess pinned it to her Pinterest account

I miss my old life. I miss the tendency towards being boldly dangerous and striving to do noble things. I miss my light, my ability to frolic. I miss being fanciful, and feeling beautiful, and also of being fearless. 

I miss my wings.


Sunday, October 19, 2014

Day 18 - 40 days of writing- The long, slow, walk to the guillotine.


My paperwork is filled out.

And I sit here, today, tonight, feeling like I am awaiting an execution.

There is such an ominous feeling in knowing that tomorrow all this becomes so much more real. There are conversations I have to have...   decisions I have to make... all of which feel overwhelming to me now, even before they are completely and specifically known.

And as I contemplate them... the ones that are somewhat known, they feel so bitter.

I can't ask "Why me?" because this is a product of life; choices that I made and that have brought me to this junction. It is futile to wonder the why, but in my most self pitying moments I wish I could scream this into the abyss... and then reason takes over and answers me gently.

Nature is so cruel. I was brought up with that in my every day life. And yet, I want to scream... "why do this to me, why take the one thing that is a symbol of being a mother and obliterate the last few years of my chances at having more children". "I wanted six", I want to add to my scream, and in the end I feel weighed down by this incredible failure of aspiration.

And perhaps it is this failure that makes things in this situation so damn hard, because it is just that. A failure.

I look at the exotic eyes of my beautiful son, and choke up at how much I love him and how profoundly lucky I am that he came in to my life, and feeling that the intense lamentations of the ones who were never to be born are equally lost to him.

Couple that with the idea that I should be grateful that I do have him, creates a whirlwind of emotions as intense as they are complex. 

That which I have held most sacred, motherhood, will be denied me (in this way) much earlier than I am ready for.

The rituals of this disease are subtle and fierce. My physician turned my care over to the oncologist. I do not get to return to him until I am released back... much like a prison sentence.

And so, I feel like my dinner tonight was a last meal... and tomorrow will begin the long, slow walk to my own personal guillotine.