To her, it is just a place. It is just a bench in front of a building, not the entryway to the place where my life started changing, bits and pieces at a time. Not the doorway to the building where the awful drugs came from, the ones both terrible and wonderful because they zapped my strength and took my hair and made me sick, but they also saved my life.
To her it is just a place, just a bench. Just a place to stand and pose for photos, sweet innocence and enthusiasm abundant.
Reminiscent of the biblical “ask and you shall receive, seek and you shall find,” I asked and my friends came through for me in a major way. I was nervous to ask….I knew it would be okay without help but….well….I did it and I’m glad I did. Thanks so much, girls. I almost didn’t realize how much I needed company until you all started coming in and hugging me. What a blessing, each and every one. : )
So…Adam isn’t able to come and keep me company for tomorrow morning’s chemo. Mom is with Anna. Anyone available and willing to come and hang out with me? Even for a little bit? Or drop by and see me? Or bring me trashy magazines to peruse? Or fresh baked goods?
8:30-10:30ish, Cancer Center of Santa Barbara (540 W Pueblo).
I know that it is difficult for my girls (you KNOW who you are!) to just drop on by (NO kids allowed)…no worries. I know you all love me. Just thought I’d throw this out into the world and see what happens.
P.S. If too many people show up you’ll get turned away (supposedly only one visitor per patient, though I have seen the rules bent a bit from time to time!).
Sometimes the universe conspires to show you that perhaps you need to take a second look at your attitude. Yesterday, directly after I hit publish on that last entry, I bumped into the woman in question, who wholeheartedly and sweetly invited us to a social gathering. She went out of her way to do this, to invite me specifically. And I felt like the universe gave me a nice, swift kick in the rear.
I almost pulled my last entry down. That’s how bad I felt about maligning her and her good intentions. Damn my insecurities and frustrations: she was only trying to help. It doesn’t necessarily make it right–I do genuinely wish that people would learn the appropriate things to say and not to say when talking about so called “delicate topics,” but….still.
I am not going to delete that entry because it still stands as the way that I was feeling in the moment, but let the record show that I am feeling contrite. That I see that forgiveness is the better path, that sometimes you just need to let it all roll off your back, smile, and let it go.
Plus, as I lay in my acupuncturist’s office yesterday, having cupping done to my back, I started giggling at the absurdity of me being offended by alternative therapies. Ha! It’s not like I haven’t done my fair share of things that some people consider a bit “out there.” I do still heartily believe in modern medicine, but there are a lot of things out there that may certainly be complementary and supportive of physical health in general. I don’t know that I would rely on them for a “cure” (ok, I do know, I would not), but that’s not to say that I haven’t tried them or wouldn’t be willing to. My acupuncturist wants me to give up cane sugar. Oh, SUGAR! Damn. Raw foods, here I come (j/k).
Ok, enough for now.
Love, love, love. Still working on practicing what I preach. XO
P.S. Thanks, to those who commented, on your loving support. I honestly cannot tell you how good it felt to read those words. : )
I am normally a very polite person. I can’t help it; it’s the way I was raised. Even if I don’t agree, I often smile and nod (at the very least). I may point out that I disagree, but only if I can do so in a way that does not embarrass or belittle or otherwise cause the other person some discomfort.
So I know that it was due to the emotional distress that I have been feeling lately, what I recently did to an acquaintance: I said what I was actually thinking. Filter off.
This was about my cancer. This is someone I have only met recently. “Oh!” she said, when I mentioned that I was going to the Cancer Center on Monday. “You have cancer?” She smiled, tilted her head and said, “Have you tried eating Raw? Because it can help cure you!”
I felt a momentary panic, then rage well up. I don’t know if I can adequately explain what comments like these trigger in me: feelings that are so deeply seated, so primal. Usually, I try and change the subject, or politely say, “No, I have not tried _____ [fill in with any number of crazy whack-job do-it-yourself-cancer-cures],” while trying to remain the picture of thankfulness and gratitude that someone would care enough to try and help me (I do know, after all, that they are only (oh, how I despise it) trying to help.
This day, though, I tilted my head to the side, gave a tight-lipped not-really-a-smile-but-a-grimace and said, “Really? Are you really asking me that?”
She lost her resolve, momentarily, but then continued to plow forward (fatal flaw): “Well, I’ve done a lot of reading on the subject and I just know all about how beneficial it can be, how it can solve all sorts of medical issues!”
Me: still tight-lipped. Barely holding it in.
Her (mindlessly plowing on–is she really that clueless that she cannot see my discomfort?): “You should really consider it! I’d be happy to give you some reading materials!”
Me: “When you are the one with the cancer, I’m sure you can do whatever you want. When you are the one whose cancer is growing so rapidly that you can see it, then you can eat Raw, or practice colonics, or pray to Jesus/Buddha/Krishna/Mother Earth/whatever. Until then….I just thank goodness for the modern medicine that saved my life.”
Her: “Well….umm….well….everyone has to do what they think is right for them.”
Me (damned upbringing, I just can’t help myself!): “I’m sorry….I don’t mean to be rude. I just….” (tears, as I turn away).
The thing is, I know that she was only suggesting things, like most others, in an effort to be helpful. But, to me, it feels so incredibly hurtful. It feels like a blame thing (if only I had done X, Y, and Z differently, maybe I wouldn’t have gotten cancer in the first place). It feels condescending, as if others don’t believe I am a smart enough person to have considered all my options, like I just went with the first option presented to me (I really believe that medicine, yes, even that dreaded blasted chemotherapy, saved my life). It feels invasive (it’s my life and until they have been there, they have no idea what it is like to be in my shoes).
The only thing I hate worse than the “medical” suggestions is when people want to tell me stories about other people they know who had cancer, people who, for some reason or another, I remind them of. Trouble is, the vast majority of these individuals with cancer, the ones that well-meaning others want to tell me about, are dying or dead. WTH? Like I really want to hear a “really and truly inspiring story!” about your friend who was only 33 years old and had a husband and 2 kids and Stage IV breast cancer and died last year (“but she was SO inspiring! and you remind me SO much of her!!!!”). Thanks but no thanks. That is not encouraging. I know that when some people hear my story, they can’t help but think of these other examples but I am not those other people. I have my own story and I have chosen my own way to deal and I appreciate gestures of love and concern but these things do not feel loving or helpful to me. At all.
Whew. That’s a rant. Sorry.
It’s been quite a week.
Every single day of this week has felt like Friday. Not in a good, TGIF way, but more in a is-this-week-still-dragging-on?-kind of way. Like, every single day I’ve thought, “it can’t possibly still be NOT-Friday!”. This week has kicked me in the ass. Repeatedly. And it sucks.
I know, I know. I received good news–great news!–today. News that my scan was “normal.” Oh, good. Yes. I am relieved. Another reprieve, it seems. Another 6 months before I worry myself sick again. But it still doesn’t erase it all.
It doesn’t erase the deaths. This week, already mindful of Kenny’s death in such an immediate way, especially as I wrote a memorial piece about him, I was completely devastated by the news about Anna’s dearly beloved teacher, whose baby–not even 6 months old–died. This beautiful, charming, totally healthy and perfect baby, whose dimpled smile shone from her elfish face, whose body I held many times upon picking up or dropping off Anna (because I just cannot stand to NOT hold a baby, goodness knows). Gone. Just gone. SIDS. I cannot see a single shred of good in this death. Not even a “oh, she touched so many lives” or “her spirit will shine forth” and definitely not a “well, we will see her in heaven some day.” This was a life too brief and though it was not my child, I found myself waking countless times these past couple of nights, waking with a silent scream in my throat, racing to look at my breathing child. It’s the most horrendous nightmare for any parent and, for a woman that I know and love, her nightmare happened. I just can’t fathom it.
Saturday we will attend a memorial for this sweet baby girl.
Sunday we will celebrate my sister’s birthday (sorry, dear sister, that the celebration of YOU is sandwiched between such sadness).
Monday I have chemo in the morning, followed by funeral and memorial for Kenny.
It all feels like so much, the emotional burden too great to bear. I find myself grown quiet and thoughtful these days.
Adam has been swamped with work this week and, though I understand and appreciate that that is what he has had to do, I’ve missed him. I don’t feel like I have had adequate time to process everything that is going on.
I find myself hoping that Anna will not see only death around her, but the beauty also. Beauty, where are you? Oh, life, please linger near us for a bit. We need you here.
I’ve been walking on pins and needles all day. Just got a call from Dr. Mimi’s office saying that the full report has yet to be released but that the preliminary report indicates a conclusion of “normal exam.”
Ok, now I can exhale.
Monday we’ll get the full report. I guess the details don’t matter if the bottom line is good, right?
Ever have one of those days where it drags on so long and so painfully that you think that something has happened in the space/time continuum? Like, maybe somehow TWO bad days have been compressed into one day?
It might have something to do with the lack of sleep last night. No matter how sternly I scold myself for doing this, no matter how absolutely dreadfully not calming and not sleep-inducing this is, I still persist in googling cancer related facts and articles and all manner of frightening things late at night sometimes when I cannot sleep. Usually just prior to a scan. Because I am crazy, that is why.
I think that something deep inside of me is thinking that maybe if I keep searching I will come across that elusive website out there, the one devoted to explaining and predicting my entire life, including cancer status, disease progression, lifetimes of loved ones, etc. You know, the basics. For my edification. Wouldn’t that be nifty? I keep looking but I haven’t come across it yet.
I was trying to do a million things today: write, make phone calls, email, and all manner of assorted and sundry various things that kept me in my pajamas until (embarrassing!) 11 am. All the while, my tiny warlord conspired to keep my away from all my Very Important Activities by continually climbing on my lap, shouting during important phone calls and whining and requiring all manner of care. Yes, it’s my job to take care of her but I swear to you that Anna was being especially needy today. I felt….exasperated. Yes, that is exactly it. Exasperated in the way that you feel when there is the tiny bubble of laughter that forms in the back of your throat when you think about how ridiculous that it is that you are trying to call your doctor regarding your Very Important Scan while your daughter is screaming “MAMA COME WIPE ME NOW! RIGHT NOW!” and you realize that it is all faintly ridiculous, the idea that stay-at-home Moms have all this free time. Exasperated also in the sort of way that keeps your fondness for the irritating habits of your beloved child at the forefront: I could still think to myself, despite the inconvenience, that, GEEZ, is she ever cute! as she creates enormous messes requiring massive cleanup effort on my part. Really, I am not being sarcastic. I think that Anna is so adorable that I sometimes have to make myself get all stern because otherwise I melt at the perfection of her squeaky little voice.
Swimming lesson went well today. She is slowly getting used to the idea of being on her back in the water (previously a big fear for her). Despite the fact that she repeatedly told me, throughout the day, starting from breakfast time, that she did NOT want to go to swim lesson and she would NOT go, not EVER EVER EVER, she did just great when I handed her over to her teacher. Boy, was I ever glad that she did not make good on her threat to hit her teacher (no, seriously, she really told me that at lunch, that if I made her go to swim lesson she would hit Rachel. “I hope you won’t really do that,” I replied, looking her straight in the eye).
Everything feels so crazy right now. I kind of want to fastforward a little bit to the part where things are a bit more slowed down and mellow. Can I hope for that? I can also spin all sorts of fantastical maladventures regarding my in-the-air cancer status. I have refused to allow Adam to make plans regarding either (a) travel or (b) kitchen remodel, until after I get the results of these scans because I can’t go there until I get it in my head that we aren’t headed into another storm that we have to brace ourselves against.
Tomorrow: scan. Friday: blood draw and (hopefully) preliminary scan results. Then it is a whirlwind of family and activities because of Kenny’s upcoming memorial service and (gulp) oh, yeah, another few visits to the Cancer Center.
Starting this afternoon, because I have a scan tomorrow, I have to follow the PET scan preparation diet.
Foods to avoid: all sugar and carbohydrate-rich foods, including, but not limited to sodas, chocolate, candy, fruits, juices, breads, cereals, rice, pasta, carrots, potatoes, peas, milk.
For breakfast, naturally, I ate yogurt with blueberries, strawberries, banana slices, and jam, and a big, sugary cinnamon roll (none of which I will be able to eat starting at 1 pm today).
Tomorrow I turn thirty four. A respectable age, I’d like to think. One that puts me well beyond childhood, transplanted firmly into the place where I can reasonably be expected to have at least some of my shit together.
I think I’m doing all right? Am I doing all right?
Well. I’m not thrilled to have my upcoming scan. I would be lying if I were to tell you that it’s no big thing. I almost gave myself a panic attack today, just thinking about it. I mean…..Kenny and I were diagnosed with the same kind of cancer around the same time. We achieved remission. His came back and then he died. Do you see how this might give me pause? How of course it’s the optimistic thing to think, “oh, mine will stay away! Of course it will!” because the sequence of events these last couple of weeks has put the other side of things to close to my face, so close that I can’t close my eyes without flashes, like something from a horror film, of this or that or the other thing. The not-optimistic thing. The thing that spells out my fear. The thing that says that they’re not just scanning me for fun, that I can’t just go out there in the world and pretend like none of this happened because it did happen and it is happening and it could continue to happen in a very real, very bad way.
See? Just a little bit panicked.
But. My life is currently much too awesome to get stuck in that entirely so I’m fighting it. I really am enjoying these currently enjoyable moments because they are that good. Because I like my family, I like my friends, I like good food, I like my little house. And so long as I can keep the existential worry at bay–or, at the very least, don’t let it consume me entirely–everything is pretty much okay.
That’s just pretty much honestly exactly where I am.
I am Jennifer Anne Johnson Gray and I am (almost) 34 years old. I am a wife and a mother and a daughter and a sister and an aunt and a friend. I had cancer and I am still here. I am here!
I’m mourning the death of my uncle. I’m living in fear of my cancer coming back. But, most of all, I’m living my life–I’m eating and drinking and running and hugging and singing and crying and taking a big old huge fistful of life and drawing it to me like a security blanket, holding it up to my chest and stroking it, over and over, to ground myself, to help me remember that I am here now. That’s all I’ve got: I’m here now.
Copyright 2010 
house of waffles.