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When I was a kid, my dad bought me a telescope for Christmas. I remember looking up telescopes and finding out that there were reflection telescopes and refraction telescopes.
This time of year, a lot of people spend time reflecting on the previous months. I’ve certainly done my share of that. This is also the time of year that we resolve to do things differently, only to fall short of our own expectations shortly after the new year begins.
The basic definition of “refraction” is “the bending of light as it passes from one medium to another.” Allow me to take a bit of “creative” license with this definition, if you will. Essentially, it’s a change in direction.
My life this year has been all about refraction, according to my own definition. As the year comes to a close, I find myself in the position of needing to veer off course again. The changes that many people resolve to make have become a matter of life or death for me. I don’t need to lose weight just to feel better about myself mentally and physically. I need to lose weight to help prevent my cancer from coming back.
I must change course to save myself.
Strangely enough, I’m not afraid of this prospect, maybe because I’m not planning on setting any goals. I’m just going to try to make better choices, and find ways to add more physical activity into my daily routine.
On January 9th, I start school again. I’m both excited and dreading it. I’m excited because I do enjoy the idea of always learning. I’m dreading it because time management has never been my strong suit. The thing is, I do things really well when I put my mind to it. But I am so easily sidetracked.
Hmm…. easily sidetracked, eh? As in, veering off course? I guess I’ve always dealt with a lot of refraction.
So, do I need more or less refraction in my life? Apparently, this is something that will require some reflection on my part.
One thing I do know for certain: I wish I still had that telescope.
Happy New Year.
I found out I had breast cancer on April 27th. On May 20th, I had a lumpectomy and sentinel node biopsy in which two lymph nodes were removed. Just before Memorial Day weekend, I learned that both nodes tested positive, which meant that I would be getting both chemo and localized radiation. When I started to freak out over the what ifs and the unfairness of it all, I told myself to stop it. There is no fairness where cancer is concerned. Shit happens. Deal with it.
I had four rounds of chemo, which started on July 14th. I had my cousin shave my head as soon as I started losing my hair. I couldn’t control what the chemo did to my hair, but I could at least take control over how fast it would disappear.
My hemoglobin dropped after the second round of chemo, and I started to notice it around round three. Walking from the parking lot to my office was exhausting. Carrying a basket of laundry up from the basement? Forget it. Stairs were not an option, not even when descending.
My last round was in September, nine days before our annual Komen race. Somehow, I summoned the energy to walk the entire 5k. It was a personal “fuck you” to cancer. I was damn proud of myself.
Radiation started in October. I handled it well. I was a little iffy when the burns got bad enough to require an antibiotic cream. But it worked out. I didn’t get the fatigue that can sometimes be associated with radiation.
I was scheduled for 35 treatments total, every day Monday through Friday. The first few times, I was afraid to move until the therapist came back into the room. It doesn’t take long to learn the routine, though. The first 27 treatments were done at four different angles. The last eight were boosters, focusing on the areas of incision from my surgery. The simulator went off twice on each of those angles.
My last treatment was today. When the simulator shut down for the last time, I started to cry. And when I got to my car, I started to sob with relief I hadn’t known I needed.
Eight months of hell has come to an end.
Friday was the last Friday I will spend getting radiation, hopefully forever. I am down to four treatments now. Again, hopefully forever.
Slowly but surely, I am getting my life back.
I went to the grocery store afterward, because the forecast called for cold weather this weekend and I decided to spend it baking. I’m also in the midst of planning Christmas dinner, a meal that I will be preparing in my hotel room (with fully equipped kitchen) in Philly. JM and I are heading east to visit JL for the holiday. I have the menu set and some of the “fixins” purchased.
We’re going to be packing quite a bit of stuff for this trip. I hope the bellhop doesn’t hate me too much.
I’ve been feeling rather pessimistic lately, which isn’t exactly an unfamiliar feeling, but it’s one I’d thought I’d shaken long ago. I think it’s just a little bit of trepidation over knowing that I’ll soon be done with treatment, no longer actively “fighting” the disease. I start hormone suppressants in January, though, and that’s what will stop this cancer’s “food source.”
This morning, I woke up and knocked a bunch of things off of my To Do list in short order. I baked three loaves of pumpkin bread and a batch of cheesecake brownies. My kitchen doesn’t look completely trashed. I have clean clothes to wear tomorrow and food to pack in my lunch. In short, I’ve been productive, more productive than I’ve felt in eight months.
My hair is growing back. My radiation burns are healing already. The Boyfriend and I are laying the groundwork for healthier lifestyles as soon as treatment is completed. I’m registered for winter semester. I feel great.
And I’m going to Philly for the very first time, spending Christmas with the two most important people in my life.
It is so good to be me again.
My last chemo was delayed a day because of equipment malfunction. I was rescheduled for the following day, which meant that I wasn’t able to hang out with the “buddies” I’d made during treatment. (I did get to see a couple of them as they came in for their Neulasta shots, so all was not lost.)
There was a gentleman already in one of the chairs when I sat down and he had a laptop out. Before long, we’d started up a conversation as people in the chairs are prone to do, since you’re there for a few hours. S was fighting colon cancer for the second time.
S is roughly my age and dealing with the same type of cancer that my husband had. He talked about the drugs that he’d been on the first time around and I remembered those names from when Mike was going through chemo. Those drugs were relatively mild as far as side effects. S went through treatment and was deemed cured, for 20 years.
Then last year, the cancer came back. He had to have surgery and have his colon removed. The chemo treatment he was undergoing had some brutal side effects. But he had an amazingly positive attitude about things. As do most of the people you meet in the chair. Because we’re all brave for each other and it’s easier to be brave when you’re surrounded by people who know what you’re facing. Or maybe it’s more important to be brave then. We don’t use the phrase “what if?” We don’t discuss the possibility of our disease not being cured. We certainly don’t talk about having to come back again.
Today, S posted on his blog that a recent CT scan shows tumors in his lung and liver.
We do the things we’re supposed to do. We go through the treatments. The discomfort of radiation. The side effects of chemo. The sleepless nights worrying. We lament over the unfairness of it all, only to be confronted with the harsh reality that this fucking disease knows not the meaning of “fair.” Maybe we feel a sense of relief about that. We give ourselves pep talks and convince ourselves that it’ll be OK.
But we don’t really know that for sure.
All we can do is keep fighting.
Every Monday at radiation, I get my vitals checked and the radiation oncologist examines me to make sure I’m not glowing bursting into flames turning into a zombie developing an infection in the treatment area.
Since I’ve never been one to sunbathe, I haven’t had much experience with burns. Oh sure, I’ve gotten the occasional pink skin from swimming without sunscreen, but nothing major. Never any blistering.
I turned pink after two days of radiation. I have skin issues this time of year anyway, what with allergies and forced air dry heat. So, I was expecting the worst, but not knowing exactly what that worst might be.
I was put on Silvadene last week because one of the oncologists thought it was necessary. Silvadene is an antibiotic for second and third degree burns. That kind of freaked me out. Reading the directions on how to apply it didn’t make me feel much better. Sterile gloves and a sterile applicator? It’s scary to think that I might be that susceptible to infection.
I have been diligently applying it twice a day–except for yesterday–but I still wasn’t sure how bad it was. Things looked less red after four days off, but reading about the various burns and problems associated with them… it’s… squicky.
So, today I met with the doc. It was my favorite guy, not the one who put me on the Silvadene. I told him of my concern and he reassured me that everything looks pretty good considering how far along I am in my treatment. The Silvadene is doing its job. I feel better about the whole situation. I only have 13 treatments left now. I think I’ll survive it.
My hair is coming back in fairly quickly considering I was pretty much bald not that long ago. I can’t really tell what color it’s going to be yet. In some light it looks like my former natural color. Other times it looks dark grey. But I see a few that look reminiscent of my old “defectives,” and they are definitely different from the rest of what’s growing. So, I’m holding out hope for my brunette locks to come back.
It’s as soft as a rabbit’s fur. I can’t stop touching it.
Tonight, I noticed that there is officially enough for me to grab hold of with my fingers. And it’s also starting to cover the tops of my ears.
It won’t be long until I can take my hair ties and head bands back from The Boyfriend, who has been quietly flaunting his long curly locks in front of me all summer long. Meanie.
We’ve been out of the house far more this weekend than we’ve been in it (sleeping time doesn’t count). Thanksgiving was spent first at my sister’s and then at The Boyfriend’s parents. By the time we left there I was exhausted, but I still consented to having The Boyfriend’s brother and sister-in-law come over for a little while, so we could have a Wii Resort rematch from last year.
I woke up at an absurdly early hour yesterday morning and could NOT go back to sleep, no matter how much I willed myself to do so. I must have been subconsciously stressing out over all of the Black Friday deals I was missing. Or not.
I received a text from The Boyfriend’s mom asking if I wanted to go out to a town near ours with “the girls” meaning her sister, niece and great nieces, I thought. And probably one or both of The Boyfriend’s sisters-in-law. I’ve been avoiding going out in public for the past week because 1) I haven’t been able to wear a bra thanks to radiation burns; 2) I haven’t been able to wear makeup, thanks to a sty that’s developed because of my lack of eyelashes; and 3) my hair is at that awkward stage of not quite long enough to go without a head covering, but aggravating as hell when I try to wear one. I’m a bit of a hot mess.
But the vanity gods must have had a discussion the other day because lo and behold and I found an old bra in my dresser that managed to not irritate any of the parts that are really bad. I never wear that bra because it doesn’t support me as well as the ones I do wear. But in this case, some support is better than no support, so this thing is a godsend. I just wish I had about four more of them. Days upon days upon days of hot compresses finally eliminated the sty, so makeup was back! Woohoo! I’m human again!! I just sucked it up with the hair issue. Threw on my favorite scarf and told myself I looked mah-velous and said, “Yes. I would LOVE to go.”
It turned out everyone, except The Boyfriend’s dad and his uncle, showed up for our little adventure. We walked the streets of a town nearby. November has been having a seriously hard time making up its mind about what it wants to be, since it was 60 degrees and sunny yesterday. We had a late lunch and then everyone headed back to their prospective domiciles, with the plan to regroup at Grandma’s house around 7 p.m. and determine dinner plans.
We hung out, drank wine and eventually showed up for a 9 p.m. reservation at an excellent seafood restaurant. Fourteen of us, sans Grandma, who was wiped out from the day and needed to rest up for today. We were home a little after 11 p.m. and I immediately crashed.
Today… the Border Battle is taking place: Ohio State vs. Michigan. However, we’re celebrating Grandma’s 95th birthday a few weeks early, since the whole family is in town. And Grandma doesn’t have a TV. Yes. I am sobbing. But I love Grandma, so I will be there. Since this is also The Boyfriend’s brothers’ last night in town, I imagine there will be something in the works for tonight as well.
It’s been a lovely weekend, all in all. The only problem is that tomorrow is Sunday. I have a mountain of laundry that needs to be done and desperately need to get to the grocery store. Tomorrow is going to be a madhouse.
*I started writing this yesterday and ran out of time
I have much to be thankful for this year.
At the top of my list are my kids. This year has shown me that no matter what happens, they’ll be alright. JH is my rock, always there when I need him, though I’m thankfully smart enough not to abuse that privilege. He is my living proof that nurture plays a larger part than nature, not just because he’s nothing like his biological father, but because he reminds me of Mike in many ways. JL is me, with all the passion I never had the courage to set loose. I live vicariously through the experiences he has and he inspires me to create a few new experiences of my own.
I might go for months without really communicating with my sisters, but when things get crazy, they remind me that they’re here. I’m trying to make a better effort to maintain those lines of communication this time. The years fly by too quickly. I blinked and one of my nieces got married. Blinked again and another gave birth to the first member of the next generation. I don’t want to lose any more time.
I have phenomenal friends. They may not always truly understand how I’m feeling, but it’s not their fault I can’t convey it. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter; they’re here for me when I need them.
I would not have survived, physically or mentally, without my excellent physicians. I couldn’t have asked for a better team of experts to take care of me. (I am not so thankful for second degree radiation burns, though I will remind myself that it could be worse.)
I am thankful that I still have a job. This one is harder to muster, since Monday promises to be u-g-l-y. But I’m giving it my best shot.
There are so many more things… but right now, I’m also thankful for naps. Because I really, really need one after gallivanting outside this afternoon.
Happy belated Thanksgiving!
I’m starting to think that I’m not quite cut out for this society of ours.
It’s not really a sudden revelation. It’s been in the works for years. Decades even.
Things that seem to be really important to others just don’t hold much appeal to me. I try to play along, to get excited about things like cute shoes, but honestly? I don’t much care. Maybe if I didn’t wear a boat-sized 11 I could get more excited about them. But shoe shopping is rather depressing.
Technology and geek tools are things that I covet. If I’d known how addicted I would be to my laptop–and how much I would grow to hate it said addiction–I would never have consented to getting that first PC back in 1994. I was thinking about trying to go off the grid completely for a while, dump the blog, deactivate all of my social media, start watching the news again… but then I remember that I’m at the start of a new smartphone plan and I need internet access for my classes. And the news sucks.
I suppose I can justify it by believing that at least my addiction keeps me informed, whereas a new pair of shoes is just… footwear.
I used to be a night owl. Didn’t matter how early I got up or how tired I was during the day… 10 p.m. was my witching hour and I could go several more hours if I let myself.
I’m barely staying awake lately. I have a long-ass rant in my head and no energy to type, let alone organize my thoughts into any kind of coherency. It might be radiation. I hope it’s radiation. Although that shit is doing enough damage already.
I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy, and that’s saying a lot.
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