Let me fly... man I need a release from this troublesome mind...
I'm still in a lot of denial. What else am I supposed to do? I just can't accept it until I see a report, a tissue sample, a paper that says it in hard, cold, hand-sweating, heart-pounding, knock-the-wind-out-of-you black ink. Until then. Until then...
I don't want to die. I whisper the word forming it in my mouth, slowly getting the feel of it on my tongue and in the back of my throat. It comes out as small as I can make it.
It's so funny. It's not because I think this life is so valuable... it's because I have this love in my bones and it's just fading from me minute by minute. It makes it hard to laugh, it makes it hard to plan or dream. And it makes it hard to say things like I'll love you the rest of my life. Fucking cancer. It seeps joy out of every joyful moment.
And I try and I try and I try. To take every moment and hold onto it. I take a walk and smell cut grass and listen to Damien Rice and feel the wind... but inside I think about my little boy growing up without me. I think about the way he plays with my hair, throws his arms around me and whispers "Mamma, I love you." Inside I think about this man I love and how I can't leave him with this pain. I just can't. I promised to be there and help carry all his burdens and ease every trouble I could. So I'd be breaking a promise... and I can't, I just can't break this one. Not when I just found the things I want to live for.
And I know, blah blah blah positive bullshit... but you know what? Sometimes it fucking HURTS. And I'm positive. I'm still holding onto it being a mistake. I'm still confident that if it is real that I have amazing people around me and I'll be ok. But it doesn't mean that sometimes I have to sit and think about what might happen. That it is a possibility. And it's BUUUUUUULLSHIT. And that's just how I feel today.
12.13.2007
12.12.2007
I can't believe I'm posting this...
Ok... so a lot of people have been asking for updates... so I'll start at the beginning and let you know what I know...
About 5 weeks ago I noticed a lump in my left breast with little to no pain and was mildly concerned about it, but my age made me pretty confident that there was nothing majorly wrong...
The first time I visited the ER they were pretty sure it was either a cyst or a tumor and even then I figured if it was a tumor it would be benign. Alot of women in their early 20's get benign tumors called fibroids in their breasts. Approximately 2 weeks later, the day before Thanksgiving, I noticed that overnight my lump began to be extreemly painful and there was red from my armpit to my nipple. The nipple had begun to retract (pull in, like an innie belly button) and had a bruised look to it. Also the skin was dimpling, almost like the surface of an orange peel.
I went to the ER again and they treated me for an infection, which seemed to help the redness, but the lump stayed. I took the medicine for about 2 weeks and within days of being done with it the redness had come back. I went back to the ER and they sent me to an Urgent Care Clinic where that doctor told me the clinical diagnosis was Inflamatory Breast Cancer, a rare and very aggressive cancer.
At this point I'm wading through red tape and trying to get into the system from every angle imaginable.
There is currently no biopsy or PET scan to confirm that this is cancer, so, call me crazy, I'm choosing to hold onto the hope that the doctor who made the diagnosis was WRONG. And I would gladly forgive him if he was...
The reality is though, that I have been tired and in pain for no reason for weeks, I have had 3 periods in the course of 6 weeks (yeah...), occasional nose bleeds and a significant amount of weight loss, and hair loss. And upon palpation of my lymph nodes the doctor noted that they are swollen.
So I am prepared to hear that this doctor is correct. And we're currently acting with the thought that the worst case scenario is our reality.
Most of the time I am ok, although this is still so fresh that I find myself bursting into tears unexpectedly. I have had so so so many people offer help, support, prayer, time, an ear, money, but most of all love! Thank you so much guys. I'll keep you posted.
:)
"...everything will be alright, everything will be alright..."
About 5 weeks ago I noticed a lump in my left breast with little to no pain and was mildly concerned about it, but my age made me pretty confident that there was nothing majorly wrong...
The first time I visited the ER they were pretty sure it was either a cyst or a tumor and even then I figured if it was a tumor it would be benign. Alot of women in their early 20's get benign tumors called fibroids in their breasts. Approximately 2 weeks later, the day before Thanksgiving, I noticed that overnight my lump began to be extreemly painful and there was red from my armpit to my nipple. The nipple had begun to retract (pull in, like an innie belly button) and had a bruised look to it. Also the skin was dimpling, almost like the surface of an orange peel.
I went to the ER again and they treated me for an infection, which seemed to help the redness, but the lump stayed. I took the medicine for about 2 weeks and within days of being done with it the redness had come back. I went back to the ER and they sent me to an Urgent Care Clinic where that doctor told me the clinical diagnosis was Inflamatory Breast Cancer, a rare and very aggressive cancer.
At this point I'm wading through red tape and trying to get into the system from every angle imaginable.
There is currently no biopsy or PET scan to confirm that this is cancer, so, call me crazy, I'm choosing to hold onto the hope that the doctor who made the diagnosis was WRONG. And I would gladly forgive him if he was...
The reality is though, that I have been tired and in pain for no reason for weeks, I have had 3 periods in the course of 6 weeks (yeah...), occasional nose bleeds and a significant amount of weight loss, and hair loss. And upon palpation of my lymph nodes the doctor noted that they are swollen.
So I am prepared to hear that this doctor is correct. And we're currently acting with the thought that the worst case scenario is our reality.
Most of the time I am ok, although this is still so fresh that I find myself bursting into tears unexpectedly. I have had so so so many people offer help, support, prayer, time, an ear, money, but most of all love! Thank you so much guys. I'll keep you posted.
:)
"...everything will be alright, everything will be alright..."
12.08.2007
No. No. No.
Don't stand there and say that word. It comes so casually from your mouth. You pass the burden of it on to me, its meaning a crushing weight. Nose bleeds. Lumps. The funny dimples in my skin. Aches.
Nothing.
This is nothing.
Instead you tell me it's everything. My entire life held in a 3inx4inx4in mass, firm, non-mobile... thus sayeth the report. My current god. Aggressive, you say. Aggressive,they say.
The music stops. I hear a buzzing in my head and smell a funny smell... like gunpowder or sulphur. This must be what it feels like when... but there is no when... this is how it feels. I breathe. I breathe. Oh, how I breathe. Gasping... in, out. Hot. Is it hot in here suddenly?
Was it the alcohol? The cigarettes? Fried food at 2 am, red meat...
or
Not enough faith, not enough devotion, not enough belief...
or
Anger. Bitterness.
Too much of anything I've ever indulged in?
I have people being strong for me. But I don't need that. I have people who tell me they just can't be strong for me. But I don't need them to be. Right now... right now I need a taste of normal. Today. Today this is what I need.
I still fight this diagnosis. I still fight a poor prognosis. I still want to listen to music, and dye my hair purple, and imagine I'll be in love with this wonderful man forever, and see my boy grow up, and have friends who are old fucks like me, and bury my parents in their old old age. What's wrong with that.
Fuck Cancer.
Nothing.
This is nothing.
Instead you tell me it's everything. My entire life held in a 3inx4inx4in mass, firm, non-mobile... thus sayeth the report. My current god. Aggressive, you say. Aggressive,they say.
The music stops. I hear a buzzing in my head and smell a funny smell... like gunpowder or sulphur. This must be what it feels like when... but there is no when... this is how it feels. I breathe. I breathe. Oh, how I breathe. Gasping... in, out. Hot. Is it hot in here suddenly?
Was it the alcohol? The cigarettes? Fried food at 2 am, red meat...
or
Not enough faith, not enough devotion, not enough belief...
or
Anger. Bitterness.
Too much of anything I've ever indulged in?
I have people being strong for me. But I don't need that. I have people who tell me they just can't be strong for me. But I don't need them to be. Right now... right now I need a taste of normal. Today. Today this is what I need.
I still fight this diagnosis. I still fight a poor prognosis. I still want to listen to music, and dye my hair purple, and imagine I'll be in love with this wonderful man forever, and see my boy grow up, and have friends who are old fucks like me, and bury my parents in their old old age. What's wrong with that.
Fuck Cancer.
11.24.2007
Expressionism and how
It's that moment when all the pieces we randomly threw in the air begin to fall and make something beautiful. Marcel Duchamp couldn't do this better. Only this is life. This is my life and your life and the lives of all the people we worship for loving us as we are. We are the canvas of hope. Of future. Of all the tomorrows we thirst for. There is nothing better than living today and being ok with whatever tomorrow brings.
11.15.2007
Fronts and cold.
The wind is blowing up something cold and delicious tonight. Standing and facing it makes me feel alive. I want it in a mason jar to drink until I'm full. This is out of reach. Kind of like the deepest deep. Insignificant because it's so vast. Becoming something unimaginable. The music of leaves running on the pavement. Holy moments, a sacred breathing body. The growth of that which can only be good. Hope surging.
Watching this play out before my eyes.
Watching this play out before my eyes.
11.07.2007
Sometimes...
Nothing comes out right sometimes.
That's why we keep on trying.
Rainbow highs, and your smiles. That was the weekend for me. I am left with emptiness that aches. I could swallow the ocean and still be dry with this thirst. This is good. I know that this is good. In meager drops I am fed the feast of a lifetime.
This was not what I wanted to say. I wanted to say things about Christmas, and how I am confused about it. I have spent the past couple of years trying to come to terms with how I felt about religion and god, and I realize that I don't know anything. I wanted to say something about my son, and how beautiful he is. I wanted to say that he gets embarrassed when I kiss him in public. I wanted to say that I want another chance at being a mom, but that I don't, all at the same time. I wanted to say something along those lines.
But it wouldn't come out right. I think sometimes that's just how it is.
That's why we keep on trying.
Rainbow highs, and your smiles. That was the weekend for me. I am left with emptiness that aches. I could swallow the ocean and still be dry with this thirst. This is good. I know that this is good. In meager drops I am fed the feast of a lifetime.
This was not what I wanted to say. I wanted to say things about Christmas, and how I am confused about it. I have spent the past couple of years trying to come to terms with how I felt about religion and god, and I realize that I don't know anything. I wanted to say something about my son, and how beautiful he is. I wanted to say that he gets embarrassed when I kiss him in public. I wanted to say that I want another chance at being a mom, but that I don't, all at the same time. I wanted to say something along those lines.
But it wouldn't come out right. I think sometimes that's just how it is.
11.05.2007
My Beautiful Boobs
Have I ever appreciated my boobs as much as I have in the last week? With the exception of the 9 months I spent being pregnant (and the corresponding WOW I HAVE BOOBS NOW!!!), and the additional year I devoted to being my son's personal dairy farm, I would have to say no. And even then. No. Not until this week have I ever thought about how beautiful my boobs are...
Why am I talking about my boobs?
Well the fact of the matter is there is something growing in them that shouldn't be there. A cyst. I hope a cyst. Possibly... probably... a tumor. And when you go in for an emergency exam because you're worried and they start throwing the word cancer around like it's a volleyball it begins to work on you. No matter how much you tell yourself, it's not me, I don't DON'T have cancer, still the thought works its way in. A worm that eats your brain alive at night when you lie in bed alone.
Only 2% of women under 35 are diagnosed with breast cancer every year. That's great. I love that number. I want to see more statistics like that please. But still the nagging thought that works on me is that 2% means it does happen. What if...
No no no no no no.
If I tell everyone else not to be worried about it. If I brush it off. If I can laugh at the fact that I'll end up with lumpy boobs... if I can do that then it will all be ok. When the time comes to worry then I'll worry.
Still. These are mine. They are a symbol, across the planet, of feminine beauty. They are mine. But they are wrong now. I can feel and see they are wrong. Oddly, even with a bra and shirt on I feel less beautiful just knowing that underneath they are no longer perfect. If I took that shirt off, you'd know.
Pride. Is this a misplaced pride in something I never created. Is this suddenly caring about something only because there is potential for it to be taken away. The child who doesn't care about the toy until someone else comes along and wants it. Did I take them for granted all this time? Their essential perfection. The proportion of beautiful curves. The pale soft skin that makes them so different from every other part of my anatomy.
This is mine. And I'm young. I want them to stay like this forever. I look at my grandmother and wonder were hers once like this? Will mine be like that someday? I know the answer. Hush. Don't treat me like a child. I know the answer.
I know. I know. I know. That I will be ok. I am ok with whatever happens. I am certain it is nothing of major concern. The doctor will wave his magic wand and remove the thing and there will only be a small scar. No one will ever know. A decade will pass before this will be a real concern. But they schedule tests. They poke and prod. They say hmmm and point to something on the scan and the intern nods. They talk excitedly in the hall. They say unusual. They consult the scan with other doctors. I sit and see them from around the corner pointing to me, heads together, talking low. They say nothing.
I try not to cry while I tell him in a flippant tone about the whole thing. And then close my eyes and admit I am vulnerable and worried. "You can't mess up beauty," he says. Has he always seen the most valuable things in me? And how did I go for so much of my life not seeing them in me. In others? My heart is slippery and up in my throat, flopping like a dying fish. Trashing. Attempting to oxygenate this revolting body. I love him more for that moment than for possibly anything else. And there are plenty of reasons to love. My beating heart makes me happy. I believe him. I believe him. You can't mess up beauty.
Why am I talking about my boobs?
Well the fact of the matter is there is something growing in them that shouldn't be there. A cyst. I hope a cyst. Possibly... probably... a tumor. And when you go in for an emergency exam because you're worried and they start throwing the word cancer around like it's a volleyball it begins to work on you. No matter how much you tell yourself, it's not me, I don't DON'T have cancer, still the thought works its way in. A worm that eats your brain alive at night when you lie in bed alone.
Only 2% of women under 35 are diagnosed with breast cancer every year. That's great. I love that number. I want to see more statistics like that please. But still the nagging thought that works on me is that 2% means it does happen. What if...
No no no no no no.
If I tell everyone else not to be worried about it. If I brush it off. If I can laugh at the fact that I'll end up with lumpy boobs... if I can do that then it will all be ok. When the time comes to worry then I'll worry.
Still. These are mine. They are a symbol, across the planet, of feminine beauty. They are mine. But they are wrong now. I can feel and see they are wrong. Oddly, even with a bra and shirt on I feel less beautiful just knowing that underneath they are no longer perfect. If I took that shirt off, you'd know.
Pride. Is this a misplaced pride in something I never created. Is this suddenly caring about something only because there is potential for it to be taken away. The child who doesn't care about the toy until someone else comes along and wants it. Did I take them for granted all this time? Their essential perfection. The proportion of beautiful curves. The pale soft skin that makes them so different from every other part of my anatomy.
This is mine. And I'm young. I want them to stay like this forever. I look at my grandmother and wonder were hers once like this? Will mine be like that someday? I know the answer. Hush. Don't treat me like a child. I know the answer.
I know. I know. I know. That I will be ok. I am ok with whatever happens. I am certain it is nothing of major concern. The doctor will wave his magic wand and remove the thing and there will only be a small scar. No one will ever know. A decade will pass before this will be a real concern. But they schedule tests. They poke and prod. They say hmmm and point to something on the scan and the intern nods. They talk excitedly in the hall. They say unusual. They consult the scan with other doctors. I sit and see them from around the corner pointing to me, heads together, talking low. They say nothing.
I try not to cry while I tell him in a flippant tone about the whole thing. And then close my eyes and admit I am vulnerable and worried. "You can't mess up beauty," he says. Has he always seen the most valuable things in me? And how did I go for so much of my life not seeing them in me. In others? My heart is slippery and up in my throat, flopping like a dying fish. Trashing. Attempting to oxygenate this revolting body. I love him more for that moment than for possibly anything else. And there are plenty of reasons to love. My beating heart makes me happy. I believe him. I believe him. You can't mess up beauty.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
