Life as changed in one major way for me since my cancer diagnoses. Oh yes, there a all kinds of aches and pains and mental games that is a white elephant gift that you got stuck with. Sure,there is tons of life altering things in cancer. But, I am talking about a change that sort of ruins something...okay maybe not ruins, just makes it a real challenge...that was so enjoyable, watching movies.
We, my parents and the kids, went to We Bought a Zoo. Okay, no one warned me that the mother dies of some disease. Maybe I was warned and just didn't remember. Regardless, watching a movie about the mother dying leaving her babies behind, leaving the man she loves behind, seeing how it all may play out is a bit hard when that is your own reality.
It is no secret that my husband seeks adventures with a touch of risk. I used to have nightmares as a young bride that he would fall off a mountain in a rock slide. That is probably because he actually did survivie a rock slide on Wilson Peak, a Colorado Fourteener. When the kids were babies, I was convenieced one day I would pick up the phone and instead of hearing Daddy claiming he will be home in an hour and probably too tired to change a diaper, it would be the authorities looking for me to ID the body. I thought about it. I thought about life as a widow with my two little ones.
I never thought about me being the one who might die when the kids are still young and needing parenting. So yes, watching this movie hit a home run smack into my heart. Just three years ago, I would have cried at this movie. I would have thought how sad this is yet great that the family move through the proper psychological stages of grief. Now, I watch this and see my own family. I am glad that I was smushed between two little blonde heads who both asked if we could visit the real Rosemont Zoo when we go to California. Sure, Dears, after we visit the aquarimum where Zoey from the Dolphin Tale lives.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Friday, December 9, 2011
Momma Wolf
An old Cherokee told his grandson, "My son, there's a battle between two wolves inside us all. One is Evil. It is anger, jealousy, greed, resentment, inferiority, lies & ego. The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, humility, kindness, empathy & truth. "The boy thought about this and asked, 'Which wolf wins?'" The old cherokee replied, "The one you feed".
It has been a while since I have had the mental time to write. And, not writing for me is a bit like leaving your toilet unplugged in your only bathroom in your house. A quick life update is that we found more mets (breast cancer tumors) in my brain. I have had full brain radiation and am almost three weeks out from the last radiation. It took my hair. It is growing back already. It took my ability to run and move fast. I will get strong again. It didn't stop my from my Birkum Vinyasa Yoga practice other then I can't balance and have to do my tree pose with a kickstand to my ankle. But, I will return to the half lotus and full cactus arms some day. I have headaches, my Lymphdeama in my left arm and on into my back is bad...working with my therapist, my legs hurt and cramp up all night, my earring holes started bleeding...they are healing, my hearing is lessened, I will get cataracts and have to start screening my vision regularily for side effects, I often get this weird fuzzy feeling all over my body, I can't think numbers well...counting change at the store is hard, vocabulary escapes me, and my emotions....well, shall I go on?
But, I am here in this body of mine. The weaker cells of my brain died. They will regrow. It will take a good year. But, my ME cells in my brain, the smart ones, the ones that make me who I am and the ones that run my body function...they are there of course working. It is quite the abstract, out of body experience that I am going through. I can try to explain it to you, but my words would never suffice to illustrate experiene.
My biggest struggle right now is my Midnight Housewife wants out of this body. She wants to do it all again. For example, in my normal life, I would have attended a Truffle Tasting party with my friend who makes the most amazing, award winning truffles with Truffles in Paradise (contact me for her information for your holiday orders...great gifts.) But, alas, my body couldn't. It was done. I did all my housewifery, even got in the studio, and mother the kids with one of the best homework times we have had in months, got everyone in bed, picked up the house, and sat down at 8:30 pm. I made a little nest on the couch with the fireplace on. My tea was steeping. The house was quiet. I pressed play on the DVD and The Help began. I was snug as I rubbed lotion on my achy toes...side effect of one of my cancer drugs. The introduction begins. A carmel voice narrator starts talking and...
So I slept. About eleven, I replayed the movie, but I do need to watch it again as I nodded off again and again. Though I watched enough that I got really excited and wanted to write a ten page essay comparing and contrasting the social dogmas portrayed in The Help with those portrayed in the Social Networking, the Facebook movie. Okay, I am a nerd and miss college research and essay writting.
All and all, in my rambling, this mom, artist, housewife just wants her life back. But, a huge thing has pocessed her mind and made it weak. Sometimes I think of it as a blessing. Well, of course we do because...cross your fingers...after we restage this month, we will rule my brain cancer free. We have the aspiration that I will be well managed by drugs to keep it all hushed and live a very long time. But, the hidden blessing is that I have had to slow down my life. That slowing down has effected everyone, especially the kids. They have had to grow up these last two months. I have taken the time to teach them to be independent...big kids. It is a bit heart wrenching as I toss the last of the sippy cups and give them pallets like I use in their paint boxes instead on the one color one paint brush thingies they used as preschoolers. They get themselves ready for school and bath themselves. Well, they are working on it anyway. They are learning to know when they are done with things instead of asking me like if they ate enough dinner. And my eldest, seven and half, has learned to read in bed and turn off her own light by 8:30 when she is tired...well, almost. I had to start teaching them these things because at the end on the day, even if I nap, I am so tired I can barely walk upstairs. There has been many tears and shouting along the way. But, we are getting there. I am so proud of my little gal and guy. I do look back and remiss my life as a stay-at-home mother of two prepping dinner in the middle of the day, a few chores, taking the kids swimming or to the library for story time, splashing bubbles at them while they bath, monitoring teeth brushing, and the hour of reading books out loud to them (still read to them some nights because I like to) and creeping in their rooms before I retire to my bed just to make sure they are still breathing. Yes, it is bitter sweet to pack that mother away. Like a butterfly, our life has morphed drastically lately. In part it is due to the age of the children. In part it is due to the struggles through recovery from the radiation. I stand at a door. I am a little afraid to open it. I am mostly excited. I know it is going to be hard. But, I know it is going to be wonderful. I have fed my wolf sweet berries of strength, courage, and love. Now, I open my door and hope she will carry me swiftly through to the greenest pastures.
It has been a while since I have had the mental time to write. And, not writing for me is a bit like leaving your toilet unplugged in your only bathroom in your house. A quick life update is that we found more mets (breast cancer tumors) in my brain. I have had full brain radiation and am almost three weeks out from the last radiation. It took my hair. It is growing back already. It took my ability to run and move fast. I will get strong again. It didn't stop my from my Birkum Vinyasa Yoga practice other then I can't balance and have to do my tree pose with a kickstand to my ankle. But, I will return to the half lotus and full cactus arms some day. I have headaches, my Lymphdeama in my left arm and on into my back is bad...working with my therapist, my legs hurt and cramp up all night, my earring holes started bleeding...they are healing, my hearing is lessened, I will get cataracts and have to start screening my vision regularily for side effects, I often get this weird fuzzy feeling all over my body, I can't think numbers well...counting change at the store is hard, vocabulary escapes me, and my emotions....well, shall I go on?
But, I am here in this body of mine. The weaker cells of my brain died. They will regrow. It will take a good year. But, my ME cells in my brain, the smart ones, the ones that make me who I am and the ones that run my body function...they are there of course working. It is quite the abstract, out of body experience that I am going through. I can try to explain it to you, but my words would never suffice to illustrate experiene.
My biggest struggle right now is my Midnight Housewife wants out of this body. She wants to do it all again. For example, in my normal life, I would have attended a Truffle Tasting party with my friend who makes the most amazing, award winning truffles with Truffles in Paradise (contact me for her information for your holiday orders...great gifts.) But, alas, my body couldn't. It was done. I did all my housewifery, even got in the studio, and mother the kids with one of the best homework times we have had in months, got everyone in bed, picked up the house, and sat down at 8:30 pm. I made a little nest on the couch with the fireplace on. My tea was steeping. The house was quiet. I pressed play on the DVD and The Help began. I was snug as I rubbed lotion on my achy toes...side effect of one of my cancer drugs. The introduction begins. A carmel voice narrator starts talking and...
So I slept. About eleven, I replayed the movie, but I do need to watch it again as I nodded off again and again. Though I watched enough that I got really excited and wanted to write a ten page essay comparing and contrasting the social dogmas portrayed in The Help with those portrayed in the Social Networking, the Facebook movie. Okay, I am a nerd and miss college research and essay writting.
All and all, in my rambling, this mom, artist, housewife just wants her life back. But, a huge thing has pocessed her mind and made it weak. Sometimes I think of it as a blessing. Well, of course we do because...cross your fingers...after we restage this month, we will rule my brain cancer free. We have the aspiration that I will be well managed by drugs to keep it all hushed and live a very long time. But, the hidden blessing is that I have had to slow down my life. That slowing down has effected everyone, especially the kids. They have had to grow up these last two months. I have taken the time to teach them to be independent...big kids. It is a bit heart wrenching as I toss the last of the sippy cups and give them pallets like I use in their paint boxes instead on the one color one paint brush thingies they used as preschoolers. They get themselves ready for school and bath themselves. Well, they are working on it anyway. They are learning to know when they are done with things instead of asking me like if they ate enough dinner. And my eldest, seven and half, has learned to read in bed and turn off her own light by 8:30 when she is tired...well, almost. I had to start teaching them these things because at the end on the day, even if I nap, I am so tired I can barely walk upstairs. There has been many tears and shouting along the way. But, we are getting there. I am so proud of my little gal and guy. I do look back and remiss my life as a stay-at-home mother of two prepping dinner in the middle of the day, a few chores, taking the kids swimming or to the library for story time, splashing bubbles at them while they bath, monitoring teeth brushing, and the hour of reading books out loud to them (still read to them some nights because I like to) and creeping in their rooms before I retire to my bed just to make sure they are still breathing. Yes, it is bitter sweet to pack that mother away. Like a butterfly, our life has morphed drastically lately. In part it is due to the age of the children. In part it is due to the struggles through recovery from the radiation. I stand at a door. I am a little afraid to open it. I am mostly excited. I know it is going to be hard. But, I know it is going to be wonderful. I have fed my wolf sweet berries of strength, courage, and love. Now, I open my door and hope she will carry me swiftly through to the greenest pastures.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Simplify Your Life Tip of the Day
Here is my simplify your life tip of the day. UNSCRIBE.
I have taken time to go through all my junk mail over the past month. I have clicked on all the newsletters, promotions, store advertisements, even my Groupon because I don't use it. I went to the very bottom with the fine print and throught the unscribe process. This takes about five seconds in most cases to check a box and confirm your e-mail address. Easy peasy. I kept stores that I frequent and send coupons through their newsletters such as Lucy, J.Jill, Gymboree, Bed Bath and Beyond, Micheals, and Hobby Lobby. All other stores, I really don't frequent or they don't have cupons, just ads. so I am not wasting my time looking at ads. Then, I also have newsletters from galleries, museums, and breast cancer support sites like the Young Survivor Coalition and Army of Women. I have found that I can sort those now in my inbox. they come up as newsletters and I can set them to save only the most recent one for so many days then it is deleted. How cool is that? So guess how many junk mails I get a day now? Maybe ten tops. I am still working on a few stragglers. But I bet I get it down to those stupid spammers and Canadian drug offers. Oh, and those lovely letters from the board housewife wanting to get some girl on girl action with me. Oh, and you have to love the english widow who just lost her husband and is stuck some place in china with no money and wants you wire her money...really? So go off and unscribe. What a burden to take out of your life to simplify.
I have taken time to go through all my junk mail over the past month. I have clicked on all the newsletters, promotions, store advertisements, even my Groupon because I don't use it. I went to the very bottom with the fine print and throught the unscribe process. This takes about five seconds in most cases to check a box and confirm your e-mail address. Easy peasy. I kept stores that I frequent and send coupons through their newsletters such as Lucy, J.Jill, Gymboree, Bed Bath and Beyond, Micheals, and Hobby Lobby. All other stores, I really don't frequent or they don't have cupons, just ads. so I am not wasting my time looking at ads. Then, I also have newsletters from galleries, museums, and breast cancer support sites like the Young Survivor Coalition and Army of Women. I have found that I can sort those now in my inbox. they come up as newsletters and I can set them to save only the most recent one for so many days then it is deleted. How cool is that? So guess how many junk mails I get a day now? Maybe ten tops. I am still working on a few stragglers. But I bet I get it down to those stupid spammers and Canadian drug offers. Oh, and those lovely letters from the board housewife wanting to get some girl on girl action with me. Oh, and you have to love the english widow who just lost her husband and is stuck some place in china with no money and wants you wire her money...really? So go off and unscribe. What a burden to take out of your life to simplify.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Restorative Graces
Yesterday, was a day to restore. Though the morning walk to school with my two little boppers was like walking in a wind tunnel as Mothe Nature pulled out her Armagedenden winds of Colorado on trash day none the less. Bbut, finally in my car, I drove to yoga. I felt a little anticipation of uncertainty as what to expect of myself and of my yoga at the studio. But, I knew, this was exactly what I was supposed to Ben doing. So I swung in, put a bandanna over my buzzed head, and sighed onto my Matt in the corner. The experience was amazing. I completed a 90minute Hot Flow Vinyasa course my way. I took my time. I easier into poses, used my hands on my legs when needed, and flowed. I breathed and flowed. I modified. No I could not pull a half lotus tree pose of full expression with cactus arms as is my favorite expression. No, I used a kickstand of the "up" foot to support my standing leg and full expressed my heart opening rise in my chest. A grounded tree so strong and beautiful. And that was the perfect expression. At the end of practice, I thanked my Yogini. I told her how, they know what I am going through at the studio, they have all taught me so much that I could do that. I could use their warn room, meditativite guidance, and the community to create what my body needed. Deanna, had taught me about my physical muscles and mechanics. Stacy, has taught me about the mind and spirit, Lauren has taught me about my shoulders and hyper extension my my elbows so that I can move into down dog, plank and full sun salutes with control, power, and easy. And Tiffany, well, she was the instructor today. So I smiled and told her that she gives the gift of the power moves like headstands. And, that I am excited to move back into those poses when my body is ready. So thank you Solar Yoga down here in our humble Prospect Town in Longmont, Colorado.
Feeling just amazing, I dash off for a few errands with a rice milk nuttynila latte. I score at Target with some deals getting a bit my Christmas shopping done, filling in random needs like new bike helmets for the kids and a sleeping bag for Jack. Everything I needed just seemed to be there and easy. The pharmacist even took an extra speedy care of me when the phone order was not processed. Then, it was home for a shower and nap. An amazing nap.
The best thing about my new iPad is there is and app called Noghtstand. It is an alarm clock. I have it set of church bells. To rise from a nap to slowly progressing bells is amazing. So I rise, sweep out of the house, do my treatment where the nurses where very effecient and almost sing song pixies from Pixie Hollow today. And then it ws off to Vitamin Cottage.
My parents had the kids for school pick up so I had time. What I found that I am doing is turning off my head language with the words, I am doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing. See, I am struggling in my head with the mechanics of the radiation, steroid, and own personal zen. They are in constant battle. Jane Boyle Taylor, author of a Stroke of Insight, could explain this best. She is neuro-doctor who had a stroke closing down her left hemisphere of her brain at age 37. She experienced what it was to live with only an right side and recover. What a discover. So here I am getting every word she is saying. I can feel my parts changing in my head. I can tell what is my steroid effects on my decisions. And, I know where Sara is. So, as I am driving, I am getting anxious. This is the Decadrone. Sara voice says, I am doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing. And the drug turns off. Pretty simple...right?
I pull into Vitamin Cottage and swift through aisles getting exactly what I need with ease when I bump into a neighbor. She was pondering her calcium purchase with an clerk. I smiled and told her, this is exactly the one I use and am here to pick some up right now. There was a really nice connection as she made her decision and we we chatted for a bit. I enjoyed our timely conversation as it is packed with tidbits for both of us to ponder. Thank you neighbor.
Then it was home to sort out the shopping bustle up the needs of the house and sit for a bit until the family arrived. I basked in the grace of my restorative day. 4:36 pm, my parents arrive with my little sprites and dinner. I am truly blessed for my parents. They tend to their grandchildren in nurturing ways that are full extensions of my own love. They a mentors, guides, and the loves of my life. We dine together and I enjoy the loving bonds they express towards my offspring. As I move into my hardest part of my mental rotation in my day, as the headaches start coming, and the tunnel of my head starts to close, I am able to move through with grace thanks to Mom and Dad's help. I love you.
A lone, the kids bathed, we have time for a game of Blockus in the living room. Both sprites doing exceptionally well, but Mom wins. Books, cuddle, lights out. Time for Mom to pass out too. What a day. A day I needed. A day to restore. A day full of restorative graces.
Feeling just amazing, I dash off for a few errands with a rice milk nuttynila latte. I score at Target with some deals getting a bit my Christmas shopping done, filling in random needs like new bike helmets for the kids and a sleeping bag for Jack. Everything I needed just seemed to be there and easy. The pharmacist even took an extra speedy care of me when the phone order was not processed. Then, it was home for a shower and nap. An amazing nap.
The best thing about my new iPad is there is and app called Noghtstand. It is an alarm clock. I have it set of church bells. To rise from a nap to slowly progressing bells is amazing. So I rise, sweep out of the house, do my treatment where the nurses where very effecient and almost sing song pixies from Pixie Hollow today. And then it ws off to Vitamin Cottage.
My parents had the kids for school pick up so I had time. What I found that I am doing is turning off my head language with the words, I am doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing. See, I am struggling in my head with the mechanics of the radiation, steroid, and own personal zen. They are in constant battle. Jane Boyle Taylor, author of a Stroke of Insight, could explain this best. She is neuro-doctor who had a stroke closing down her left hemisphere of her brain at age 37. She experienced what it was to live with only an right side and recover. What a discover. So here I am getting every word she is saying. I can feel my parts changing in my head. I can tell what is my steroid effects on my decisions. And, I know where Sara is. So, as I am driving, I am getting anxious. This is the Decadrone. Sara voice says, I am doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing. And the drug turns off. Pretty simple...right?
I pull into Vitamin Cottage and swift through aisles getting exactly what I need with ease when I bump into a neighbor. She was pondering her calcium purchase with an clerk. I smiled and told her, this is exactly the one I use and am here to pick some up right now. There was a really nice connection as she made her decision and we we chatted for a bit. I enjoyed our timely conversation as it is packed with tidbits for both of us to ponder. Thank you neighbor.
Then it was home to sort out the shopping bustle up the needs of the house and sit for a bit until the family arrived. I basked in the grace of my restorative day. 4:36 pm, my parents arrive with my little sprites and dinner. I am truly blessed for my parents. They tend to their grandchildren in nurturing ways that are full extensions of my own love. They a mentors, guides, and the loves of my life. We dine together and I enjoy the loving bonds they express towards my offspring. As I move into my hardest part of my mental rotation in my day, as the headaches start coming, and the tunnel of my head starts to close, I am able to move through with grace thanks to Mom and Dad's help. I love you.
A lone, the kids bathed, we have time for a game of Blockus in the living room. Both sprites doing exceptionally well, but Mom wins. Books, cuddle, lights out. Time for Mom to pass out too. What a day. A day I needed. A day to restore. A day full of restorative graces.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Hair, Chapter Four
I smile at myself in the mirror. Finally, after two years, my hair is naturally highlighted by the summer sun. The texture is thick, fine, and silky. I hardly have to brush the wedged bob that swings about my ears just over the my dangly earrings. It is even long enough I can stack it behind my ears to hold it out of my face when I am in down dog on my yoga mat. Finally, I earned my crown.
A couple of mornings ago, I shook my damp tresses over the sink as I finger dried them after my shower. The basin was peppered in five inch stands of silk hair. The time had come again. See, I had entered the cancer world once more two weeks prior. On this day, as my hair began to thin, I had completed ten full brain radiation treatments out of twenty. Half way. My Radiology Oncologist said she was pretty confident that my hair would simply weaken, fall out, and grow back in pretty quickly. Where as chemotherapy drugs actually kill the cell structures of the hair at the follicle causing the hair to have to regrow just like a new born baby. And, when I had chemo in 2009, and lost my hair, that is exactly what it did. It grew back fuzzy. Like a newborn and then became wiry, dark, and course. It took about two years to grow it to my normal texture and color. So with radiation, it is supposed to just get weak, thin out gradually, and quickly come back in as is. That is the hope anyway.
Regardless, all day after the peppering of my sink basin in hair, I was pulling bits of strands from the collar of my sweater and tossing them to the ground. I was afraid to touch my hair. Wide awake early the next morning lifting my head from a nest of hair on my pillow, I decided it was time for a cut. So trooped into the bathroom and got to work. I couldn't go to a salon because my scalp is too sensitive for the stuff they used there. I couldn't face telling a stylist what was going on, what I wanted, nor how gentle they needed to be. Besides, I didn't want to pay even $35 for a style that may actually only last a week more. So I got to work. I cut my sons hair and have a buzzer, The Peanut by Wahle. I put on the four guard and buzzed away on the back just do like I do on his head once a month I actually would have liked to keep a bit longer at the crown but had to bring it up as I could't hand cut that area by myself. It is okay, not great. Then I thought about the rock star Pink! And, this other movie star I can't remember the name of it these fun spikes and long front swoop duns. I used my scissors. I also cut my daughter's bob once a month and have the proper scissors and combs for that use. I graduated the lengths from the buzzed area at the crown which was very difficult. Then, hanging my head deep, I pulled the strands out in sections sliding the scissors along the length two create long layers.
By this time, my daughter has awoken and totters in to my room. She begins to cry at the wade on hair piled on the towels on the floor. Teachable moment of tender mothering proceeds as I confirm her doubts, fears, and empathy for the situation at hand. I know for her that my loosing my hair again brings back bad memories from when she was just my little four year old princess wishing she had a mommy with Repuntzle's golden tresses. I tell her that for now, I might get to keep some hair. It is just that it is thinning and easier to loose shorter lengths then long strands. I confirm that it may all fall out, but for now, it just needs cleaning up. "Besides, don't you think I am looking pretty rock star?" "Yes," she replies. As I continue my cutting. She babbles on how dad needs to go get a mohawk, her brother can spike his and she is going to be the singer who always has these really long, blonde, big hair dubs... have a rock band. Proud mommy moment proceeds. Way to girl girl, making your limes into cherry limeade and sipping slowly.
So it is done. Not perfect, but, not half bad. I shower, use a roller brush to lightly curve it forward and lift. Spray it hairspray and am all set to continue the morning of oatmeal, book bags, managing dressing two kiddos and marching the half mile walk to our little neighborhood elementary school. On time and smiles...well mostly.
In light of Thanksgiving in a few weeks, the school hosted a family luncheon of both the kindergarten and second grade classes. So I attended both lunches with my son and then my daughter. Taking off my hat, I had a lot of surprised smiles from the other parents of whom I know many being the Room Mom in both classes. Some know that I am going through brain radiation and some have no clue. The staff, of course, know I may be bald in the end as I prepared them so they can properly support the children as they deal with peers if that would happen. So I received responses varying from: "You go girl. Way to take control and ease into this." All the way to: "Wow, I wish I had the confidence for a big change like that. Looks great!" I simply smiled confidently and replied that I am going rock star and funk for a change, why not.
So there you are, that is what it takes to be a survivor. A little rock star confidence. A great smile is essential. And, yah, heck, it really helps to understand hair and it's cultural language it speaks. Hair is your book cover. There isn't anyway around that in this Human existence with each other. So go with it, love it. And if it is not quite right, it can be changed. Because the coolest thing about hair is that it WILL grow back.
A couple of mornings ago, I shook my damp tresses over the sink as I finger dried them after my shower. The basin was peppered in five inch stands of silk hair. The time had come again. See, I had entered the cancer world once more two weeks prior. On this day, as my hair began to thin, I had completed ten full brain radiation treatments out of twenty. Half way. My Radiology Oncologist said she was pretty confident that my hair would simply weaken, fall out, and grow back in pretty quickly. Where as chemotherapy drugs actually kill the cell structures of the hair at the follicle causing the hair to have to regrow just like a new born baby. And, when I had chemo in 2009, and lost my hair, that is exactly what it did. It grew back fuzzy. Like a newborn and then became wiry, dark, and course. It took about two years to grow it to my normal texture and color. So with radiation, it is supposed to just get weak, thin out gradually, and quickly come back in as is. That is the hope anyway.
Regardless, all day after the peppering of my sink basin in hair, I was pulling bits of strands from the collar of my sweater and tossing them to the ground. I was afraid to touch my hair. Wide awake early the next morning lifting my head from a nest of hair on my pillow, I decided it was time for a cut. So trooped into the bathroom and got to work. I couldn't go to a salon because my scalp is too sensitive for the stuff they used there. I couldn't face telling a stylist what was going on, what I wanted, nor how gentle they needed to be. Besides, I didn't want to pay even $35 for a style that may actually only last a week more. So I got to work. I cut my sons hair and have a buzzer, The Peanut by Wahle. I put on the four guard and buzzed away on the back just do like I do on his head once a month I actually would have liked to keep a bit longer at the crown but had to bring it up as I could't hand cut that area by myself. It is okay, not great. Then I thought about the rock star Pink! And, this other movie star I can't remember the name of it these fun spikes and long front swoop duns. I used my scissors. I also cut my daughter's bob once a month and have the proper scissors and combs for that use. I graduated the lengths from the buzzed area at the crown which was very difficult. Then, hanging my head deep, I pulled the strands out in sections sliding the scissors along the length two create long layers.
By this time, my daughter has awoken and totters in to my room. She begins to cry at the wade on hair piled on the towels on the floor. Teachable moment of tender mothering proceeds as I confirm her doubts, fears, and empathy for the situation at hand. I know for her that my loosing my hair again brings back bad memories from when she was just my little four year old princess wishing she had a mommy with Repuntzle's golden tresses. I tell her that for now, I might get to keep some hair. It is just that it is thinning and easier to loose shorter lengths then long strands. I confirm that it may all fall out, but for now, it just needs cleaning up. "Besides, don't you think I am looking pretty rock star?" "Yes," she replies. As I continue my cutting. She babbles on how dad needs to go get a mohawk, her brother can spike his and she is going to be the singer who always has these really long, blonde, big hair dubs... have a rock band. Proud mommy moment proceeds. Way to girl girl, making your limes into cherry limeade and sipping slowly.
So it is done. Not perfect, but, not half bad. I shower, use a roller brush to lightly curve it forward and lift. Spray it hairspray and am all set to continue the morning of oatmeal, book bags, managing dressing two kiddos and marching the half mile walk to our little neighborhood elementary school. On time and smiles...well mostly.
In light of Thanksgiving in a few weeks, the school hosted a family luncheon of both the kindergarten and second grade classes. So I attended both lunches with my son and then my daughter. Taking off my hat, I had a lot of surprised smiles from the other parents of whom I know many being the Room Mom in both classes. Some know that I am going through brain radiation and some have no clue. The staff, of course, know I may be bald in the end as I prepared them so they can properly support the children as they deal with peers if that would happen. So I received responses varying from: "You go girl. Way to take control and ease into this." All the way to: "Wow, I wish I had the confidence for a big change like that. Looks great!" I simply smiled confidently and replied that I am going rock star and funk for a change, why not.
So there you are, that is what it takes to be a survivor. A little rock star confidence. A great smile is essential. And, yah, heck, it really helps to understand hair and it's cultural language it speaks. Hair is your book cover. There isn't anyway around that in this Human existence with each other. So go with it, love it. And if it is not quite right, it can be changed. Because the coolest thing about hair is that it WILL grow back.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Resistance is Futile
"Resistance is Futile!" My Storm Troopers in my crazy cancer game keep popping up screaming. "Resistance is Futile!" When I am on a run, I find myself crying uncontrollably. My mind is so determined to cling to the body I have worked to create all the while these StormTroopers keep trying to take over my planet. Now, I can make those Troopers look more like Lego men with heads I can pop off and little plastic laser guns that I can vacuum up in my Dyson. Yet, they are still there turning my dreams in fantasies. My dreams of working on crafts with my future granddaughter have begun to filter through my fingers into my pail of lost fantasies mingling with the one of my hot twenty-two year old self in a bikini being fondled by six foot two life guard. Yes, folks, I am still human here and would love to telliport to the world of dancing and boyfriends that open the car door and make me laugh uncontrollably over an Italian dinner while goose pimples flare at the nape of my neck when he touches my arm.
Much on my mental fight is sparked with pure determination to not retire before I am ready even when my body has made the request. Oh, no, I will not, I move in and out through Halloween with my kids, for my kids. I volunteer at school as Room Mom and have a blast teaching the Kindergarten to make paper bag puppet monsters...yes, moms, that was what those were supposed to be. I marched on through having a family over for a quick bite together and then sending everyone out the door to meet up with more neighbors for trick or treating. I had performed several costume changes through out the day, procured dairy free candies for Cowboy, brushed Rapunzel's long wig a dozen times, and made sure both kids were happy and enjoying themselves. Yet, as I walked around the first corner of the block with my friends and our kids, I realized that I just could not do it. I wanted to lie down, my head hurt, I was thirsty. So I let the neighbors run off with my kids who were already three houses beyond the parents with the smaller kids, and turned back home. My StormTroopers mocked me as they jabbed their plastic guns in my ribs. I cried. This isn't what I want to be doing. I don't want to be going home. I want to be hanging out with my friends, laughing at the kids antics, and being there if my youngest is a little scared of the green house on the corner that has a fog machine.
I am sure my look of defeat is printed on my face at times. I walked into a massage the following morning with a new practitioner. It is a free service for radiation patients...awesome perks. I turned the corner and saw her face melt with pity as if she had seen her young daughter-in-law walk in through the doors. She asked all the typical questions knowing I had breast cancer, it is in my chart, and made assumptions that I was probably saving my perky 34 Bs from surgery with chest radiation. So she asks about the mechanics like if I can lay on my chest and how many treatments I have had so as to not apply lotions to those areas. I tell her, that I am all good to go as my surgery was over two years ago and the treatments are on my head so she can do whatever she feels I need on my body. She is kind, but obviously very uncomfortable. I am uncomfortable. What do I say when people look at me like I am going to die? I have metastatic breast cancer to my brain and I am going to to die before I am ready. Those Storm Troopers keep reminding me of that. But, not today. I am yielding a power that is far beyond the Dark Side that is tuning this body into the finest machine I can muster.
This really isn't an easy place. And, I am sure it is even harder for those around me to watch. God, I hope I keep my hair only because it makes it easier to look at me. It makes it easier to ignore the fact my vocabulary is muddled and your name totally escapes me. It makes it less scary. I am a fighter. I am a good fighter. I am fighting. So I yell, get mad, get frustrated, get sad, and scream. Sometimes, you are in the way, and I am so sorry. I am not screaming at you. I am screaming at my Storm Troopers. I have a lot of Jedi Mind Powers that will blow you away. And, I am determined to resist to keep this body moving on this Earth.
Being that I am who I am and much rather see beyond my messed up head, I want to take a moment to inspire you to choose you. No, there weren't any risk factors in my life to warrant my current predicament I had taken care of it...perfectly healthy with a little asthma and colitis I had controlled for nearly a decade with good eating. No, my body was just made this way with over excited growth genes in my breasts. My body is just like your body with its faults maybe it is Lupus, diabetes, MS, and so many physical challenges everyone around us is walking in out of their days with. Maybe you don't have it yet. So take care of your body today. Tune it. Feed it. Stop giving it bad stuff. And rub lotion all over your beautiful skin every day. Make this your mission this month. Take off your weight...get serious. If imagining you are your sexy 22 year old bombshell self in a bikini that motivates you, go for it. But, for most of us, the focus is just to be able to make your body move as is God's gift. Just make your body into the finest tool you can so you can fight whatever you need to fight when you are asked to come to the ring. You want top billing because you know you will have Storm Troopers coming because you are getting older. Take it on.
Take care of your brain and find honor in your life as it is in those moments in between that count especially when you have mental challenges of addiction, depression, bipolar, or Aspbergers. Find blessing in your life when your Storm Troopers are clouding your thoughts. Our life without you would not be whole. Oh heck, if you are a mom, go be a lone for a bit. I have such a renewed respect for all that we have done all these years to do everything and be everyone to our babies. As I have had to step out of my mommy-head because it is just too much for me to keep straight, I look longingly at the amazing feats I accomplished daily to keep smiles on those little ones faces, house clean, tummies full, and homework done on time. Find your balance and self again. The world won't end if you don't cover every boo boo with a Band-aid or forget to bring the sanitizer to the jumping castle. Think of the adult sized reward your son will have when he realizes he can wash his own soccer uniform when you were too tired after work to get it done at midnight. His future wife will thank you. It hurts now when they yell at you for not being all of everything for everyone, but they will be okay. Disappointment hurts. Disappointment inspires too.
So whatever it is you need to do, start it. Tune your body. Form new habits. Take a class. Take silence. Create. Let go of being everything to everyone and choose you. What can you do to make yourself ready to yield your Jedi Light Saber to your Storm Troopers when your number is called? Do that.
Much on my mental fight is sparked with pure determination to not retire before I am ready even when my body has made the request. Oh, no, I will not, I move in and out through Halloween with my kids, for my kids. I volunteer at school as Room Mom and have a blast teaching the Kindergarten to make paper bag puppet monsters...yes, moms, that was what those were supposed to be. I marched on through having a family over for a quick bite together and then sending everyone out the door to meet up with more neighbors for trick or treating. I had performed several costume changes through out the day, procured dairy free candies for Cowboy, brushed Rapunzel's long wig a dozen times, and made sure both kids were happy and enjoying themselves. Yet, as I walked around the first corner of the block with my friends and our kids, I realized that I just could not do it. I wanted to lie down, my head hurt, I was thirsty. So I let the neighbors run off with my kids who were already three houses beyond the parents with the smaller kids, and turned back home. My StormTroopers mocked me as they jabbed their plastic guns in my ribs. I cried. This isn't what I want to be doing. I don't want to be going home. I want to be hanging out with my friends, laughing at the kids antics, and being there if my youngest is a little scared of the green house on the corner that has a fog machine.
I am sure my look of defeat is printed on my face at times. I walked into a massage the following morning with a new practitioner. It is a free service for radiation patients...awesome perks. I turned the corner and saw her face melt with pity as if she had seen her young daughter-in-law walk in through the doors. She asked all the typical questions knowing I had breast cancer, it is in my chart, and made assumptions that I was probably saving my perky 34 Bs from surgery with chest radiation. So she asks about the mechanics like if I can lay on my chest and how many treatments I have had so as to not apply lotions to those areas. I tell her, that I am all good to go as my surgery was over two years ago and the treatments are on my head so she can do whatever she feels I need on my body. She is kind, but obviously very uncomfortable. I am uncomfortable. What do I say when people look at me like I am going to die? I have metastatic breast cancer to my brain and I am going to to die before I am ready. Those Storm Troopers keep reminding me of that. But, not today. I am yielding a power that is far beyond the Dark Side that is tuning this body into the finest machine I can muster.
This really isn't an easy place. And, I am sure it is even harder for those around me to watch. God, I hope I keep my hair only because it makes it easier to look at me. It makes it easier to ignore the fact my vocabulary is muddled and your name totally escapes me. It makes it less scary. I am a fighter. I am a good fighter. I am fighting. So I yell, get mad, get frustrated, get sad, and scream. Sometimes, you are in the way, and I am so sorry. I am not screaming at you. I am screaming at my Storm Troopers. I have a lot of Jedi Mind Powers that will blow you away. And, I am determined to resist to keep this body moving on this Earth.
Being that I am who I am and much rather see beyond my messed up head, I want to take a moment to inspire you to choose you. No, there weren't any risk factors in my life to warrant my current predicament I had taken care of it...perfectly healthy with a little asthma and colitis I had controlled for nearly a decade with good eating. No, my body was just made this way with over excited growth genes in my breasts. My body is just like your body with its faults maybe it is Lupus, diabetes, MS, and so many physical challenges everyone around us is walking in out of their days with. Maybe you don't have it yet. So take care of your body today. Tune it. Feed it. Stop giving it bad stuff. And rub lotion all over your beautiful skin every day. Make this your mission this month. Take off your weight...get serious. If imagining you are your sexy 22 year old bombshell self in a bikini that motivates you, go for it. But, for most of us, the focus is just to be able to make your body move as is God's gift. Just make your body into the finest tool you can so you can fight whatever you need to fight when you are asked to come to the ring. You want top billing because you know you will have Storm Troopers coming because you are getting older. Take it on.
Take care of your brain and find honor in your life as it is in those moments in between that count especially when you have mental challenges of addiction, depression, bipolar, or Aspbergers. Find blessing in your life when your Storm Troopers are clouding your thoughts. Our life without you would not be whole. Oh heck, if you are a mom, go be a lone for a bit. I have such a renewed respect for all that we have done all these years to do everything and be everyone to our babies. As I have had to step out of my mommy-head because it is just too much for me to keep straight, I look longingly at the amazing feats I accomplished daily to keep smiles on those little ones faces, house clean, tummies full, and homework done on time. Find your balance and self again. The world won't end if you don't cover every boo boo with a Band-aid or forget to bring the sanitizer to the jumping castle. Think of the adult sized reward your son will have when he realizes he can wash his own soccer uniform when you were too tired after work to get it done at midnight. His future wife will thank you. It hurts now when they yell at you for not being all of everything for everyone, but they will be okay. Disappointment hurts. Disappointment inspires too.
So whatever it is you need to do, start it. Tune your body. Form new habits. Take a class. Take silence. Create. Let go of being everything to everyone and choose you. What can you do to make yourself ready to yield your Jedi Light Saber to your Storm Troopers when your number is called? Do that.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Fake It Until You Make It
So I am driving to Monday night yoga with Lauren which has become my new favorite class because my back feels so open and five inches taller post-practice, when I realized something. Earlier, I am at the Hope Cancer Center ready for...wait, should I say...present for my first radiation treatment. The moment I walk in it is like I am some rock star that everyone recognizes. I have my entourage of peeps in the waiting room and the receptionist knew my name. The doseologist (saying that because I think her title sounds cool; she is the one setting up the dosing) shoots me a recognizing smile as she gets water from the water cooler. The two radiology techs whisk me in smiling and teasing like I am their long lost best friend. I am thinking this is pretty cool because I don't want to be here. I am laying on the table, excuse me, couch with this mesh mask over my head strapped down so tight that my teeth are clinched. I am told to look down at my toes when I can barely open my eye lids. They set up the markings then shoot the laser on my left side and my brain starts to smell really bad. It is sort of like the smell of sanitized aluminum cookie sheets in a hot kitchen (I worked in a bakery when I was in high school.) Oh, and I get a little personal light show as they are zapping my brain. Apparently, the lights which are greenish are the lasers refracting off the water in my eyes so I am the only one that can see them. How is that for sci-fi coolness Jedi training simulation? Well, it is not. I am the only one who can smell this awful smell too. They come bopping in and out asking me these questions like the hygienist does while your mouth is gaping open. Except my jaw is clinched shut, and I can't see any think but the tops of my cheeks. "How are you doing?" Gruburronbhadjjfsdxzzz. "Are you comfortable?" Fujknsbymnntotfreakijek. Okay, for those who are not hygienists, I said: This totally sucks and is freaking uncomfortable. What the fuck do you mean I have to do this every fucking day for four weeks and it stinks in here. So I apparently compensate into a flippin' teenager when under pressure, I mean, when I am tied down like Gulliver's Travels.
Okay, okay, it isn't all that bad, and you know if anyone can do this it is me (because I am an awesome yogi time bender, that's why.) And, I just totally got off the point of my realization I came to while driving to yoga. They are totally faking it. They, the nurses, took my picture on my first visit. It sits there right at the top of my chart along with the description of me in one sentence: 36 year old mother of two ages 6 and 7 artist with metastatic breast cancer being treated for metastasis to the brain. I am so okay with that. I like them knowing exactly who I am in two seconds and treating me like their long lost best friend. Sometimes we all deserve a little rock star status.
Besides, faking it until I make it is my number one coping mechanism. In college, I did the stupid thing any 18 year old does who didn't drink alcohol in high school (okay, mom, I had a few sips here and there but hated how it made me feel and stopped after a few sips.) So I got really mad at a boy at one party and started downing the Jungle Juice. I preceded to get totally wasted. Yep, my "designated mom," one girl in my circle of friends was not allowed to drink for the weekend on a rotating schedule so there was always a girl watching out for you, held my hair, cleaned me up, and told me that the red vomit was not me bleeding from the inside. Well, I pretty much learned my lesson. Man, I rock, one time and lesson learned...awesome. From that point on, I fake drank. I ordered one rum and Coke, Roman Coke, to begin the night. Then I preceded to order plain sodas all night. I am out on the dance floor for three or more hours solid on my caffeine while all the drunks were slumping in the corner. I say that was a pretty good way to spend the evening faking and still fitting in with the crowd.
Oh, there are plenty over other stories of my faking it until I make it. Like the time I delivered a speech to 500 plus of my peers at the Colorado Art Education Association annual conference in 2002, for Rookie Teacher of the Year. I had lost my second baby to a miscarriage at ten weeks only seven days prior to the event. I was still cramping. I was still grieving hard core. But, I did it. I walked up to the podium, started bawling my eyes out, took a deep breath, and totally blamed all my flood emotions on the pure fact that my teaching professor, Patrick Fahey, just hugged me and whispered in my ear, "I am so proud of you." Okay, I probably would have cried anyway being so nervous in the spot light. But, heck, it is good to fake it a little when you have to. And, if I really reflect on my first five years of teaching, it was the faking it until I made that won me that moment of honor in the spot light.
Or let us go back to my sister's wedding. There she was all dried eyed and tall while the two other brides maids and myself welled up on our reddened, damped cheeked glory. She teased us all for our tears so we collectively faked blame on the tiger lilies and allergies. Well, everyone knew the truth but heck, it sure got a good laugh out of the deal.
Yes, there are a lot of stories. In fact, I actually think I taught my kids to fake it until they make it though I am not sure that was a really good idea. "Sure, honey, just smile and stand up. The pain will go away in that toe you just totally jammed into the cement step." But, all in all I smile and laugh all the way through whatever I need to make it through. No, It isn't always appropriate and acting like a snotty teenager in the office of my radiology oncologist is probably not the best of coping mechanisms. However, it is pretty funny in retrospect. And heck, they had no idea what I was saying anyway in my Hamible Lecter mask. One thing is for true, faking it works. In essence it is the power of attraction. I seek to attract the best outcome. So please understand when I am telling you it is fine, shrugging my shoulders, blowing it all off like it is a trip to the candy store, and pretty much marginalizing my emotions, I am coping. My mom calls it grace.
Deep down, know I appreciate you more then you think. Also know I have a safety net. She signed up for the job thirty six years, six months and two days ago. And man, where would any teenager be with out one of her? For reals. Whatever. Like I am totally needing to go to bed now. Love you mom.
Okay, okay, it isn't all that bad, and you know if anyone can do this it is me (because I am an awesome yogi time bender, that's why.) And, I just totally got off the point of my realization I came to while driving to yoga. They are totally faking it. They, the nurses, took my picture on my first visit. It sits there right at the top of my chart along with the description of me in one sentence: 36 year old mother of two ages 6 and 7 artist with metastatic breast cancer being treated for metastasis to the brain. I am so okay with that. I like them knowing exactly who I am in two seconds and treating me like their long lost best friend. Sometimes we all deserve a little rock star status.
Besides, faking it until I make it is my number one coping mechanism. In college, I did the stupid thing any 18 year old does who didn't drink alcohol in high school (okay, mom, I had a few sips here and there but hated how it made me feel and stopped after a few sips.) So I got really mad at a boy at one party and started downing the Jungle Juice. I preceded to get totally wasted. Yep, my "designated mom," one girl in my circle of friends was not allowed to drink for the weekend on a rotating schedule so there was always a girl watching out for you, held my hair, cleaned me up, and told me that the red vomit was not me bleeding from the inside. Well, I pretty much learned my lesson. Man, I rock, one time and lesson learned...awesome. From that point on, I fake drank. I ordered one rum and Coke, Roman Coke, to begin the night. Then I preceded to order plain sodas all night. I am out on the dance floor for three or more hours solid on my caffeine while all the drunks were slumping in the corner. I say that was a pretty good way to spend the evening faking and still fitting in with the crowd.
Oh, there are plenty over other stories of my faking it until I make it. Like the time I delivered a speech to 500 plus of my peers at the Colorado Art Education Association annual conference in 2002, for Rookie Teacher of the Year. I had lost my second baby to a miscarriage at ten weeks only seven days prior to the event. I was still cramping. I was still grieving hard core. But, I did it. I walked up to the podium, started bawling my eyes out, took a deep breath, and totally blamed all my flood emotions on the pure fact that my teaching professor, Patrick Fahey, just hugged me and whispered in my ear, "I am so proud of you." Okay, I probably would have cried anyway being so nervous in the spot light. But, heck, it is good to fake it a little when you have to. And, if I really reflect on my first five years of teaching, it was the faking it until I made that won me that moment of honor in the spot light.
Or let us go back to my sister's wedding. There she was all dried eyed and tall while the two other brides maids and myself welled up on our reddened, damped cheeked glory. She teased us all for our tears so we collectively faked blame on the tiger lilies and allergies. Well, everyone knew the truth but heck, it sure got a good laugh out of the deal.
Yes, there are a lot of stories. In fact, I actually think I taught my kids to fake it until they make it though I am not sure that was a really good idea. "Sure, honey, just smile and stand up. The pain will go away in that toe you just totally jammed into the cement step." But, all in all I smile and laugh all the way through whatever I need to make it through. No, It isn't always appropriate and acting like a snotty teenager in the office of my radiology oncologist is probably not the best of coping mechanisms. However, it is pretty funny in retrospect. And heck, they had no idea what I was saying anyway in my Hamible Lecter mask. One thing is for true, faking it works. In essence it is the power of attraction. I seek to attract the best outcome. So please understand when I am telling you it is fine, shrugging my shoulders, blowing it all off like it is a trip to the candy store, and pretty much marginalizing my emotions, I am coping. My mom calls it grace.
Deep down, know I appreciate you more then you think. Also know I have a safety net. She signed up for the job thirty six years, six months and two days ago. And man, where would any teenager be with out one of her? For reals. Whatever. Like I am totally needing to go to bed now. Love you mom.
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