To Quote Rage Against the Machine...

Channeling my two-year-old here for a second, my life is "mine." And I will lead it as I see fit [dammit].

So this is the occasional check-in where I let you know how I am doing--really doing, really feeling--in all of this.

I feel pretty fucking great. For the most part, anyhow. Yesterday I got a wild hair¹ and went for a run for the first time in I don't know how long. The last time I remember strapping on the running shoes² my guts were coming out of my stomach, so it's been at least a year and change.

The motivation to get out and get moving came from the same place as when I was living in Norfolk, VA³ and was starting to feel beat down by the constant summer (and spring and fall) heat⁴.

It was something like 85° at 6pm for the third week in a row and I had just had it, so I strapped on my shoes and went out for a light run, just to show the weather that I was the one that made the decisions around here. Me.

So yesterday I went out for a two mile jog at an embarrassingly⁵ slow pace and came back all kinds of achy and chafed and today I feel like I'd been run down by a steam roller but it was a beautiful day and I was out--and occasionally sprinting⁶--in it.

Today I continued to vent my backed-up spleen⁷ by doing a bit of raking in the back yard but mostly tearing out all these bushy/viney weeds that I have mentally marked for demolition since last fall. Seeing the fruits of your grudge-fueled labor sitting curbside, waiting for removal is very, very satisfying⁸.

So that's pretty much the report from the home front these days. I am refusing to live in the past and am working on moving forward, with renewed emphasis on "moving." I am trying to be a better and more productive me.

But best of all, I continue to feel more and more like me with every passing week. The me that got ground down by the punishing reality and horrible possibilities of cancer. The me that got hollowed out both figuratively and literally by treatment. The me that seemed to get erased by The Troubles, never to return.

I'm back. And to finish what I started in the title of this post: "Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me."

Hallelujah.

---

¹WTF does that mean, anyhow?
²Damn I love those Sauconys.
³Home to the world's biggest naval base, don'tcha know.
⁴The transformer across the street blew at 3am on more than one occasion on account of it being overtaxed from the power demands of air conditioners.
⁵For the fuck of shit I can never spell that word correctly.
⁶"N.W.O." by Ministry gets me all fired up.
⁷Purely metaphorical.
⁸That and the beer reward that followed.

Latest/Greatest:

• Thanks to therapy, I have identified and am working through not one, not two, but at least THREE separate identity crises. I always have been something of a misdirected overachiever.
• I think I know what I want to be when I grown up, but I have to make a concerted effort to get off my ass to do something about it.
• It seems as though my various side-effects are easing somewhat, just in time for cooler temps. Keep hope alive.
• There is this delightful, grown-up, verbal, lovely, occasionally exhausting and often hilarious creature living in my house. I honestly have no idea where she came from.

Ribbons, ribbons everywhere and not a one's not pink...

A More Straightforward Scan

Remember the bullshit of my last CT scan? Where the radiologist tried to read my films with their head up their ass? Well, I wish I could say it didn't happen again this time, because it did, BUT I can say that my ever-stellar oncologist caught their mistake before it did any damage, with the upshot being that my 1 year [since the end of chemo] scan came back CLEAR! HOORAY!

One tip to all of my fellow scanxiety peeps: one Lorazepam is just the trick to keep the tailspin at bay.

Out of Phase

I feel like I am coming apart.

I seriously think I have been having a low-grade anxiety attack for the last six hours or so. I know I didn't double up on my thyroid meds in an attempt to get more pep (learned that lesson the first time) and am pretty sure I didn't over do it with the coffee this morning, so what's the cause?

I have a feeling it's short-term scanxiety coupled with longer-term Otherness, the plain fact fear that I will never again be Normal.

Now, I know no one is normal. That, or normal is relative, subjective. Everyone's got their Something to make them feel Apart.

But my Something...fuck.

I feel like I was pulled out of my life, spun around for a year, and then dropped back into something that was a copy of a copy of my life; similar but lacking. Pieces missing. Pieces of me.

I miss knowing where I fit in the grand scheme of things. I miss not taking things seriously. I miss taking things for granted.

And while I want to get back to that place and people are sometimes hoping, sometimes pushing me to get back to that place, I don't know how to get there, or if it even exists any more.

I don't know how to be that person anymore. I feel like for every step I take towards Normal, I take two steps back and then get knocked back another half block by one speeding crisis or another, real or imagined.

I say too much and do too little and then spend the time between hitting the pillow and actually falling asleep alternating between mentally reviewing the highlight reel of the day's perceived faults and missteps and feeling sorry for myself.

Which I know I shouldn't: beautiful daughter, loving [and employed] husband, No [Current] Evidence of Disease, roof over head, etc.

I just don't know how to get on with my life when this life is so unfamiliar to me: unemployed for the first time since I was 12 yet no career to go back to, stay at home mom of a toddler that is becoming less familiar to me with each passing day, living far from friends and family [that know the old me] in a wonderful city that will turn its back on us in a matter of months, trapped in a body that looks old and feels older.

I am writing all of this here, not for pity, but to get it out of my system. The people close to me have got to be sick of hearing my shit (I know I sure am), I don't want to irrevocably fuck up the perceptions that people not so close to me have of me (apologies if you fall in the latter category and real this blog), I don't see my therapist for another week, and I'm pretty sure that the ER doesn't give out anti-anxiety meds.

Which brings me to the scanxiety. The year follow-up CT is a week from tomorrow. As you can tell, I'm already freaking the fuck out, which means I am going to be totally tailspun when they run me through the tube. I am fucking terrified. And I feel like the world wants me to keep it to myself.

I'm terrible at keeping secrets, so I have to lay it all out here. Get it out of my system. Start feeling better. Normal.

Start.

Feeling.

---

The kid's up from her nap. Better will have to wait.

I Need To Stop Kidding Myself

I did not do everything right.

Sure, I exercised, maintained a [mostly] healthy weight, did yoga, didn't eat red meat.

But I drank too much, really didn't eat all that well, slept irregularly, would fire my car's keyless remote at my pelvis to improve its range, and got a navel ring, which I learned today can potentially have a negative effect on one's digestive system.

So, did I do everything right? Hardly. But the results are decidedly not in on my bringing The Troubles upon myself.

Some of my More Out-There Theories on What Caused My Cancer:

• Sitting on my ass in front of a computer for several years straight.
• Keeping my cellphone in my pocket.
• Aiming my keyless entry fob @ my pelvis to improve its signal.
  

No Fucking Shit:

A recent study found that swearing makes pain more tolerable.

I had very nearly given up swearing before my diagnosis. Ah well.

Happy Graduation, Chemosabe!

Ass cancer hats off to my stage III CRC compadre, JdB, who completed his twelfth and final FOLFOX treatment today. This is no mean feat, considering I was thisclose to throwing in the towel before finishing out at eight.

Congrats, John!! I am absolutely thrilled for you and your family. Try to rest so you're good and healed for your takedown.

Lessons Learned

And they are two:

1. I am physically unable to and simply cannot eat more than a cup of raw veg at a time.
2. My digestive tract is exactly 26 hours long.
   

Pieces of Me

Great news from the guts front: I got my drivers license renewal form in the mail the other day and along with it came a set of orange dot DONOR stickers. I (and everyone else in my GI support group) had been under the impression that we cancer veterans had to keep our spare parts to ourselves.

Rather than languish under flawed assumptions, I thought I should give a call to the authorities on the subject, and what did they tell me?

I can still donate my organs! Ok, well, maybe. It depends on circumstances that we didn't get into, but the good news is that I'm a definite maybe! Hooray!

Not Just Wanting the Best, But Everything

I now understand why parents think their children are brilliant because when I was looked into my daughter's eyes and saw the wheels turning as she tried to figure out how to dress her dolly, I thought to myself:

She could actually find the cure.

Cancer Blog Rules

Is it morbid or just weird to keep dead people in my blogroll?

Cancer Blog Rules

Is it morbid or just weird to keep dead people in my blogroll?

Scenes From the Cancer Center

Dried vomit in the bathroom sink.

And I wasn't even on the side of the clinic where they administer the chemo.

Black & White

When you're a mom that lost her fertility to her cancer treatment, every ultrasound looks like an empty womb, even if they're just scanning an enlarged lymph node in your neck.

It's the Little Things...

...or as I like to say, it's a petty fucking victory, but my fingernails are longer now than they have ever been, even longer than that one summer in college I painted houses for all of a month before the company went under and I got a job at a coffee shop and proceeded to drink my weight in espresso, whipped cream, and caramel.

One more sign that chemo is slowly, slowly washing its way out of my system.

I plan on not-so-slowly replacing it all with mojitos and IPAs this summer.

My "New Normal" Can Go and Suck It

I have had it up to FUCKING HERE with this peripheral neuropathy bullshit, never mind my stupid bowels.

Ok, end of rant.

For now.

Pretty Blah as Anniversaries Go

I started chemo a year ago today.

So, you know, there's that.

Hot in Them Jeans Genes

I recently found out that my mom's cousin (aka my mom's mom's sister's daughter--clear as mud, no?) was recently diagnosed with colorectal cancer (colon, to be specific).

At 57 she wasn't quite as young as me at diagnosis, but it's one more family member than the previous zero family members I'd had with colon cancer, so I am going to go ahead with genetic counseling.

My understanding is that there are laws in place to protect Vi from discrimination by insurance companies in the future, so that's a good thing. I guess the question is, what does it mean if they do find a genetic link? Then what?

I guess that's what the whole counseling part of genetic counseling is for...

This or That

The only thing worse than feeling pain and sadness so deeply that it seems like it's going to split you in two is feeling nothing at all.

Death

Whether it's claimed a person from my GI support group at the hospital or someone I only knew from an online distance, it's always at the periphery, milling around, clearing its throat, ensuring that I don't forget.

Making a Second Job Out of Second-Guessing

A clean CT scan.
A clean colonoscopy.

So why can't I stop copping a feel at the lymph node in my neck?

BEWARE: Salty Language Ahead

Stupid. FUCKING. BOWEL PREP!

Didn't want to be a quitter. Didn't want to let down my doctor. Conjured all manner of motivation--particularly my daughter's face--to choke all of the damn liquid down.

With only 6 oz. (of 64 total) to go, I had to go and FUCKING VOMIT.

Vomit. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

Currently: Waiting to hear back from the GI doc on call to see if I should even bother showing up tomorrow. I personally think that my prep is good--hopefully the professionals will agree.

Dammit.

The Worst 15 Minutes of the Last Year*

Yesterday I had my six-month follow-up CT scan. I hadn't been thinking much about it before the actual day, mostly because I knew that the only thing worrying would accomplish is steal precious sleep.

I was a little on edge yesterday since I had to fast prior to the scan and I am not one to skip meals. Ever. The first appointment was 9am labs, which went relatively ok, except for the fact that the IV needle that the tech left in wasn't exactly comfy, but then hell, it's pointy metal and it's not supposed to feel good, right?

After pounding three large cups of contrast for the scan (which I tolerated a little more than usual since I was so dehydrated and am not one to deviate from the NO FOOD OR DRINK FOUR HOURS PRIOR TO SCAN directions, even if it is water), they brought me into the room for the scan.

As soon as I laid on the table, I started to panic mildly. This was it. This test would determine the path of my life for the next six months. Clear, and I would get to keep chugging along until the next scan. Not clear, well...I could only assume that meant chemo and surgery.

They hooked the IV up to the needle sticking out of my arm. Once the contrast started to flow, my arm started to BURN with an incredibly SHARP PAIN. "OW, it HURTS!" I cried, kicking one leg in pain. I knew that getting contrast through my port was relatively painless, but I'd had contrast via IV before and it never hurt anything like this.

One of the nurses checked my arm (or something--I was to busy motionlessly writhing in pain to notice) and she said very apologetically that the vein wasn't infiltrated and that the contrast was going to where it was supposed to, so they kept going. The initial pain eventually subsided, but the damage was already done, or rather the dam had broken.

As fat tears rolled out the corners of my eyes, the nurses apologized repeatedly for something which wasn't remotely their fault. I tried to brush it off as no big deal, but they kept on: "I'm so sorry, it's not supposed to hurt like that, I'm so sorry..."

I tried to get myself together in a bathroom, but immediately lost it, heaving sobs at the import of what had just happened. The scan was no longer a question mark on the horizon--it was happening.

I beelined down the the caf for some much needed grub, which made me feel a bit better, then turned right around for my 11:30 acupuncture appt. There, the tiniest needle stick set off the waterworks again. I soon realized yesterday that while I can tolerate stress and tolerate pain, I can't do both at once, with one intensifying the other in a vicious cycle of tears.

I met up with Jody in the onc waiting room and proceeded to do just that for a half hour since either I or the clinic got my appointment time wrong. We were eventually whisked into an exam room, I answered the usual litany of questions, and we waited for the onc.

My onc's right hand man (who is also fantastic, by the way) had me feeling good with his positive demeanor but then delivered the news: the scan results were inconclusively troubling. Apparently, there was a dark spot on the scan that had gotten bigger since my last scan.

Just then, the darkness got a whole lot bigger.

The doc said that it was very unusual for it a recurrence to happen in that area and since it was adjacent to a surgical staple or clip, it could very well be nothing more than irritation from that staple/clip.

None of that helped. I was a total fucking wreck and was on my second kleenex before he even finished his sentence.

The doc then said that he was going to confer with my onc and then try to get either an answer or plan of attack when they both came back.

Jody, universe bless him, was ever his logical, I-will-base-my-response-on-the-information-I-have-been-given self while I, on the other hand, was Missus Disaster Brain.

I was sick. Again. I had ten miles of bad chemo road ahead of me, and possibly surgeries, just to keep things interesting. They wouldn't be able to put me back on FOLFOX on account of my neuropathy, so they would try something new. Something worse. Something that would knock me down, wipe me out. I would lose my hair. Jody would lose sleep. Violet might lose her mother. Oh God fucking NO.

After a fifteen minute eternity, my oncologist walked in, with his right hand man right behind. It was ok. They had an explaination. The dark spot they had been watching, the one adjacent to the clip? Was my ovary. And this was not a bad thing, because ovaries in all pre-menopausal women change with a women's cycle.

Holy shit, they had been looking in my beloved, transposed, thusfar functioning ovary.

And this is why my emotional fuse had been thisshort. Well, partly, anyhow. Because despite all lab results to the contrary, I was still cycling.

My hair is still a wreck. Jody's sleep is spotty at best. But Violet? Not losing her mom any time soon.

*Not counting my bowel issues, natch.

Poster Child for Early Screening

I've got something of import coming up in a few days but I wanted to post a quick note pertaining to a subject very close to my heart.

Well, not so much my heart as it is my butt. Yes, we're going there.

We are now in the month of ides, Guinness, lions and lambs but also awareness. March is coloRECTAL (sing it!) cancer awareness month. You all know my story by now, so I will spare a rerun, but it is my duty (or is that doody?) to deliver the following PSA as a CRC veteran.

Colorectal cancer--and all cancers, really--does not discriminate, nor is it logical. I am proof of the fact that you can be so low risk as to be practically risk-free and still get The Cancer. It is critical that you remain ever vigilant and tuned into the ebbs and flows of your body.

It is up to you to inform your doctor of any irregularities, whether it be unexplained weight loss, weakness, bleeding, changes in bowel habits (translation: they look different, happen more/less frequently, etc).

If things have been amok for a while and are not improving, be the squeaky wheel. You must be your own advocate. And if your doc tries to pass them off as hemmorrhoids, have him/her give me a call. You know I love a good excuse to read someone the riot act.

I've said it before, but I'll say it again:

If your doody is red, get your pooper inspected!
Oh and PS, contrary to what you've heard, the prep is the second worst part of a colonoscopy. The worst worst part is being told you have cancer.

An Update

Ok, so apparently it's not over until the side effects say it's over.

Since you last saw me, I've been continuing to deal with the issues of my wonky GI (read: you all should be buying stock in Imodium) and the sudden onset of major peripheral neuropathy shortly after my last post.

It came on like a friggin freight train in early October--rapidly turning from some numbness in the soles of my feet to having numbness in my fingertips in addition to pins and needles from just below the knee down to the occasional shooting pain in my feet.

Fortunately, the major pains can be controlled with gabapentin (aka neurontin) but the numbness...it kinda makes it hard to do just about anything requiring fine motor control (hands) and my feet in this weather (-32F with wind chill today) are a total mess.

My feet have been a complete mess even before the snow, having to wear Crocs every single day, much to my eternal chagrin. While wearing Crocs outside the house is no longer an option (I've tried the wooly ones and they don't quite cut it), I haven't been able to find the perfect footwear solution for the cold.

For now, I'm wearing some Solomon snow clogs that have great traction and decent cushioning, but I still kick them off first thing upon returning home.

I've also started to get acupuncture for the neuropathy (different person than the last time) and it seems to be making a bit of difference, but since it's a hunt-peck sort of a treatment, it could be some time until we find all of my hot spots.

Also, I had a bone scan last week to see what damage the radiation did to my pelvis--don't really want to have to worry about breaking a hip at 40, especially living in this oft-icy climate! The good news is that the results were normal, which I assume means normal for my age, not a senior citizen.

Other than that stuff, things are going pretty well, as I finally started to feel like my old self (never really appreciated the meaning of that phrase until now) about a week or so ago. Guess that whole chemo half-life stuff is no joke.

The weight has come back on and stayed on (yay?), so now my health goals are to start working out a bit (we have a stationary bike and comprehensive weight set in the basement) and eat more produce--tough to do this time of year, I know.

Violet continues to be a real joy (her latest trick is saying "I did it" when she helps me buckle her into her car seat) and Jody is sleeping a lot better since my finishing treatment, which is pretty great. He's got new stresses with the whole economy-being-in-the-toilet thing (who doesn't), but they seem to pale in comparison to The Cancer.

Thanks for continuing to check-in on me. I hope you're all staying healthy and warm yourselves.

Here's to a better Oh Nine for all of us.