Saturday, September 26, 2009

Round 6

Everybody knows me a the hospital now. It's a big party! We're all semi-sedated and making friends. One woman told me she grew two toenails from her new post-chemo treatment barely able to control her laughter. What do you say?
My cousin Margaret has started driving me and we've started having lunch afterwards which is nice. I like to get out of the house as much as possible because I can have a lot of down days watching HGTV. I have decided that I do not want anything to do with marble countertops, ever.
Things are going pretty smoothly, despite the fact that Ian is peeing the bed almost nightly. Not sure how to handle his emotions. There's so little direction on what to do when you have such a little one in this case. Probably because breast cancer and small children don't often mix together. Ian has just laid up on asking me to put my hair back on. For a long time he was saying that he gave me "the owie". He's as honest as a person can be, really. This isn't pretty. I just want to hold him all the time and protect him from the yuckiness of it all. We try to tell him the truth and he covers his ears. He wants this all to be over NOW.
We have those feelings,too, but have trained ourselves to reign it in. I want so desperately to throw a tantrum, but it won't come out. So I clench my teeth all the time.
I'm so grateful for all the kind words and food and love that come our way weekly. Little pushes upward.
Returning to the guys in my bed. Thinking about getting a king-size!

Friday, September 18, 2009


There's a time in the afternoon, about 3 or 4 p.m. when a cross appears in our bathroom window. It like one of those 70's looking images...shining through tall redwoods. I am not saying it's Divine, but it is a little eerie if you're a little (LOT) bit superstitious like I am. A few days ago, swear I felt the light of that cross warm my neck. As it was I was really praying for strength. It was a low day. Zero strength. Mass exodus of hair. And itchy and painful.
Strength really came just when I needed it and with good news. My cancer will in fact be cured and has a zero (!!!!) chance off recurrence according to genetic tests.
Ian keeps asking me when my hair is growing back. Daily. Loudly. Instead of cringing, I just tell him the truth: when you're four. He still wants me to put my hair back on (I bought a wig). I don't blame him. I want my hair back, too! I don't think bald is funky and don't really feel like 'rocking it'. But the question doesn't sting anymore because it's true, it will grow back in time for his fourth birthday. Maybe even for our 10th wedding anniversary.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

At least it's not all jumping out at once?

I'd like to clarify that I was never one to think about shaving my head, not even when Doc Martens were my shoe of choice. I don't think it's liberating or mystical. It's not going to make me do yoga. At least in the near future.

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Painting Snow

It's 12:40 and I am staring at a picture of a street covered with snow that someone has sent to my husband. It's a bright, peaceful picture, mostly white with the exception of a sign on the street that reads : No Parking This Side. I imagine the photographer could have moved five feet ahead to as to not obscure the sereneness of the picture. However looking ahead, there's a man either entering or exiting his car past the sign, one bright light shining from his car. I guess the photographer made a choice here. This picture was not going to get anymore perfect. And maybe that's why the photographer has sent my husband this as a postcard...a beautiful scene, but not one to keep.
It's 12:50 and I"m thinking, no, my mind is racing with thoughts. I want it to be quiet as snow.
I have breast cancer. My hair is beginning to fall out in strands. The chemo is not as bad as I thought it would be, but it's not great and I keep comparing it to pregnancy. People are not looking at me like I'm pregnant. This is not pregnancy. And today I saw myself through their eyes. I have a three-year old son. I am 35. This is not supposed to be happening to me! I am brave. I smile. I laugh. But I never forget I have this lump. I never forget that I am close to losing it all and surviving at the same time. I can't sleep, but I will. There are a few obstacles in my pretty picture right now, but they belong there, too. I try to remember that the picture is mostly pretty.