The Journey

Do you see the upside down heart?  My sweet cousin Lisa pointed it out to me!

It was about this time last year that I started my journey with breast cancer. I could no longer ignore the lump I kept feeling in my right breast.  Could no longer push it off as swelling associated with my period or maybe a bump or bruise.  I went to my doctor, assuming I would get the exams, tests, etc. and be told- “oh, it is just a little, benign mass.  You have nothing to worry about.”  Of course, that is not what I heard.  I heard the dreaded words carcinoma and invasive.

You can read about my experience here: The Saga, The Saga Part 2, and Chemo Sucks

I am thinking about it now, not necessarily because of the anniversary, but because another one of my friends has recently been diagnosed.  She started her chemotherapy this week.  And then the clerk at the local convenience store,  who is also a friend and knows my story, told me that one of her customers had also just been diagnosed and did I know of a support group.  “I don’t know of a support group, but I am willing to be a support, here is my phone number, please share it with her.”

When I was first diagnosed, I was amazed at the number of women (that I knew-personally) that told me that they had either had or were very close to someone who had breast cancer.  The press calls breast cancer an epidemic.  Hearing that and knowing that are two different things.  An epidemic seems impersonal.  and "over there" not raging through my small town community.

In light of this epidemic, here are some things that I have learned on my journey.

Blame is useless.

I have blamed myself for my cancer.  I must have done/ not done, eaten/ not eaten, drunk/not drunk something wrong. 

I have blamed my environment. I must have been exposed to, involuntarily ingested, breathed in some toxin.

I have blamed my genetic makeup.

In the end, it doesn’t matter.  Whatever made the cancer grow, made it grow.  That revelation doesn’t mean that I will throw up my hands and just do whatever I want now- I will continue to eat a healthy diet, keep my weight down, keep my alcohol consumption under control.  What it means is that life is a crap shoot.  We try as hard as we can, do our best and “bad” things can still happen.

Pain is pain.  And pain is universal.

Although I am supremely grateful for the ease of my treatment and the quick return of good health, I still struggle with what this disease has stolen from me.  It stole my unwavering belief in my strong healthy body.  It stole my complacence that death is far away and abstract.  It stole my shaky, yet emerging, sense of confidence in my physical appearance. 

Most literally, most immediately, it stole my breasts and my hair. My hair is returning, slowly, slowly.  Currently I am stuck as the 1980’s version of Pat Benatar, but boobless and not as badass.  It’s hard, although not as hard as the 2 weeks ago Mon Chi Chi look. 

 

Mon chi chi, Mon chi chi...

 It whittles away at my self esteem, which is already sort of a meringue and toothpick sort of affair.  It makes me face up to how vain I am and have always been.  I didn’t feel vain, but the Universe apparently felt I was and sought to help straighten that out. 

My boobs. My boobs are gone and they ain’t coming back.  I am okay with it. and I’m not.  It depends on the day minute.  Physically it feels fine.  When I am walking around, I feel thin and strong- powerful even.  If only mirrors could reflect back how we feel instead of what we actually look like…

So here I am. Struggling.  Struggling and feeling small about it.  Is it really appropriate for me to struggle with my outward appearance when I could have died?  Can I really feel “less than” and boyish and not good enough when I kicked cancer ass last year?

Apparently, the answer to all those questions is yes.

It is uncomfortable for me to write about this and share that my armor of self-confidence and good spirits and happy-happy may have a pretty big chink in it.  But I am doing it.  I am doing it because it is okay.  And it is important to share that it is okay.

We all walk around with our game face on.  Showing that we are invincible.  Taking life’s knocks and keeping a smile.  I applaud this- it is important not to fold up and blow away with every little ripple. 

Equally important, and I am just beginning to fully realize this, is to recognize that sometimes you need to embrace your frailty.  And that there is no reason to try and quantify that frailty, if that were even possible.  Pain is pain, ours is not to judge, but to be kind and learn.  To hold ourselves, as we would our lover or our child, and let ourselves hurt. 

Because ultimately, it will be okay and the sun will shine again.

Be well my blog readers.  I hope that your sun is shining this week!

A Poem

You can blame it on Anna, my poem minstrel friend.

or on the fact that I have to move work spaces, so I have to clean out my desk.

or this weird bout of "spring cleaning" that I have been experiencing.

But, whatever the reason, I have come up with a poem.  That I wrote.  It was buried under some work related papers in my paper sorter.

and, since I never, ever throw anything away, ever- I even had an electronic version saved, so I don't even have to re-type it.

It was a response to some type of writing prompt, which I can no longer remember, so I can't take the credit for being super creative.  However, it is still a poem and a super feat for a linear, science brain!

Behold, the poem: (it's about me)

Lorie

Joyful, playful, healthy, fun

daughter of stoic, driven European immigrants

lover of………       riding horses through green mountain meadows

                     bright yellow sunflowers in dark blue vases…

                           brilliant full moons peeking in my nighttime window

Who feels grateful to be here, overwhelmed by the bounty of a joyous life and also deeply sorrowful over the suburbanization of our world.

Who finds happiness in spending time with her one true love,

working, laughing, loving.

Who needs big open spaces filled with animals and flowers.

Who gives her heart, and

Who fears it won’t be returned.

Who would like to see society valuing the earth over profit.

Who enjoys porter style beers that taste like chocolate milk…

Who likes to wear her hair down, held back from her face by a small, sparkly dragonfly comb- that used to be mom’s.

Resident of the Big Sky country, Hartsong Ranch

 So there it is.  A poem.

and a photo of my cute horse from August!

Have a happy weekend!

Angst

My friend Anna, who is uber-awesome, is writing a poem a day as her 2014 challenge.  That is 365 poems, for any of my numerically challenged readers, and that is a shit-pile of poems.  Here is the link to her blog, in case you are a poemaholic. Ingenious Torture (cool name, no?)

I am not a poemaholic and I have confessed to dear Anna that I prefer her prose on each blog post to her poems.  That does not mean her poetry is bad or that poetry in anyway is inferior to prose, my mind just works better in straight lines. No jazz, no abstract paintings, no chaotic juxtaposition of words or images for this linear, science brain.  It may be why I love weaving with its straight, logical sequence of events.

This?  YES

This? Not so much. (Rod Seeley)

This logical, sequential way of experiencing the world definitely has its advantages- project follow through, detail oriented task mongering, solving math problems...  it does, however, have its drawbacks- free flowing creativity is not my strong suit, I don't get to hang out in dark, smoke-filled rooms talking philosophy with beautiful, long haired, flowing shirt beatniks because jazz music makes my head want to explode.  All in all, having a linear brain is not nearly as cool as having a poem brain... although, I do appreciate my way of being and tax time doesn't really stress me out, so that's a bonus.  It also means, however, that I have to strike while the iron is hot- if I get an inspiration, I need to go with it immediately or it gets left in the stream- BACK THERE.

I had not intended to write about my linear way of being, I intended to write about angst (thus the title).  The idea came to me from reading Anna's poem Incantation - well, let's be honest, from reading her prose surrounding the poem.  So to come full circle (which is still linear, if you go slow enough) here are my thoughts about her thoughts.

 Anna writes about stress.  How ubiquitous it is and how we use that word to describe every feeling we have that we don't like.  I agree.  And I love her description of our students' relationship with it.  She  discusses how stress evolved to keep our bodies safe, but has turned on us in modern life and started attacking us, much like a feral dog that bites you because you have trapped it in a corner.  I believe we have trapped our stress response in a figurative corner and this is causing a lot of modern day issues, health and mental.  One most pressing and obvious- Angst.

Angst- (From the online version of the Merriam Webster dictionary): a strong feeling of being worried or nervous : a feeling of anxiety about your life or situation.

Anna's musings about stress made me think about angst.  Anxiety.  Worry, nerves, fear. My husband and I have ongoing discussions about this.  It seems to be an ever increasing issue.  Not so much for us.  I mean we have the regular worries about money, our animals, our health, but nothing overwhelming.  Nothing that stops our lives.  Yet, we hear others talking about this debilitating level of anxiousness. About having to take medication for anxiety.  While I have no problem with people taking the medication they need to live their lives to the fullest, I do wonder where all this anxiety is coming from.

I blame modern society.

OH! that is a broad, sweeping accusation, is it not?  But look at it this way: our nervous system evolved to deal with a certain amount of struggle (avoiding saber-toothed tigers and finding food and shelter).  We are chemically primed for fight or flight.  What happens to those chemicals when your biggest daily struggle is picking out which shoes to wear?  They are still there, ready to do their job, but without real, physical struggle all they manifest is worry and anxiety. 

If one had to spend all day physically working to get fuel for a fire, meat to cook, hauling water (you get the picture) one would not have a lot of energy left to worry about, let's say... whether your mother in law thinks you keep the house clean enough.  Which causes you stress, which causes your body to secrete the fight or flight chemicals which you can't really use, because honestly you can't out run or fight a thought.  Now you have this chemical storm going on and no real resolution (if you were trying to out run that tiger, you either would or you would get eaten.  Either way- situation resolved.  With thoughts, not so much.)

Modern society has made our lives so ultra convenient that instead of burning up physical energy doing something productive and useful, instead of building confidence and strength with struggle, we are left watching TV and worrying whether our electronic device is as good as the one in the commercial.

What's the solution?  Obviously, physical struggle.  And I am not joking about that.  I feel pretty well grounded, grateful, mostly balanced, happy.  I believe that is because I work hard, physically, when I am able.  I tote hay and water, shovel shit, dig in the dirt, ride horses - all these sorts of primitive things. Because the reward is in the struggle.

Sweat is good!

I believe if, as a society, we moved back towards doing things with our hands and bodies, as much as we are able, a lot of the angst would fade away.  We could un-corner our stress, let the feral dog run free.  Use our stress hormones to produce something useful, instead of slowly killing us.

I dare you to try it.  When you are feeling stressed or anxious do something physical- walk around the block, jump rope, wrestle with your dog (or kid if you have one), dance till you are gasping.  Do enough physical activity to make you tired, panting for breath tired, and see what happens with your anxiety.  I bet that saber-toothed tiger can't catch you.

Magpie swims!

I got the toy!!!

This little cutie pie loves the water! She will even jump off the dock!  We go every evening after work to swim and play in the reservoir.  Her brother, Bear, loves to swim too.

Jumping off the "dock" before the dock was put in

Willow, not so much.

Oh my God! I think they splashed water up my nose!  MOOOOMMM!

And of course, their cool chariot.

1965 Ford Ranchero. Yeah, I know, it's cool.

This is what we do for fun in summer.  After we do this.

and this.

Yes, this is me riding my horse. With bald chemo head. You can't even tell with my hat on, I just look like a bad-ass cowgirl!

and this.

Which leads to this.

Magpie enjoying the big stack of loose hay in the barn.

We pack a lot into a day out here.  Good thing it doesn't get dark until 10 pm!!!

The Saga Part 2: Letting Go and the Cancer checklist!

After the trauma of the biopsy there is the torture of the wait.   

You know, the wait for THE CALL.  Anyone who has ever experienced any kind of investigational procedure knows that feeling.  Luckily, the call came from my family doctor (and friend) and not some anonymous person I had never met.  She was so awesome, to call us at home, after office hours, as soon as she had the pathology report- she knows the waiting is unbearable.  She was very thorough and caring, explaining everything as she read us the report, but she had to say the 3 words no woman ever wants to hear about her breasts:

Invasive Ductal Carcinoma

Carcinoma, of course, is the word that strikes the most fear into one’s heart, although invasive is a close second.  Yep, I had the most common form of breast cancer.  Very treatable, with a high survival rate, which is good.  However, still breast cancer which sucks is not that good.  Especially for someone who already had every spare moment of the summer planned up with fun stuff to do.  Somehow, surgeries and chemotherapy had not come to mind when planning up our calendar.   

How quickly things change.

My husband and I cried and held each other and tried to process what this really meant.

  

Cancer? Really? Me? Why? Why me? Why me? Why me?

After the shock and disbelief wore off, all that was left was the anger.  I was pissed.  I mean really pissed. I love my life, really truly love it.  I love my husband.  I love the person I‘ve become.  I love where we live, how we live, our animals, our friends- everything, all of it.  How in the hell could this monster be here? And how could it slam its iron foot down and change everything- our plans, our diet, how could it steal our summer away? 

Well, screaming into the wind might feel good, but it is not very productive. 

It was work, but with the sage advice and support of my friends, I got over it.  After all- it is one shit summer for let’s say 30 or 40 more years… fair trade, I guess.

A beautiful painting made by my friend Jamie, based on a dream I had.

The hardest part is letting go.  Letting go of what you thought was going to happen, what you had planned to achieve.  Letting go of what you thought of as healthy.  Letting go of your pre-conceived notion of who you are and what you will or will not do.  Letting go of the idea of control. 

The second hardest part is acceptance.  Accepting that sacrificing this summer will give you a lifetime of opportunity.  Accepting that even if you can’t work as hard as you used to, you are still good enough.  Accepting that each day is a gift, each hug, each laugh, each smile is all you ever need.

Apparently the lesson the Universe is trying to teach me is:

Let go and Accept...

  

Okay, I got it, I’m trying- stop nagging.

From there to here, it has been a dizzying maze of doctors, nurses, hospitals, blood draws, waiting rooms filled with patients that “really” have cancer.  Also, since everything is 3 hours from here, every appointment is an all-day affair.  Fortunately (or really unfortunately) I know quite a few women who have gone through breast cancer treatment.  Fortunate because I got all sorts of recommendations, referrals, ideas and support.  Unfortunate for the obvious reason that breast cancer is running rampant.

I’ll just hit the high points here, as I don’t need to drag you through this endless process:

This is the “I Have Breast Cancer Checklist”

1.       Find an oncology surgeon- Check. 

a.       The oncology surgeon is the one who actually cuts the G-D tumor out.  Got a fantastic recommendation for a surgeon we love!

2.       Find a medical oncologist (aka chemotherapy doctor)- Check. 

a.       This one took 2 tries but the second doc is awesome and we are super happy with the “Chemo Suite”

3.       Get an MRI- Check. 

a.       This was not nearly as bad as I thought it would be.  It’s loud and you have to lay with your boobies through a slot in the table for 45 minutes, but it doesn’t hurt or make you sick.  The hardest part is not thinking “Don’t move.” Because once you think that, it becomes nearly impossible to stay still.

4.       Get results from MRI- Check. 

a.       Showing a “suspicious” lymph node and a “busy” other breast and a mass that is fairly large- like 3 cm x 3 cm x 2 cm. Hmmm…

5.       Get a Sentinel Lymph Node (SLN) biopsy with the added bonus of having a Port-A-Cath installed at the same time- Check. 

a.       So this is actually pretty interesting- They “inject” a radioactive isotope right near the tumor (I use the term inject loosely- they actually use something like an air pistol to force the liquid through the skin.  Yes, it hurt.  A lot.) Once the liquid is in there, your lymph system gets to work to flush it out.  Then the surgeon can use a Geiger counter (yes like after a radioactive spill) to see where the first 3 or 4 lymph nodes are.  Then they can be removed and biopsied for cancer cells.  My nodes were negative- hurray!

b.      The Power Port Port-A-Cath is something they use for chemotherapy- it is like having a permanent IV in your chest.  It does not hurt but definitely looks like an alien is about to erupt from under my skin – a tad bit creepy.

6.       Find a plastic surgeon- Check. 

a.       Okay, of all the things I thought I would do in my life, talking to a plastic surgeon was not one of them.  My body was just my body and I worked with what I had.  Well, lo and behold, breast cancer changed this too.  I was a little skeptical about meeting this guy, after all wasn’t he all about making the pretty people prettier?  That couldn’t have been farther from the truth.  He is down to earth and kind and just wants people to be comfortable in their bodies.  We talked about all the options available to me and my husband and I have decided on this most radical surgery : the TRAM flap.  It is almost as weird as the name sounds, but the short of it is- bilateral mastectomy (both those things are getting the hell away from me, thank you very much) then immediate reconstruction using, get this, my belly fat!  So boob job and tummy tuck for me- a breast cancer perk, yay!

So we have all our ducks in a row.  Now, it is just getting through the chemo.  I have had my first treatment and aside from being excruciatingly fatigued, no big side effects. One down, seven to go.

The chemo doc told me to expect my hair to fall out around the 21^st day after the first treatment.  So I went and got it cut. Short.  I mean super short, like high school gym teacher short.  I hate it, but at least I won’t miss it as much when it falls out!  And my beautiful long hair was donated to Locks of Love.  Another breast cancer perk!

Anyway, I think you can tell that I am in a pretty good space with all this now.  There are times (okay days really) when I feel pretty sorry for myself, but honestly if this had to happen now is a good time -  I am young, strong and otherwise healthy.  I have the most awesome support team, headed up by my husband and rounded out by everyone I work and play with.  It’s summer so the days are long and the roads are good.  I mean really, what have I got to complain about?  Oh, that big tumor?  Forget about it- we are kickin’ some cancer ass over here!

And next summer- look out!  I’ll have perky new boobs, a flat tiny belly and a big attitude.  What more could a girl ask for?

As a sign off, I want to share this comic I love from Dharma Comics , although it would be more applicable to me if it said "I'm Pissed."  and then the other guy could say "I know!"