Who Am I, After the Cancer?

It was weird after I finally made it out after my cancer treatments were over.  It was like time stopped for me. For the past several months, I was confined to my home by my sickness. But when it was over, and I went out, I saw that life went on. My friends continued on with their lives;  meeting new people, getting new jobs, new homes, new relationships and changing their looks and such.  I guess I expected everything to be the same, but it wasn’t.  Even the old stores I used to go to changed their layout.  The mall changed. A gas station shut down. I felt like I was a stranger.  That made me feel uncomfortable.

I didn’t want the world around me to change.  I needed it to be the same:  Waiting there to welcome me back and invite me to jump right in, just where I left off.  I needed that to happen. My life with cancer made every moment of every day different and unpredictable.  From day to day, I never knew what was going to happen; how I was going to feel; which part of my body was going to change or fall away overnight. With that uncertainty, the one thing I had hoped to depend on to help me find my place again, was the “outside world.”  I needed to find that place outside of myself that was familiar.  But even the grass grows around those things when you’ve been gone for so long.  Then, it looks different. It’s all different.  I suppose..I’m different too.

That was hard:  Realizing that while I was dealing with my cancer, time continued to flow. Nothing was the way it was.  No one was the same.  I am not…the same.  Of course I’m not.  But then who am I?  Cancer had once defined me.  It ruled my day, had power over my body.  But now it’s gone.  So. If I’m not that person with cancer, and if I can’t be that person I was before the cancer, how do I find the person I’m supposed to be? Where do I belong when everything and everyone else in my life continued with the flow of time while I was stuck? Where do I fit in?  

 

December 6, 2008: Crossing the Finish Line

End of Treatments

Crossing the Finish Line
 
One of my Doctors
This past Thursday, I finished my last day of treatment. The night before I kept checking my calendar making sure I got the date right.   I didn’t want it to be like the time I thought it was Friday at work, only to find out at the end of the day it was only Thursday. (It was a rough week.) 
 
In this case, it’s been a rough 6 months. But there I was, ready to cross the finish line.
Radiation was time consuming, taking up 3 hours of my day, every Monday through Friday for the past few months. Actually, it was 35 treatments plus 6 radiation boosts at the end. The treatment itself was only a few minutes long. It was the prep and the drive that took the longest. 
 
The ride, however, was made bearable only because I shared it with 14 other cancer patients. We all knew about surgery, chemo and rads. We shared the same concerns about our treatments and we all had radiation as the last part to cross on our way back to being healthy.
 
My Radiology Team
Saying goodbye to my radiation therapists was bittersweet. I was glad it was all over, but yet I wasn’t going to see these people again, and this made me sad. They helped cure me. 
 
Leaving my support group behind was also hard for me. As soon as I came out of the doctor’s office I was met by a round of applause from the waiting room patients. It really was like crossing that finish line. I could hear, “You did it! You did!” Most of them, I didn’t even know. But all of them knew how tough this journey was.   I did it.
Me and Deb, this journey brought us closer as friends

Well, after treatment I went to meet my dear old friends to watch the Chargers beat the Raiders. I hadn’t been to the old spot since I started chemo and it was very nice seeing everybody. It was like coming home and celebrating a victory. Actually…it was coming home….and it is a huge victory. My doctor actually showed up and a few drinks with us.

These friends were by my side from the beginning

Tonight will be a huge celebration for me.   I will be celebrating my birthday (belated) and my end of treatments.    This is really going to be a great night for me, I am so thankful for my friends and grateful for being done with everything.  I am thankful that I am here to share my story of survival.

Cheers to me

November 9, 2008: Bottom of the Well

                                                                   It’s dark and damp
I’m sitting at the very bottom covered in mud
and wet with tears
My voice is weak
my hands shake
I reach up to grab the wall
I can’t see
I can’t feel
walls are slick there is nothing to grab
I cry…help
weak, soft but with determination…HELP
Nothing
sounds hollow
I sob, I cry out…HELP
No one hears, no one knows I’m here
No one knows I’m here
but I’m here
Why won’t someone look for me and pull me out of here?
I can’t do it alone….help
I can’t, I can’t
I cry, I’m alone
No one hears me
Please….please someone look for me
I don’t want to die at the bottom of this well
alone
No one knows I’m here
I’m here

November 4, 2008: He Won’t Even Look At Me

My mom and dad were with me in June when I had the consultation with my surgeon.  Being in the medical field, it was comforting to have them there asking the questions I wouldn’t have thought of.  Although most of my dad’s questions were about quadrants and other medicalese fancy-talk, he did impress my doctor.  She had to look through the file to answer most of his questions.  Then he asked about my other breast.  My doctor explained that since the mammo was ok, no other tests were ordered.  My dad ordered them.

I went to have an ultrasound where they found two more questionable masses.  I had two more biopsies and had to wait for the results.  My surgery was scheduled for that Tuesday and I didn’t want to have to do it, only to find out I had to go back and have surgery on the other breast. I seriously wanted to postpone it til I got the results.  Well, luckily the tests came back negative and surgery went on as planned.
 
My dad is a dedicated doctor and a very hard worker.  I understood when he wasn’t able to be there for my surgery.  My mom and kids were along with Gary, Susan and Darci, that’s what mattered. I was not alone.  I understood when he was too busy to talk to me on the phone about my treatment options.  I understood why he couldn’t call me when I was in the hospital because he was tired from working all day and playing with the baby.  But I don’t understand why he won’t look at me…..
 
The last time I stayed with my parents down south, I noticed how uncomfortable it was for my dad to look at me.  When I hugged him he did the “pat on the back” thing.  When I came down for breakfast I sat at the table and he got up and put his dish in the sink, claiming he was done.  When I went in the living room to watch the Charger game with him, he went upstairs.  When I went upstairs to sit with him, he went downstairs to the kitchen.  Why?
 
Today I called to tell him I was going to visit soon and he quickly handed the phone to my mom.  I asked my mom if I was ugly, because dad won’t look at me, she just said….”You know how he is….” 
 
I don’t know what to do.  He won’t even look at me……..

September 20, 2008: Not a Champ

I’m  not as strong as I thought.  It’s hard for me to sleep because of the bone pain, hot flashes and the nausea in the morning.  I’m missing work.  I can’t eat.  I can’t move.  The new girl at work is annoying and makes me dizzy with all her talking and I can’t focus.

Please make this stop.  I’m tired.

 

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September 7, 2008: Second Round of Chemo

The last round of chemo kicked my ass.  And it was only my second one!  Damn.  I thought I was a warrior.  I thought I was gonna stand up to this thing, put up my dukes and beat the shit out of it.  Ha!  Guess I’m not as tough as I thought.
 
First of all, I had to go back to the doctor the day after chemo and for two days after that, to get shots to boost my white blood cells.  So, that along with the chemo, took it’s toll on this little body of mine.  The doctor keeps checking my kidneys and is concerned about the creatinine level being so high.  I keep getting bone pains, rashes, insomnia, fatigue, dizzy spells, loss of appetite, my nails are turning purple……oh yeah…loss of my beautiful hair….waaahh… Damn you!  I hate you cancer!
 
I just want to feel normal again.  I want to feel strong.  But now I worry what’s gonna happen next?  My next round is tomorrow!!!!  And I just started feeling better yesterday!  Damn.  I know this is the hard part and I’m gonna be a survivor, but…..this is really hard. Now I got to look forward to 5 hours of poison in my veins….. I would never, ever want any of my friends or family to have to experience this chemo shit.  It’s really, really hard.
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I hate you cancer

July 23, 2008: Sometimes I’m Not Ok

Sometimes I’m Not Ok

Sooner or later it all comes spilling out
Can’t hold in the fears….
push down the tears….. stuff my soul with everything I need to hide away…..away
Stand tall
Breathe deep
Push it down
Smile
Show how strong I am….
I am for my family…..
for my friends…..
for my students…..for hope
I am strong but then, it gets to the point
It’s quiet…
no ones watching, no one can hear me it hits me….
it’s a heavy burden to bear
It breaks
It spills
let go the fears .. .let out the tears.. .free my soul… let it go
Sometimes I’m not okay…..I’m not okay, I’m not okay

Chemo starts Monday