Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Cancer anniversary

So it’s been a year. Twelve months since I held that magical lottery ticket in my hand, the numbers already drawn, and yet was still hopeful there had been some terrible mistake. The stupid thing is, I expected my name to be called eventually and now ask myself, was I okay with that happening at 50, 60 or 70 instead of 37? Ask my mom how she felt when she got her cancer suitcase handed to her and if there wasn’t the same anger and fear there. Circumstances different, yes. But the news is never welcome and the whole scene never plays out like you think it will.

And while I feel like I’ve learned a shitload and made some fantastic changes in my life to try to ward off the beast for the rest of my days, there’s ever more to do.

And there are more women going on this trip every day. Four in my immediate circle alone – all ranging in age, all varying in circumstances, but all faced with uneasy decisions, clearcutting treatments and vague promises from cancer land. I think about these women more than myself these days and feel a fierce mother bear thing about what’s been taken away already. The physical stuff we all deal with somehow, but the feeling that something is always resting on our shoulder, to varying degrees, will never go away for any of us. It can colour a good day, slap your face while you’re laughing about something, kick you in the ass when you’re making plans, and trip you up when you dare to imagine there could be a day when the c-dawg will be put to sleep forever.

I keep writing cuz it never leaves me. And I’m not bright enough to deal with it any other way. If I spell it out, it’s less scary and the hands around my neck loosen a little more.

But I live my life. I drink my green juice, eat my veggies, cut back on everything acid and try to fit rebounding and running into every spare second. I’m more patient, more open to people and things and experiences and focus less on retirement and more on the next six months. The mental shift continues and I’m always trying to find ways to balance the immediate with the plan and enjoy the in between as much as possible.

And really – I’m lucky that I even have the opportunity to ruminate about all this stuff. None of us know what’s around the corner. None of us can plan the end. None of us, when it comes down to it, have the luxury of time. We all have cancer inside of us – and I mean that literally, not in some new agey way. The cells are there. They’re waiting to misbehave and form alliances. We know (or at least I’m fuckin’ telling you) that living well – eating whole, staying alkaline, being active, loving & being loved – is the key to warding off all disease, so I’ll keep going as long as this stinkin’ world will have me.


Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Scan-free, free as the wind blows

I've finally reached another big milestone in the cancer awards ceremony. No more scans. All the results may not be in, but as far as I'm concerned, it'll be slouch-sock day in hell before I get another tin injection, breath into a tube or have a host of electrodes taped to my chest. I'm done.

My veins are calloused now, like for reals. There is no such thing as a painless poke anymore and likely never will be again. So although I still have a handful of Herceptin injections left to do over the summer months (nothing zexier than an IV bruise and a bikini), and perhaps one more bloodwork request, I should be free of all extraneous pokes. I can live my life in blissful ignorance again - pretend I chose the pixie hair and was born with tiny boobies. Act like it was all bloody up to me.

With my last test yesterday, I was waiting for the show to begin and heard the song Judy in Disguise playing in the lab. When I was six I used to shake my hips to that song and swing my Holly Hobby purse like a madwoman, demanding my parents watch me until the music stopped. Riveting stuff. If I can grab a baby toenail amount of that innocence back and erase every hospital visit from my memory in the meantime, I'm golden, Ponyboy.

Saturday, June 11, 2011

You tell me that it's evolution

It's been awhile, I know. This is the thing about having a job - blogging becomes rather back-burnered, even though I know it is the thing that has led me out of the big wallow and documented my cancer tour in all its glory.

By no means has the c-boat docked for good. It got a new paint job and lido deck, but it's there. Always there. The good thing is, I have no idea if there are any nasty cells in my bod regrouping and laughing at me and my sequin shirts and head hair. I say good, but it's also momentarily terrifying. Because I know that if it comes back, It will be nastier, untamed, and I'll doubt all the work I've done to get to this state of juicy wellness. I didn't feel sick the first time around, and fear a little every day that I'll miss the signs this time. It's a delicate balance between feeling myself up at every traffic light and thumbing my nose at the whole thing so I can just live my life. Aware and yet not aware.

Then I get word of another friend, colleague, woman of the world being smacked in the face with the cancer stick and I think - wow, I'm through that for now and feel lucky. And fuck if it doesn't make me angry that I somehow didn't get rid of it for everyone else.

Work has been a salve. It's normalcy. It keeps me focused on participating in another world where I can make another kind of difference. It's been an adjustment, though. My time is gone again. It gets sucked up so quickly and I need to fight this go round to make it all turn out the way I want. I'll figure it out. I will.

In the meantime, in so many ways I'm still the same annoying Carissa. I argue about stupid stuff. Lose my patience. Rock out to live band karaoke. Eat shit more than I should. And doubt my parenting skills every day of the week. But whatevs. My moments of understanding that this life is sparkly and I must sparkle in it exactly the way I want to are so there now - much more than they were before.

I still have a shitload of work to do. Exercise anyone? When the fuck do I fit that in with two clingy girls around my neck? Meditation? I do a few minutes every day, but I need more. Going vegan? I'm getting there, one less bacon slice a day.

And I'm not alone, right? There's you and you, and then you over there. And like KS said on Tuesday night re: my man about the house, "Your husband is a friggin' saint!" I mean, the guy ordered a sandwich today and asked the waitress to hold the cheese. If that isn't a revolution, people, I don't know what is.