A life collided with mine recently and started my brain a working on ideas about eating. A friend's doctor said she had to change her body healthy ASAP. So we went on a walk this morning. She asked me a some questions, and I started thinking through what I do to stay healthy and eat right. Now, I am not perfect and I can't be Vegan on a high fiber diet due to my Tykerb side effects, but I try. I did loose most of my twenty pounds of chemo-weight last year. So our conversation got me thinking about my "rules" and what I did to mentally prepare myself for a life change of good eating. Here are a few pointers I will put out there today for anyone wanting to eat better as a family.
First of all, remove all dairy for one month or longer. You might ease into this like if you drink glasses of milk, start diluting cow milk with rice milk little by little. No cheese at all. It will be tough. Dairy is one of the most harmful things for a body in the state of constant repair. So I would venture to predict by doing this, you will feel better in your joints, skin, intestine, and so much more. Don't forget to invest in calcium supplements...go to Whole Foods to buy them so you can talk with the people there and get good information...make sure they are vegetarian. After month, introduce cheese and small amounts of dairy into your diet slowly, as in a pizza once a month or Parmesan cheese on your marinara sauce (because you aren't ordering mac and cheese anymore, right?) Your mind set and dependency on dairy will be completely altered after a month or more. Eat it, but think of it as a treat to be enjoyed in small portions. Mentally, you will be prepared to move on to other food items, like carbs, next month.
The second pointer I would suggest is allow for one severing of a sweet per day. Yes, allow. We are talking the whole family here abiding to this rule. Mentally, your allowing is good for your brain and motivation. But, include all beverages other then water as a sweet. So if your son has a juice box in his lunch box, then he is done for the day. He can't have juice with dinner nor a dessert. Now, if he would like to have water for lunch and save his serving for that brownie after dinner...go for it! Again, this rule helps your family train their brains to control cravings and their dependency on food. It is all a game, you know. Later, for the die hards, do this with non-veggie carbs and packaged food. Oh, and this develops great will power that is very usefully through out all life experiences.
The third and last pointer for someone looking to change their pantry is to stop all consuming at 6 or 7 pm depending on when you go to bed. Enjoy your water! But, no food in your mouth three hours before you go to sleep at night. This allows your body to properly digest everything before you lie down. All food consumed in the late hours of the day is junk. You are giving into your lack of will power to feed emotional needs. If your tummy growls, ignore it. Tell it it can have food at breakfast, yum! (And, make sure you are eating a great breakfast slowly too.)
So basically, these three pointers aren't about food at all. It is about your Jedi training of your brain. Your will power and relationship with food will mature. Be a conscious eater. Slow down. Think about what goes in your mouth. Enjoy every last bite immensely. And, pick a vegetable of the week. This week, spinach! YUM! My favorite. My Popeye brain was so excited for two for one deals on spinach at the Framer's Market. I will post my spinach pesto recipe later. Well, I have to write it down because it has been in my head ever since I created it. For now, I have to dash off to my HER-fusion and take my two hour nap in my recliner. I hear my dad might bring me a hazelnut latte made with rice milk for my one sweet for the day...wink.
PS Try Kris Carr's Crazy Sexy Cancer Diet book even if you don't have cancer. It is really easy to pick up and read bits you need. Eating well is good for all inflammatory disease. And, let's face it, we are all getting a bit older and a plate that is 80% green goodness (and orange smiles) is like an answered prayer for your body.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
tending to the dragons and fariies
So what about your dragons and fairies? What happens to them when you are figuring out life with cancer? Well, they sometimes become shadow walkers. They are both good at that. The only problem is that they sometimes get scared of the dark. So I have chosen to let the light reach around my looming figure to sparkle on their tears.
How scary it must be to think your mommy, the day to day lady who mysteriously makes you food and often gets exactly what you always wanted and a little brocolli on your plate without you even asking, may stop serving your every need. We often forget those little ones have huge ears and even bigger imaginations.
So the fairies stop casting spells and painting the petals on the flowers. Their garden dries up and turns grey. They may even forget to dance to make the rain come. But, you can brush their hair and explain the world for a quiet spell and they will remember the dance. Remind your fairy to take each day as just a day. This moment is just this moment. And, we are together now. So breath in the air here in this day and find the beauty set before your eyes. This is really not that hard of a task as fairies are drawn to beauty, it is in their nature.
When my fairy was told I was in remission, that life was just stable for a while, she replied with a glint of tear in her eyes, "Mom, my love bucket was already full today and now it is just overflowing all over the floor." She later needed to talk about what remission meant exactly as my analytical one. But, she understood that this was a good thing. "Now, you just have to be good and take all your pills and go to all your appointments and keep those cancer cells out of your body, okay?" Will do, my fairy, for I have a lot of dances to attend and petals to paint with you.
Now little dragons are tougher to understand as they tend to smolder in their heat. They can make big angry, black clouds with their fire all the while wail because they can't breath their fire perfectly. They can fly around burning down the neighborhood one minute and offer to take you on a flight to see the rainbow the next. Their tough, scaly skin protects them, but it also keeps them from being touched. Many bigger dragons forget that little dragons still need to be touched even when they look all grown up and tough.
My dragon has been very angry and confused. He seems to have forgotten if he was supposed to burn down the house of the wicked witch of the west or the barn of the farmer who feeds the poor on Fridays. What he really wants to do is just fly; fly high and away from all this mess. So how is it you talk to the littlest of dragons? Well, first you have to find their den and place of peace. Let them have a snugglie to hold even when you think they ought be a big boy and not need a softie. Sing a song. Be very kind and speak low. Then ask them if they have any questions. Of course, they will say nothing, but you will see their gears in their brains racing. Do you understand what is going on? "No, mommy. Does remission mean you no longer have cancer and will live forever and ever? Is it gone forever?" See, little dragons want the facts in black and white. So you have to choose your words carefully. The cancer is gone for a long time as long as we keep working at it. "Will you still be tired all the time?" Yes. "Will you still have that white stuff oozing out of the blisters on your toes?" Yes. "Can I help you pop them?" Not tonight, they are all right right now. "Will you come to eat lunch with me tomorrow at school?" Yes, if you will let me go when it is time knowing I will see you when school is done. Can you do that? Can you let me go when it is time for lunchto end? A silent nod and look of uncertainty. I will come if you can let me go. "Okay."
I love you to the moon and back my fairy and dragon. You are the reason I get up in the morning. You are the most powerful medicine and make my love bucket over follow with just a smile. You can try to push me away. Maybe it would be easier if you didn't care so much. Yes, maybe. But, I am not going anywhere just yet. I will love you no matter what. And, you can never fail me. Just take in the moment, let yesterday be a lesson, and worry less of tomorrow so you don't miss the beauty of today. Don't seek out the easy; find the possible. You are amazingly awesome. Now, let us dance and make the rains come.
How scary it must be to think your mommy, the day to day lady who mysteriously makes you food and often gets exactly what you always wanted and a little brocolli on your plate without you even asking, may stop serving your every need. We often forget those little ones have huge ears and even bigger imaginations.
So the fairies stop casting spells and painting the petals on the flowers. Their garden dries up and turns grey. They may even forget to dance to make the rain come. But, you can brush their hair and explain the world for a quiet spell and they will remember the dance. Remind your fairy to take each day as just a day. This moment is just this moment. And, we are together now. So breath in the air here in this day and find the beauty set before your eyes. This is really not that hard of a task as fairies are drawn to beauty, it is in their nature.
When my fairy was told I was in remission, that life was just stable for a while, she replied with a glint of tear in her eyes, "Mom, my love bucket was already full today and now it is just overflowing all over the floor." She later needed to talk about what remission meant exactly as my analytical one. But, she understood that this was a good thing. "Now, you just have to be good and take all your pills and go to all your appointments and keep those cancer cells out of your body, okay?" Will do, my fairy, for I have a lot of dances to attend and petals to paint with you.
Now little dragons are tougher to understand as they tend to smolder in their heat. They can make big angry, black clouds with their fire all the while wail because they can't breath their fire perfectly. They can fly around burning down the neighborhood one minute and offer to take you on a flight to see the rainbow the next. Their tough, scaly skin protects them, but it also keeps them from being touched. Many bigger dragons forget that little dragons still need to be touched even when they look all grown up and tough.
My dragon has been very angry and confused. He seems to have forgotten if he was supposed to burn down the house of the wicked witch of the west or the barn of the farmer who feeds the poor on Fridays. What he really wants to do is just fly; fly high and away from all this mess. So how is it you talk to the littlest of dragons? Well, first you have to find their den and place of peace. Let them have a snugglie to hold even when you think they ought be a big boy and not need a softie. Sing a song. Be very kind and speak low. Then ask them if they have any questions. Of course, they will say nothing, but you will see their gears in their brains racing. Do you understand what is going on? "No, mommy. Does remission mean you no longer have cancer and will live forever and ever? Is it gone forever?" See, little dragons want the facts in black and white. So you have to choose your words carefully. The cancer is gone for a long time as long as we keep working at it. "Will you still be tired all the time?" Yes. "Will you still have that white stuff oozing out of the blisters on your toes?" Yes. "Can I help you pop them?" Not tonight, they are all right right now. "Will you come to eat lunch with me tomorrow at school?" Yes, if you will let me go when it is time knowing I will see you when school is done. Can you do that? Can you let me go when it is time for lunchto end? A silent nod and look of uncertainty. I will come if you can let me go. "Okay."
I love you to the moon and back my fairy and dragon. You are the reason I get up in the morning. You are the most powerful medicine and make my love bucket over follow with just a smile. You can try to push me away. Maybe it would be easier if you didn't care so much. Yes, maybe. But, I am not going anywhere just yet. I will love you no matter what. And, you can never fail me. Just take in the moment, let yesterday be a lesson, and worry less of tomorrow so you don't miss the beauty of today. Don't seek out the easy; find the possible. You are amazingly awesome. Now, let us dance and make the rains come.
Autobiography of an Accidental Runner.
Alright. Let's put it all out on the table. I hated running. I hated working out. Swimming was alright in high school and college. And, I even ran the three miles around the Colorado State University campus once a week with some friends back in the 90s. In 2004, I gained 18 pounds and inched close to 140 pounds. When I passed 130, I cried. Well, okay, I was eating for two, literally. Once I delivered my bouncing baby girl and got the release from the doc, I started exercise regularly. Sort of. In no time at all, I was 117 pounds and pregnant again. Agh. It was harder the second go around, and I found a regular routine lifting the babies as weights and walking the stroller daily to the park. Easy Peasy in two years. Okay, maybe it was a bit of a yo-yo climb for three years. I announced to the world I was at a comfortable 120 pounds and sticking. Woohoo. Now to develop a regular maintenance routine at the rec center since the kids where now too wiggly for the stroller, and I hate running anyway. In general, sweating sort of stinks; pun intended.
So I reached my goal weight one month before my left breast blew up like a balloon and had to be removed. I had breast cancer and was going to have six months of chemotherapy and steroids. Yeah, I was totally physically fit, armed and dangerous...watch out cancer cells. Boom boom pow. Take that.
However, if you have any reality of cancer and chemo-effects in your life may it be you, a relative, or friend, you know that each treatment runs the body down like you have run a marathon or climbed a fourteen thousand foot peak. The next treatment is like running two marathons or climbing two peaks. the third is.... Well, you get the picture. Also, there is an additional 25 pounds of baggage on average. So being as I didn't get out much to avoid exposure risks to all those lazy people who sneeze, wipe their nose with the backs of their hands, and then continue holding the handle bars for the cycle or the bar for the treadmill...yah, you know who you are...I didn't get out. Luckily, my husband's company gave him a check, during the glory years of business, to buy athletic equipment in leu of a health club membership for one year. We had an elliptical in our basement...the same one Oprah uses, tee hee.
So I would drag my tired legs down to the basement, flip on Oprah, and work out for the 45 minutes she interviewed the President and First Lady. I also plugged in a bunch of new tunage in my i-pod from some weirdo named Lady Gaga and rounded the block stretching out my tight arm. Sometimes I would sneak in behind the elderly Chinese couple doing their Tia Chi thing so I wouldn't look out of place.
So here I was 18 months post-diagnoses, feeling pretty good, and finally getting a smile and a hug from my young women's breast oncologist at the University of Denver Hospital. Remission. The prescription for remission...run your ass off. Yes, I am quoting her as she likes to use a lot of "French" words. (Did you know cancer was a bitch?) "Basically, honey, it comes down to this, my young ladies that survive up through ten years and maybe more are runners. They are in half marathons, triathlons, and make it part of their life in some way."
Fine! I hate running! So I ran. First, I ran two minutes, walked five. Then maybe five minutes running, walk five...or was it ten? Eventually, I would run for twenty minutes, about half way or one mile, and walk home. One fine day, two years or so after diagnoses, I ran two miles, 30 minutes, no stop. Boom, I went a little further and further and there was three miles.
I still hated running and had a lot of time to think about how much I hated running. Then one day, it was getting to be fall and I knew soon it would be hard to get out and ran due to snow, I got sad. I would miss running.
That is when I realized what running was. Running was getting over that first mile when you are debating your investment of time while your muscles are asking you to go sit down someplace and look up at the clouds. Some where in the second mile, your eyes go up to the clouds, the mountains, the little bunnies hopping across the pavement, and the dragon fly that nearly smacked your forehead, you realize your body EGO turned off and your right brain turned on. You are day dreaming, listening to your tunes, and heck, nearly home. And, more importantly, you didn't stop to walk today.
So that is what running outside is. It is actually Jedi mind training. A few months later, I will kick out of my remission with a metastasis to my brain. I will think I will die and have nightmares of the cells as Storm Troopers inflitrating my brain like a spider web. I will lay on a Cyber Knife radiation table for 50 minutes. At 20 minutes into the treatment, under the very tight mesh mask pinned to the table, I will begin to panic and cry. Then, I will remember my running Yoda. I will close my eyes and see the clouds, mountains and bunnies. My breathing will slow and my right brain will take over. Then the treatment will be done. I will be almost home.
I still run today, brain tumor free. A couple of friends breezed pass me waving and chatting amongst themselves. They are quickly way ahead of me and heading towards Lager Reservoir which is a five mile loop. I realize how slow I am going. I realize how much my toes are really hurting due to the chemo-class-biologic drug I take to keep those Storm Trooper cancer cells out of my brain. In fact, I wonder if they are bleeding. My thighs feel like jello, and I want to stop and walk. Have I made a mile yet? I am too far from home now, nearly half way on my three mile loop. Come on stupid body EGO, shut up and let me run. There is a bunny, It is so super hot. Look at how awesome Long's Peak is over there with her sister Mount Meeker. How lucky I am here at this very moment to see this. Oh, I am at the kid's school now. I wonder if Jack was able to put on his brave face and enjoy school. (He was crying today; hard to let go on mommy's leg; fifth morning of kindergarten; I was too.) What? I am already nearly home? I am still running! Lady Gaga's Just Dance plays in my ear buds. This is the song I would sing as I dragged my legs, bones still achy from the Neulasta shot, around the block each day after each chemotherapy treatment. I have hair today. I am shouting, JUST DANCE! I am home.
I love running. Did you hear that right? Yep. Running is not about the sweat and great toned legs. Running is about the mind game with yourself. It is about shutting up your body EGO, letting your body move, and reaping the rewards of the endorphins as you're drinking 16 ounces of water in two seconds while sitting on your porch rocker feeling blessed you are still alive. While I have my legs that work, I will use them. What is a little bleeding toe? That is what band aids are for. Oh, and trying on some size 6, maybe even 4 skinny jeans that will slide so slightly in my winter boots this fall just may have its own rewards for my feminine EGO too. Go out and run Jedi warrior. God didn't make life easy, He made it possible.
PS: This blog entry is dedictated to Frank. Get out there and walk. Maybe someday you will run. Maye not. Don't let your neauropathy be a roadblock. Maybe you will learn something about yourself and your body EGO. do something with your body that isn't cancer and show it who's boss, Jedi warrior.
So I reached my goal weight one month before my left breast blew up like a balloon and had to be removed. I had breast cancer and was going to have six months of chemotherapy and steroids. Yeah, I was totally physically fit, armed and dangerous...watch out cancer cells. Boom boom pow. Take that.
However, if you have any reality of cancer and chemo-effects in your life may it be you, a relative, or friend, you know that each treatment runs the body down like you have run a marathon or climbed a fourteen thousand foot peak. The next treatment is like running two marathons or climbing two peaks. the third is.... Well, you get the picture. Also, there is an additional 25 pounds of baggage on average. So being as I didn't get out much to avoid exposure risks to all those lazy people who sneeze, wipe their nose with the backs of their hands, and then continue holding the handle bars for the cycle or the bar for the treadmill...yah, you know who you are...I didn't get out. Luckily, my husband's company gave him a check, during the glory years of business, to buy athletic equipment in leu of a health club membership for one year. We had an elliptical in our basement...the same one Oprah uses, tee hee.
So I would drag my tired legs down to the basement, flip on Oprah, and work out for the 45 minutes she interviewed the President and First Lady. I also plugged in a bunch of new tunage in my i-pod from some weirdo named Lady Gaga and rounded the block stretching out my tight arm. Sometimes I would sneak in behind the elderly Chinese couple doing their Tia Chi thing so I wouldn't look out of place.
So here I was 18 months post-diagnoses, feeling pretty good, and finally getting a smile and a hug from my young women's breast oncologist at the University of Denver Hospital. Remission. The prescription for remission...run your ass off. Yes, I am quoting her as she likes to use a lot of "French" words. (Did you know cancer was a bitch?) "Basically, honey, it comes down to this, my young ladies that survive up through ten years and maybe more are runners. They are in half marathons, triathlons, and make it part of their life in some way."
Fine! I hate running! So I ran. First, I ran two minutes, walked five. Then maybe five minutes running, walk five...or was it ten? Eventually, I would run for twenty minutes, about half way or one mile, and walk home. One fine day, two years or so after diagnoses, I ran two miles, 30 minutes, no stop. Boom, I went a little further and further and there was three miles.
I still hated running and had a lot of time to think about how much I hated running. Then one day, it was getting to be fall and I knew soon it would be hard to get out and ran due to snow, I got sad. I would miss running.
That is when I realized what running was. Running was getting over that first mile when you are debating your investment of time while your muscles are asking you to go sit down someplace and look up at the clouds. Some where in the second mile, your eyes go up to the clouds, the mountains, the little bunnies hopping across the pavement, and the dragon fly that nearly smacked your forehead, you realize your body EGO turned off and your right brain turned on. You are day dreaming, listening to your tunes, and heck, nearly home. And, more importantly, you didn't stop to walk today.
So that is what running outside is. It is actually Jedi mind training. A few months later, I will kick out of my remission with a metastasis to my brain. I will think I will die and have nightmares of the cells as Storm Troopers inflitrating my brain like a spider web. I will lay on a Cyber Knife radiation table for 50 minutes. At 20 minutes into the treatment, under the very tight mesh mask pinned to the table, I will begin to panic and cry. Then, I will remember my running Yoda. I will close my eyes and see the clouds, mountains and bunnies. My breathing will slow and my right brain will take over. Then the treatment will be done. I will be almost home.
I still run today, brain tumor free. A couple of friends breezed pass me waving and chatting amongst themselves. They are quickly way ahead of me and heading towards Lager Reservoir which is a five mile loop. I realize how slow I am going. I realize how much my toes are really hurting due to the chemo-class-biologic drug I take to keep those Storm Trooper cancer cells out of my brain. In fact, I wonder if they are bleeding. My thighs feel like jello, and I want to stop and walk. Have I made a mile yet? I am too far from home now, nearly half way on my three mile loop. Come on stupid body EGO, shut up and let me run. There is a bunny, It is so super hot. Look at how awesome Long's Peak is over there with her sister Mount Meeker. How lucky I am here at this very moment to see this. Oh, I am at the kid's school now. I wonder if Jack was able to put on his brave face and enjoy school. (He was crying today; hard to let go on mommy's leg; fifth morning of kindergarten; I was too.) What? I am already nearly home? I am still running! Lady Gaga's Just Dance plays in my ear buds. This is the song I would sing as I dragged my legs, bones still achy from the Neulasta shot, around the block each day after each chemotherapy treatment. I have hair today. I am shouting, JUST DANCE! I am home.
I love running. Did you hear that right? Yep. Running is not about the sweat and great toned legs. Running is about the mind game with yourself. It is about shutting up your body EGO, letting your body move, and reaping the rewards of the endorphins as you're drinking 16 ounces of water in two seconds while sitting on your porch rocker feeling blessed you are still alive. While I have my legs that work, I will use them. What is a little bleeding toe? That is what band aids are for. Oh, and trying on some size 6, maybe even 4 skinny jeans that will slide so slightly in my winter boots this fall just may have its own rewards for my feminine EGO too. Go out and run Jedi warrior. God didn't make life easy, He made it possible.
PS: This blog entry is dedictated to Frank. Get out there and walk. Maybe someday you will run. Maye not. Don't let your neauropathy be a roadblock. Maybe you will learn something about yourself and your body EGO. do something with your body that isn't cancer and show it who's boss, Jedi warrior.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Watcha thinking about?
Thoughts are a really interesting thing to think about. Thinking about thinking. Wayne Dywer and Eckhart Tolle, contemporary inspirational and spiritual speakers, call your head-language EGO. This is actually and acronym meaning to Edge God Out. In other words, it is your silences when you hear God's voice. Meditation. And, your head-language keeps you from hearing God's voice and your true calling.
It is simple to hear God at the end on my yoga practice as I lie in corpse pose and let the heat of the studio wash over my body. Tiny, under used muscles flinch and shutter. I breath into them. And images of paintings weave in and out of my mind. Often I feel as if I am floating and there are cherry blossom petals falling all around me. Sometimes, I cry. It's easy to listen then. It's also easy to silence my head language when I am tired and laying in bed trying to fall asleep.
Wait, what am I talking about? That is the worse time of the day when EGO has her way with me pillaging my sanity and raping my mind with fear. Well, actually, it isn't all that bad thanks to mommy's little yellow happy pills. Just kidding. I only take those on really bad nights when there is a rager going on in other parts on my body, and I need to call the Valium police to shut it down. My mind is quite busy at ten pm. It always has been. In high school, I would be awake well past midnight writing poems and sorting out my future. And, that is when I learned to meditate. I grabbed my fattest textbook, history of course, and put it in my stomach as I lie on my back. I would then breath in and out raising and lowering it slowly until eventually I was so full of clean air that it would drop to the floor as I curled up with my knees to my chin asleep.
So now that we understand head language, EGO, listening for God, and meditation, I was wondering if it was okay to think about something all the time. What if that something was bad and puts you on the edge of panic like waiting for a test result? EGO would most definitely jump up and down in a picket line yelling, "You are going to fail. You are going to fail." The spiritual teachers would tell you to acknowledge those thoughts; hug them if you will. Then let them fall away. So then, our teachers, is it okay to start plugging in your pep talk tape and set it on repeat? "You are so awesome; you've got this; no problem." Is that not your EGO talking as well? Is it? For myself, I am not sure I would be such an optomist with out my cheerleader record set on repeat in my head. Or would I? What if I turned it all off?
See what I mean, thinking about thinking is strange business. So what if your obsessive thoughts were about a thing? What if that thing was really bad for you, but it made you feel so good thinking about it? What if you couldn't get it out of your head? But, you never intend to enjoy this thing. Just the thinking about it makes you happy. Or does it?
What if your were an addict and that thing you obsessively thought about was drugs? Does that change the way you would answer the questions above? Sure it does. What if I just told you that the thing was this great pair of $1,467 shoes you saw in this window display on 5th Avenue that when you tried them on you felt like Carie Bradshaw in Sex in the City only totally prettier and five inches taller? What if you had the money to buy the shoes? Would thinking about them be okay? What if it was a car? A house? That huge TV? A book you want to read? A person you just met? A doll for your little girl? A doll for someone else's little girl? A trip to Hawaii? What you are going to make for dinner?
No seriously, we all think of crazy things that make us feel good inside. Sometimes you can't stop thinking about it. Sometimes it is just a secret between you and your reflection. Sometimes you broadcast it on your Facebook status: "I want cake." Do you want cake or is that your EGO talking? Or are you really expressing that you feel completely depressed or stressed out and you're a woman between the ages of 16 and 72? Maybe you are just on a diet and that is your EGO pillaging your sanity. Is it really necessary to turn off your EGO head-language all the time? Or can you enjoy a little cake-dreaming and cheerleader recording put on repeat. Isn't it a good thing to have a little oxytocin rush while pondering that thing if it really is quite innocent, that is to say not drugs or any other act against the Ten Commandments? Is that called motivation or is it EGO clouding the subject. I don't know, let me go meditate on it and get back to you.
__________________________________________________________
I am back. No answer to the pondering of whether repetitively thinking about thinking about something that makes you feel awesome inside is a good thing or your EGO keeping you from your true calling because all I could think about was dark chocolate double devil's food cake with a dallop of French vanilla.
It is simple to hear God at the end on my yoga practice as I lie in corpse pose and let the heat of the studio wash over my body. Tiny, under used muscles flinch and shutter. I breath into them. And images of paintings weave in and out of my mind. Often I feel as if I am floating and there are cherry blossom petals falling all around me. Sometimes, I cry. It's easy to listen then. It's also easy to silence my head language when I am tired and laying in bed trying to fall asleep.
Wait, what am I talking about? That is the worse time of the day when EGO has her way with me pillaging my sanity and raping my mind with fear. Well, actually, it isn't all that bad thanks to mommy's little yellow happy pills. Just kidding. I only take those on really bad nights when there is a rager going on in other parts on my body, and I need to call the Valium police to shut it down. My mind is quite busy at ten pm. It always has been. In high school, I would be awake well past midnight writing poems and sorting out my future. And, that is when I learned to meditate. I grabbed my fattest textbook, history of course, and put it in my stomach as I lie on my back. I would then breath in and out raising and lowering it slowly until eventually I was so full of clean air that it would drop to the floor as I curled up with my knees to my chin asleep.
So now that we understand head language, EGO, listening for God, and meditation, I was wondering if it was okay to think about something all the time. What if that something was bad and puts you on the edge of panic like waiting for a test result? EGO would most definitely jump up and down in a picket line yelling, "You are going to fail. You are going to fail." The spiritual teachers would tell you to acknowledge those thoughts; hug them if you will. Then let them fall away. So then, our teachers, is it okay to start plugging in your pep talk tape and set it on repeat? "You are so awesome; you've got this; no problem." Is that not your EGO talking as well? Is it? For myself, I am not sure I would be such an optomist with out my cheerleader record set on repeat in my head. Or would I? What if I turned it all off?
See what I mean, thinking about thinking is strange business. So what if your obsessive thoughts were about a thing? What if that thing was really bad for you, but it made you feel so good thinking about it? What if you couldn't get it out of your head? But, you never intend to enjoy this thing. Just the thinking about it makes you happy. Or does it?
What if your were an addict and that thing you obsessively thought about was drugs? Does that change the way you would answer the questions above? Sure it does. What if I just told you that the thing was this great pair of $1,467 shoes you saw in this window display on 5th Avenue that when you tried them on you felt like Carie Bradshaw in Sex in the City only totally prettier and five inches taller? What if you had the money to buy the shoes? Would thinking about them be okay? What if it was a car? A house? That huge TV? A book you want to read? A person you just met? A doll for your little girl? A doll for someone else's little girl? A trip to Hawaii? What you are going to make for dinner?
No seriously, we all think of crazy things that make us feel good inside. Sometimes you can't stop thinking about it. Sometimes it is just a secret between you and your reflection. Sometimes you broadcast it on your Facebook status: "I want cake." Do you want cake or is that your EGO talking? Or are you really expressing that you feel completely depressed or stressed out and you're a woman between the ages of 16 and 72? Maybe you are just on a diet and that is your EGO pillaging your sanity. Is it really necessary to turn off your EGO head-language all the time? Or can you enjoy a little cake-dreaming and cheerleader recording put on repeat. Isn't it a good thing to have a little oxytocin rush while pondering that thing if it really is quite innocent, that is to say not drugs or any other act against the Ten Commandments? Is that called motivation or is it EGO clouding the subject. I don't know, let me go meditate on it and get back to you.
__________________________________________________________
I am back. No answer to the pondering of whether repetitively thinking about thinking about something that makes you feel awesome inside is a good thing or your EGO keeping you from your true calling because all I could think about was dark chocolate double devil's food cake with a dallop of French vanilla.
knowing just a little bit late
My neighbor, the one who apparently has witnessed every scream, giggle, and crazy tent building episode in my backyard, found out I had cancer today. I had assumed she'd witnessed the day I had my kids shave my head on my deck, the mornings I walked around bald in my own backyard free of my hats and scarves, the evenings I struggled to walk around the block, just once, in my blotted state five days after my chemotherapy. I had assumed she'd heard the gossip, saw the others bringing soup, or wondered why my yard suddenly went unattended with its maze of weeds after four summers of weekly preening and prepping.
Yet, she had not. She lived right there over the fence waving high as she picked up her dog poop and told me about how her prized male died suddenly, the puppy was welcomed home and then the female fell ill to cancer. Yes, she lived, well actually she is still alive so...she lives quite parallel but never was aware of my journey which has suddenly arrived at two and one half years long. So I wondered what her heart echoed as I nauchuauntly told her that I am freezing every night because I essentially passed through menopause while going through chemotherapy three summers ago. Her eyes reflected guarded empathy as she passed me a bottle of her daughter's, or was it her sister's, wait, now who is the awesome neighbor with the great memory for detail? I mean...when she gave me this bottle of mist to try for hot flashes. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I no longer have them, I am just cold all the time like my 80 year old grandmother. I will pass the mist on to a dear friend still sweating in her PJs from time to time as her vessel on Earth goes through the Change.
I have strayed from my real pondering. What do you think when I say I have cancer? Because that is it, I have cancer. I don't had cancer. I am not fighting cancer. I am just living with cancer like a really bad roommate I want to evict, but, heck, he pays for the bills so I can't. What do you think? I will tell you what I thought cancer was just four years ago. I thought it is bald, grey faced, ugly, unlikely, scary, death, vomiting, shitting, and heck, maybe even body parts falling off in the street. So if I say I AM cancer in that I am what it looks like to live with cancer, is it surprising that I might whisper that I am a runner. Well, I jog really slowly with the main purpose of keeping this vessel of Earth as physically fit as I can just in case I have to go through chemotherapy again. And, this summer, I finally have my hair back. The hair that is naturally highlighted to near perfection by the summer sun. I keep hearing I have a great hair cut. That is awesome since I had it cut at Cost Cutters four months ago on a whim simply because I didn't like how it was. A cut couldn't make it any worse. That is awesome you applaud how it looks now. So I am not whithered up in hospice care dying...yet. But, there is a lot about me that has died over the past three years. I struggle each day to fan a few embers back to the reality that was pretty freakin' awesome. Yes, my life is pretty freakin' awesome because I am still here and running around the block when my muscles aren't feeling like jello.
So there I go again off track. I am sorry you have to hear that I have cancer. I am sorry because I know that down behind the empathetic words and offers to assist my in some way that you aren't really sure is too helpful anyway, you are scared. And, I know this because I am too. It is no like I want to shout out, "Look, here is the new face of cancer this healthy vibrant 36 year old, nearly blond chica with a boob job." That is not a title I would like to take. But, it is one I have. So anyway, sorry I scared ya, and I am doing fine.
Today, by the way, I had the most awesome hike around Long Lake. I wish I had a camera for smells as my olefactory glands were in heaven.
Yet, she had not. She lived right there over the fence waving high as she picked up her dog poop and told me about how her prized male died suddenly, the puppy was welcomed home and then the female fell ill to cancer. Yes, she lived, well actually she is still alive so...she lives quite parallel but never was aware of my journey which has suddenly arrived at two and one half years long. So I wondered what her heart echoed as I nauchuauntly told her that I am freezing every night because I essentially passed through menopause while going through chemotherapy three summers ago. Her eyes reflected guarded empathy as she passed me a bottle of her daughter's, or was it her sister's, wait, now who is the awesome neighbor with the great memory for detail? I mean...when she gave me this bottle of mist to try for hot flashes. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I no longer have them, I am just cold all the time like my 80 year old grandmother. I will pass the mist on to a dear friend still sweating in her PJs from time to time as her vessel on Earth goes through the Change.
I have strayed from my real pondering. What do you think when I say I have cancer? Because that is it, I have cancer. I don't had cancer. I am not fighting cancer. I am just living with cancer like a really bad roommate I want to evict, but, heck, he pays for the bills so I can't. What do you think? I will tell you what I thought cancer was just four years ago. I thought it is bald, grey faced, ugly, unlikely, scary, death, vomiting, shitting, and heck, maybe even body parts falling off in the street. So if I say I AM cancer in that I am what it looks like to live with cancer, is it surprising that I might whisper that I am a runner. Well, I jog really slowly with the main purpose of keeping this vessel of Earth as physically fit as I can just in case I have to go through chemotherapy again. And, this summer, I finally have my hair back. The hair that is naturally highlighted to near perfection by the summer sun. I keep hearing I have a great hair cut. That is awesome since I had it cut at Cost Cutters four months ago on a whim simply because I didn't like how it was. A cut couldn't make it any worse. That is awesome you applaud how it looks now. So I am not whithered up in hospice care dying...yet. But, there is a lot about me that has died over the past three years. I struggle each day to fan a few embers back to the reality that was pretty freakin' awesome. Yes, my life is pretty freakin' awesome because I am still here and running around the block when my muscles aren't feeling like jello.
So there I go again off track. I am sorry you have to hear that I have cancer. I am sorry because I know that down behind the empathetic words and offers to assist my in some way that you aren't really sure is too helpful anyway, you are scared. And, I know this because I am too. It is no like I want to shout out, "Look, here is the new face of cancer this healthy vibrant 36 year old, nearly blond chica with a boob job." That is not a title I would like to take. But, it is one I have. So anyway, sorry I scared ya, and I am doing fine.
Today, by the way, I had the most awesome hike around Long Lake. I wish I had a camera for smells as my olefactory glands were in heaven.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Summer 2011
It has been a while since I have written. My excuse is: No news is good news. I think I last mentioned that all my tests, scans, blah, blah, and blah in May had positive results as did my mother's and sister's. So our family got a free ticket for summer. And, I say that literally as my next diagnostics are booked for the VERY day before school starts on August 17th. Please do pray for me that week that the stress of back to school and scans doesn't end me up flat as pancake flopped on the couch by the end of the week.
Our summer started off crazy awesome with a trip to Disneyland. I had harboured the Life List aspiration for several years. Of course, being as my life span in which to complete my Life List tasks has just been shortened (or maybe not but it stinks having no clue what is around the corner or how far the block even is.) So I sold an art quilt; my first official art quilt sale of major value, actually. I planned my trip with the check and only dimes in my pocket. Many things fell into place like my father-in-law lives out in LA., owns a boat we can stay on, has a car, and was planning to move and sell both this year. So the timing was perfect for a free room and ride. (Thanks Larry!) We also received one day comp tickets into Disneyland thanks to Larry's friend Tara who works in textiles for the park. The second day we went, we hung out withe my sister-in-law and her one year old. I miss all our artsy chats from when she lived in Colorado and really enjoyed catching up on old times. But, I am not too sure how much chatting we were able to achieve between screaming on rides, laughing at Goofy, and feeding thee kids. My two troopers were awesome as they made it through two full days including the fireworks show and nearly every ride available for kids under 44 inches. After Disneyland, we went down the coast to San Diego. We again received free room on thee 7the floor of an ocean front condo on Coronado Island from my great aunt. I really wanted more time there and wish I was able to book ten days with our United free tickets.
I forgot to mention theat before our trip to California, we went to my parent's cabin in Red Featheer Lakes for a long weekend and then to Taylor Lake viewing the Royal Gorge along the way. Needless to say, I sent my kiddos to summer school and vacation bible school the Monday after our Disney return totally happy but exhausted. Next, we slid in a camping trip near the cabin, a weekend at the cabin for Fourth of July festivities, then over to Larry's cabin in Allenspark for a BBQ on the Fourth, and then out to Lake Powell for the Brown's annual family trip.
All this was quite fun, but I have to secretly admit I am glad to unpack our bags for a couple of weeks. Yes, just a couple so I can weed the yard (once this summer) and clean the house. Then it is time to pack the bags for a week up at the cabin with my sister's family, weekend with friends in Sol Vista, and then my high school BFF, Lisa, is coming out with her kids. We have plans to return up to my friend's condo in Sol Vista and explore the ski resorts for a week.
I think I will leave our bags packed until after my scans and the first week of school. Oh, come on, you know me better theen that. I will be running around in my starved state nesting and cleaning (I have to fast but only 12 hours which is way better theen a coloscopy.) But never fear, I may be very forgetful theese days, but I am still a planner. The kids have already picked out their first day of school clothes, sorted out old clothes that don't fit for consignment and donation, helped me shop for a few new pants and such for the fall, and filled their backpacks with all their school supplies (I can't believe how much they cost! The pencils not thee clothes as I got all theose on sale withe coupons; go Gymboree Gym Bucks!) In fact, I am folding the laundered lot now; well after I type this. Gosh, I am starting to wonder if I am compulsive or just super organized. No, you know what it is, don't you? I am a cancer survivor of two and half years with two little kids. My life is a schedule.
In all this fun and organizing mess detailed above, I have my Her-fusions every three weeks. In fact, I had one this past Monday. Sure I am living a great life but under it all my feet and ankles really hurt, my acne face is really bugging me as it apparently does not like the hot summer sun one bit, and I have no time after entertaining kids all day to get out to do yoga. I can complain and detail how I almost completely lost my thumb finger nail on the houseboat when I was popping open a Hansens. Or, I can tell you that I feel like throwing up one minute and then want to devoure an entire pizza the next. In fact, as we were sitting in the shade popping back a few Zofran on the boat, my nine week pregnant niece and I compared noteworthy complaints. And, I decided I don't have cancer and taking two chemo-clas drugs to keep myself alive. No, I think I am pregnant!
Okay, whatever. So in the back of my mind I am constantly thinking of my death. I know it is weird. I am sort of okay with this and that. I am not scared of what is next, just the process to get there. I wonder how in the heck this house is going to get cleaned (because I want my kids growing up in a clean house a respecting organization,) who's going to rub my son's back when he is scared in the middle of the night of thunder, who's going to take my daughter shopping for school clothes helping her pick out sometheing she feels good in yet doesn't make her look like Britney Spears circa 2004. Well, someone will. Sure. But, that is the crap my head-langauge discusses. I sit on the beach in San Diego watching my kids giggle and splash each other and cry. I am sipping up every moment because this may be it. This may be the last time I sift the sand through my finger tips.
And that, folks, is what it is like to have stage four cancer that already came back. It is a freakin' clueless existence that lacks the security of definition of time. I schedule this and that. I pack bags two weeks before the trip because I will have an infusion and won't feel up to it the day before. But, darn it, I am not misssing that trip! All the while, I sort of joke to myself: why am I cleaning theis toilet, I could be dead tomorrow and shouldn't my time be spent doing sometheing else? Well, silly, who else is going to scrub the toilet and if you don't do it...ooooh gross!
Okay, I didn't mean to start into a sniffling melodrama. What I meant to say was that I am having a freakin' awesome summer, fitting in a lot of fun for kids and myself, and keeping all my appointments. Though I have to admit I did forget a dose of Tykerb for the very first time in six months for no reason at all. Well, actually there was a pretty good reason. I went to see the movie Larry Crowne with my parents, laughed my bum off, had guac and chips at On the Border, felt blessed to have my folks as part of my life, simply crawled in bed tired and happy, and fell asleep. Yes, for one night, I slipped into a life of no cancer. I forgot.
Yes, that is why I fold the laundry, scrub the toilet, cook dinner, take the kids to the pool, plan awesome California vacations, make a Shutterfly digital album immediately, go out with my girlfriends at least once a week, shop the farmer's market, spend hours the week before book club finishing the book, see movies with whomever is willing to go with me, day dream, paint, sew, mend my son's jeans, frantically finish an art quilt and mail it out the day before it is due, paint my toe nails, and just about ever boring, mundane thing that makes this life normal. It all helps me forget. One never really appriciates what they have until they almost loose it. Well, okay, I don't totally appriciate cleaning the bathrooms as more then a weekly task that needs doing, but I am working on it. I think Eckhart Tolle would tell me to sit in front of the toilet for 30 minutes in meditation telling it how awesome it is for letting me dump my wastes in its porceline bowl and speedily flushing it away so that my house doesn't smell nor be riddled with infection.
Nah, the tile is too cold in my pampered life filled with airconditioning. So to sum up my ramblings that took up a good chunk of your morning reading, it has been one very fun summer and I am feeling pretty okay minus the little hurdle I leap over every three weeks. Thanks for all of you who have shared my summer with me. PS The kids are actually home next week so get out your calendars and schedule a play date.
Our summer started off crazy awesome with a trip to Disneyland. I had harboured the Life List aspiration for several years. Of course, being as my life span in which to complete my Life List tasks has just been shortened (or maybe not but it stinks having no clue what is around the corner or how far the block even is.) So I sold an art quilt; my first official art quilt sale of major value, actually. I planned my trip with the check and only dimes in my pocket. Many things fell into place like my father-in-law lives out in LA., owns a boat we can stay on, has a car, and was planning to move and sell both this year. So the timing was perfect for a free room and ride. (Thanks Larry!) We also received one day comp tickets into Disneyland thanks to Larry's friend Tara who works in textiles for the park. The second day we went, we hung out withe my sister-in-law and her one year old. I miss all our artsy chats from when she lived in Colorado and really enjoyed catching up on old times. But, I am not too sure how much chatting we were able to achieve between screaming on rides, laughing at Goofy, and feeding thee kids. My two troopers were awesome as they made it through two full days including the fireworks show and nearly every ride available for kids under 44 inches. After Disneyland, we went down the coast to San Diego. We again received free room on thee 7the floor of an ocean front condo on Coronado Island from my great aunt. I really wanted more time there and wish I was able to book ten days with our United free tickets.
I forgot to mention theat before our trip to California, we went to my parent's cabin in Red Featheer Lakes for a long weekend and then to Taylor Lake viewing the Royal Gorge along the way. Needless to say, I sent my kiddos to summer school and vacation bible school the Monday after our Disney return totally happy but exhausted. Next, we slid in a camping trip near the cabin, a weekend at the cabin for Fourth of July festivities, then over to Larry's cabin in Allenspark for a BBQ on the Fourth, and then out to Lake Powell for the Brown's annual family trip.
All this was quite fun, but I have to secretly admit I am glad to unpack our bags for a couple of weeks. Yes, just a couple so I can weed the yard (once this summer) and clean the house. Then it is time to pack the bags for a week up at the cabin with my sister's family, weekend with friends in Sol Vista, and then my high school BFF, Lisa, is coming out with her kids. We have plans to return up to my friend's condo in Sol Vista and explore the ski resorts for a week.
I think I will leave our bags packed until after my scans and the first week of school. Oh, come on, you know me better theen that. I will be running around in my starved state nesting and cleaning (I have to fast but only 12 hours which is way better theen a coloscopy.) But never fear, I may be very forgetful theese days, but I am still a planner. The kids have already picked out their first day of school clothes, sorted out old clothes that don't fit for consignment and donation, helped me shop for a few new pants and such for the fall, and filled their backpacks with all their school supplies (I can't believe how much they cost! The pencils not thee clothes as I got all theose on sale withe coupons; go Gymboree Gym Bucks!) In fact, I am folding the laundered lot now; well after I type this. Gosh, I am starting to wonder if I am compulsive or just super organized. No, you know what it is, don't you? I am a cancer survivor of two and half years with two little kids. My life is a schedule.
In all this fun and organizing mess detailed above, I have my Her-fusions every three weeks. In fact, I had one this past Monday. Sure I am living a great life but under it all my feet and ankles really hurt, my acne face is really bugging me as it apparently does not like the hot summer sun one bit, and I have no time after entertaining kids all day to get out to do yoga. I can complain and detail how I almost completely lost my thumb finger nail on the houseboat when I was popping open a Hansens. Or, I can tell you that I feel like throwing up one minute and then want to devoure an entire pizza the next. In fact, as we were sitting in the shade popping back a few Zofran on the boat, my nine week pregnant niece and I compared noteworthy complaints. And, I decided I don't have cancer and taking two chemo-clas drugs to keep myself alive. No, I think I am pregnant!
Okay, whatever. So in the back of my mind I am constantly thinking of my death. I know it is weird. I am sort of okay with this and that. I am not scared of what is next, just the process to get there. I wonder how in the heck this house is going to get cleaned (because I want my kids growing up in a clean house a respecting organization,) who's going to rub my son's back when he is scared in the middle of the night of thunder, who's going to take my daughter shopping for school clothes helping her pick out sometheing she feels good in yet doesn't make her look like Britney Spears circa 2004. Well, someone will. Sure. But, that is the crap my head-langauge discusses. I sit on the beach in San Diego watching my kids giggle and splash each other and cry. I am sipping up every moment because this may be it. This may be the last time I sift the sand through my finger tips.
And that, folks, is what it is like to have stage four cancer that already came back. It is a freakin' clueless existence that lacks the security of definition of time. I schedule this and that. I pack bags two weeks before the trip because I will have an infusion and won't feel up to it the day before. But, darn it, I am not misssing that trip! All the while, I sort of joke to myself: why am I cleaning theis toilet, I could be dead tomorrow and shouldn't my time be spent doing sometheing else? Well, silly, who else is going to scrub the toilet and if you don't do it...ooooh gross!
Okay, I didn't mean to start into a sniffling melodrama. What I meant to say was that I am having a freakin' awesome summer, fitting in a lot of fun for kids and myself, and keeping all my appointments. Though I have to admit I did forget a dose of Tykerb for the very first time in six months for no reason at all. Well, actually there was a pretty good reason. I went to see the movie Larry Crowne with my parents, laughed my bum off, had guac and chips at On the Border, felt blessed to have my folks as part of my life, simply crawled in bed tired and happy, and fell asleep. Yes, for one night, I slipped into a life of no cancer. I forgot.
Yes, that is why I fold the laundry, scrub the toilet, cook dinner, take the kids to the pool, plan awesome California vacations, make a Shutterfly digital album immediately, go out with my girlfriends at least once a week, shop the farmer's market, spend hours the week before book club finishing the book, see movies with whomever is willing to go with me, day dream, paint, sew, mend my son's jeans, frantically finish an art quilt and mail it out the day before it is due, paint my toe nails, and just about ever boring, mundane thing that makes this life normal. It all helps me forget. One never really appriciates what they have until they almost loose it. Well, okay, I don't totally appriciate cleaning the bathrooms as more then a weekly task that needs doing, but I am working on it. I think Eckhart Tolle would tell me to sit in front of the toilet for 30 minutes in meditation telling it how awesome it is for letting me dump my wastes in its porceline bowl and speedily flushing it away so that my house doesn't smell nor be riddled with infection.
Nah, the tile is too cold in my pampered life filled with airconditioning. So to sum up my ramblings that took up a good chunk of your morning reading, it has been one very fun summer and I am feeling pretty okay minus the little hurdle I leap over every three weeks. Thanks for all of you who have shared my summer with me. PS The kids are actually home next week so get out your calendars and schedule a play date.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Oops, I forgot the title.
When we were discussing the best plan of action to eradicate my brain of breast cells that were apparently trying to paralyze my left eye, my oncologist said to the neurologist,"We haVe to be careful not to make her to stupid to take care of her little kids." Maybe those weren't the exact words, but that is what I remember hearing. Two thoughts occurred to me. One, if I was, say, fifty and my kids had left for college, would it be okay to fry my brain? And, two, how stupid is this going to make me anyway?
So we did two pin-point radiations on exactly the vary spot of my tumors. Instead of multiple visits with fifteen minutes each, they shot my head with a laser, without telling me by the way, for a full fifty minutes just once. When they were explaining this last minute change the doctors said: one, I was very young (that is cool because I was feeling old and tired at that point) and could handle the stress of the length of time. Again, may I remind you I didn't know I would be there that long when I laid down on the table with a cage tightly fitted over my face. And my I-pod spontaneously went into a random shuffle replacing my soothing ballads with my running playlist. Two, my brain cells were like a balloon. If you blow it up a lot, even right to popping, then release the air, the balloon retains it's elasticity. However, if you blow it up over and over, eventually the material looses it's integrity.
Integrity; now that is an interesting word seeing as we are talking about my brain. This is the very topic I have been thinking about today. I had a sudden urge to send out a mass apology for forgetting stuff. Sorry. I can't remember names of people I have known for a long time. I can't remember appointments. I can't remember to put something out on the porch for a friend to pick up later even just seconds after I hang up the phone. I have to check everything multiple times and often flip a u-turn to get something I left at home...three times in a row. This is horribly embarrassing and frustrating. I can rationalize that it could be worse and that there are normal brains doing this same thing. But, you have to understand is, even though I was forgetful from time to time, this constant behavior is not me, the me of my past. I feel like a ditz.
In discussing my frustrations with my mom after my friend called looking for the thing I was supposed to have put on the porch for her to pick up, I realized that that my brain is trying to multitask all the time. Dr. Phil once said that multitasking is not actually multitasking. It is actually doing a little bit of one thing, moving to another thing, going back the the original thing, then starting a third thing, then back to the.... In the end, you are just doing a little bit of one thing at a time therefore you a not giving the task your full attention. Therefore, all those three tasks you thought you were completing all at once were really not getting done well in the end.
So here I am explaining this to my mom. I was telling her that I feel like my brain is constantly unorganized and multitasking so nothing gets done to full fruition, when she replied in her experienced etcher voice, "So you are saying your brain functions like someone who is ADD?" Precisely.
I don't know if I can credit this confusion and forgetfulness in my brain to the radiation. But, I do know I can credit the stuttering and the slight lose of coordination in my right hand at random to the procedure. And, then I think: "Stupid is as stupid...". Wait, I forgot how that quote from the movie Forest Gump went. Well, I wonder what my oncologist really meant when she protectively explained her reasoning for a lesser about of treatment to save the integrity of my brain.
PS Sorry, I simply forgot to finish my blogs about my wonderful trip to California with my two little adventurers. I finished writing in the photo album and had taken that text to publish in my blog. However, I forgot to save the thing and my computer froze causing me to restart it. So if I remember, I will try again. For now know that on the third and fourth day of our trip we went to Disneyland. Then we went sailing. We followed that with a trip down to San Diego to tour the zoo, swim, relax on the beach, eat good seafood, and sit in the airplanes at the Maritime Museum. It was quite and adventure and my careful planning paid off in some wonderful memories for a steal of $600 total trip expense. On my last day, I felt a bit tearful. I felt great joy at the same time I felt scared. As I ran my fingers through the sand, I tried to remember that moment, engrave it in my fried brain, because it could very well be my last time to sit on the beach. Yes, I often have these thoughts that this could be the last.... Maybe that is a handicap or maybe it is a gift. But, it is definitely a topic for another blog.
So we did two pin-point radiations on exactly the vary spot of my tumors. Instead of multiple visits with fifteen minutes each, they shot my head with a laser, without telling me by the way, for a full fifty minutes just once. When they were explaining this last minute change the doctors said: one, I was very young (that is cool because I was feeling old and tired at that point) and could handle the stress of the length of time. Again, may I remind you I didn't know I would be there that long when I laid down on the table with a cage tightly fitted over my face. And my I-pod spontaneously went into a random shuffle replacing my soothing ballads with my running playlist. Two, my brain cells were like a balloon. If you blow it up a lot, even right to popping, then release the air, the balloon retains it's elasticity. However, if you blow it up over and over, eventually the material looses it's integrity.
Integrity; now that is an interesting word seeing as we are talking about my brain. This is the very topic I have been thinking about today. I had a sudden urge to send out a mass apology for forgetting stuff. Sorry. I can't remember names of people I have known for a long time. I can't remember appointments. I can't remember to put something out on the porch for a friend to pick up later even just seconds after I hang up the phone. I have to check everything multiple times and often flip a u-turn to get something I left at home...three times in a row. This is horribly embarrassing and frustrating. I can rationalize that it could be worse and that there are normal brains doing this same thing. But, you have to understand is, even though I was forgetful from time to time, this constant behavior is not me, the me of my past. I feel like a ditz.
In discussing my frustrations with my mom after my friend called looking for the thing I was supposed to have put on the porch for her to pick up, I realized that that my brain is trying to multitask all the time. Dr. Phil once said that multitasking is not actually multitasking. It is actually doing a little bit of one thing, moving to another thing, going back the the original thing, then starting a third thing, then back to the.... In the end, you are just doing a little bit of one thing at a time therefore you a not giving the task your full attention. Therefore, all those three tasks you thought you were completing all at once were really not getting done well in the end.
So here I am explaining this to my mom. I was telling her that I feel like my brain is constantly unorganized and multitasking so nothing gets done to full fruition, when she replied in her experienced etcher voice, "So you are saying your brain functions like someone who is ADD?" Precisely.
I don't know if I can credit this confusion and forgetfulness in my brain to the radiation. But, I do know I can credit the stuttering and the slight lose of coordination in my right hand at random to the procedure. And, then I think: "Stupid is as stupid...". Wait, I forgot how that quote from the movie Forest Gump went. Well, I wonder what my oncologist really meant when she protectively explained her reasoning for a lesser about of treatment to save the integrity of my brain.
PS Sorry, I simply forgot to finish my blogs about my wonderful trip to California with my two little adventurers. I finished writing in the photo album and had taken that text to publish in my blog. However, I forgot to save the thing and my computer froze causing me to restart it. So if I remember, I will try again. For now know that on the third and fourth day of our trip we went to Disneyland. Then we went sailing. We followed that with a trip down to San Diego to tour the zoo, swim, relax on the beach, eat good seafood, and sit in the airplanes at the Maritime Museum. It was quite and adventure and my careful planning paid off in some wonderful memories for a steal of $600 total trip expense. On my last day, I felt a bit tearful. I felt great joy at the same time I felt scared. As I ran my fingers through the sand, I tried to remember that moment, engrave it in my fried brain, because it could very well be my last time to sit on the beach. Yes, I often have these thoughts that this could be the last.... Maybe that is a handicap or maybe it is a gift. But, it is definitely a topic for another blog.
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