11 month cancerversary

Well, here we are again. Another month of surviving cancer. Getting ever closer to the big one.

So, I still have cancer (duh). I get a lot of people sending prayers for miracles, positive vibes, so much hope that this incurable cancer will just fix itself. I really appreciate all of the positivity, but it is important to remember that positivity can become toxic, such that the patient is essentially blamed for not being positive enough, at which point, it becomes her fault that she is still without that miracle.

To be clear, I am not saying that I reject positivity, only that I take it with a realistic view of the science, and the primary treatment planning led by one of the best medical oncologists in the region. No Dr. Google. Please do not recommend drugs (legal or otherwise) or CBD oil. I will take the many drugs recommended by my oncological team. I will not try the MJ, because I just don't like it. If my primary oncologist prescribes MJ for me, I'll take it. Doesn't mean I have to like it.

Anyway. after all this time, and all of these surgeries and adjusted treatment plans, I really appreciate all of the support, kindness and love that all of you keep pushing in my direction. For that, you truly are awesome friends and family.

Fave Quote of the Book: Small Victories by Anne Lamott (Part 2)

From Amazon:

So, where did we leave off? (LINK)

Was I saying that I came from an unhappy family?

What does it mean to have a happy family?

Who knew that I'd be exploring such difficult questions in a silly little blog that is supposed to be about non-cancer. Yet, here we are.

My family is special. I remember a childhood of laughter, silliness, bad jokes, talking lobsters, and spontaneous trips to unexpected locales.

I also remember a childhood with tears, fear, hurt and misunderstanding, and being misunderstood. As a shy introvert from an exceptionally loud family of extroverts, I spent too much time with my own thoughts, wishing I fit in better. I had feelings I didn't understand, couldn't put words to, and as an early reader who read "at the college level" by the time I was 11, it was unusual to be unable to find the words I needed.

We fought (and still fight). We cried (and still cry). We try to understand each other, even though it often feels like we all came from different planets. Are all families like that? I honestly don't know.

We had love, but we also had an unfair share of unhappiness. Well, I call it unfair, but I don't know if that is true either.

We have hard conversations, hard feelings, and hard hearts, and all the wishing in the world can't undo some of the terrible things we've done, or unsay the terrible things we've said. Lamott says,

"Forgiving people doesn’t necessarily mean you want to meet them for lunch. It means you try to undo the Velcro hook. Lewis Smedes said it best: “To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.” (Lamott 117).

As family, we should always be prepared to forgive, because we are family, right? Even the Bible says we should turn the other cheek, so forgiveness is the word of the day, yes?

Maybe.

For me, explicit forgiveness is not free. Again we come back to the idea of grace. I am not full of grace, I might be full of something, but grace ain't it. Forgiveness comes at the cost of acknowledging the wrong, committing to never repeat it, and apologizing. An apology involves the words "I am sorry" or "I apologize for the hurt I caused to you."

A non-pology might include the words "I'm sorry if..." or "I'm sorry but..."

"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings" is NOT an apology. "I'm sorry but I didn't mean it that way" is NOT an apology. I'm sorry for anything that I might have done" is not an apology. It is so difficult to find grace when trust is broken. Trust might be healed if the apology includes a commitment to not repeat the transgression. Trust might be healed if the transgressor takes some action toward healing. Trust might be healed by respecting boundaries.

I am no expert on grace, but I have so many expectations. I love the idea of grace, of love undeserved and without conditions. I want to learn that grace.

My therapist tried to teach me about giving myself grace. Do you want to know what is even harder? Giving grace to others. But as Smedes above said, forgiveness sets us free. Perhaps that is the grace that I am looking for. That doesn't mean that my heart is left open to be trampled by any and all who wish to stomp on it. The doesn't mean that I have no hurts left, because I do. But in my quest for giving myself grace, I have to try to let go of those hurts and move forward. Unconditional love is not the same as unconditional trust, but maybe we can learn to get closer to that, no matter how far away that grace might seem.

Read this book. It is by far one of the best I've stumbled across in a while.

Fave Quote of the Book: Small Victories by Anne Lamott

From Amazon:

Anne Lamott writes about faith, family, and community in essays that are both wise and irreverent. It’s an approach that has become her trademark. Now in Small Victories, Lamott offers a new message of hope that celebrates the triumph of light over the darkness in our lives. Our victories over hardship and pain may seem small, she writes, but they change us—our perceptions, our perspectives, and our lives. Lamott writes of forgiveness, restoration, and transformation, how we can turn toward love even in the most hopeless situations, how we find the joy in getting lost and our amazement in finally being found.

Profound and hilarious, honest and unexpected, the stories in Small Victories are proof that the human spirit is irrepressible.

I first read Anne Lamott in grad school. Her book, Bird by Bird, changed the direction of my education, my career, and my life. Although Lamott and I have some things in common, our belief systems are vastly different, but that's ok. Obviously, I don't know this woman, but from her writing, I get the impression that she is kind, warm, and thoughtful. I'd love to have a meal with her, or buy her a cup of coffee.

Throughout my diagnosis, I've been heavily contemplating the idea of grace. My therapist says I should give myself grace, but I don't always know what that means. She says I should forgive myself, and I don't always know how to do that. I have spent the majority of my life mastering negative self-talk; what is this grace we speak of?

I feel like Lamott understands me, without even knowing me. One of my favorite parts of this book is when she says,

"When you are on the knife’s edge—when nobody knows exactly what is going to happen next, only that it will be worse—you take in today" (Lamott 4). 

I feel that this is my diagnosis, summed up in one sentence. I'm still in a place of intentional ignorance. This diagnosis has taught me to take in today, one day at a time. Like an addict, I don't count too far ahead in the future. I count tomorrow, and the rest come as it may.

Lamott also talks about her family:

"Ours was like any other family, basically well-meaning, with lots of addictions, secrets, and mental illness. We were such a polite catastrophe that everyone’s energy went to survival, self-medication, Mask Making 101, and myopia" (Lamott 161).

Every family has their secrets, right? As Tolstoy said, "All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way" (Anna Karenina). While I'm not prepared to share all of our secrets, I will say that Tolstoy had his wisdom.

Am I saying that I came from an unhappy family?

Stay tuned to find out more!

"But you look so strong"

"You look so good!"

"Your color is good," with a grin, "I can't believe how strong you look!"

I don't go out when I don't feel good. 

When you see me, you see me at max a 3 on the pain scale. Keep in mind, as someone who suffered from chronic pain before my diagnosis, a 3 is barely notable. I've taught classes with 3/10 migraines. I've tutored students or graded 50 papers with 3/10 pulled muscle in my less than healthy back. I've hiked up mountains with 3/10 for pain from my plantar's fasciitis.

I can't remember the last time I had a 0/10 day. Recovering from this most recent brain surgery has been a lesson in pain. All day, I hurt. My head. My skin. My joints. Everything. 

I can sleep through 8/10 pain if I take prescription painkillers. I was always so afraid of becoming a statistic, but I can barely function in my own home without warm blankets, a heating pad, and opiates to bring me back away from the higher end of the pain scale. Every day, at some point, without fail, I hit 7 easily. Some days I hit 8 and I don't know what to do with myself besides be angry for not being stronger. Be angry for becoming a statistic with my opiates. Be angry that the pain just. Won't. Stop. 

But it doesn't stop me. The Husband listens to me complain, but I can only let it get me down for so long. I assess my incision site, my joints, my neck. Strong enough for now; may as well take advantage while I can. 

I go out and paste a smile on my face. "You're so strong!"

You don't get to see my tears. My drug induced sleep. My frustration with a body that is not strong enough, not warm enough, not stable enough. My fear of tripping over my dog, falling down in the shower, bumping my head on the cabinets that are exactly the right height for my still tender surgical wounds. 

Before the coronapocalypse, I used to go out for coffee and read a book, comforted with the knowledge that The Husband would take me home as soon as I was ready to go, too tired to be out, feeling too much pain to paste on that fake smile. He would see the moment when my eyes stopped hiding the pain and start looking for an escape. 

3 out of 10 on the pain scale is barely worth a Tylenol. I can do anything at a 3.

You don't get to see me at a 7. The tears at a 10 are my secret. See how strong I am? 

Cancer Update

Yep, still have cancer.

I told you before that I was getting a port. That dealy-bob is in place, and itching like a mofo. I've started the new treatment protocol, which involves a chemo and a non-chemo medicine. The chemo SUUUUUUUUUUUCKS. The non-chemo is kind of okay, I guess, all things considered.

Side effects of all of the above include fatigue (ha!) nausea, and other things I don't want to talk about because of the sheer unpleasantness.

This means I've been sleeping a LOT.

I'm still doing my writing group; keep an eye out, I'll continue to occasionally post my super-cool super-angsty poetry.

Oh, while I'm here, I am pretty sure I've not mentioned this here before: Say hello to the seizures I've had:

They are super mild, and not very frequent. As best we can tell, I've had three in the last four months. I'm not what one might call epileptic, but it turns out that when some Rockstar Neurosurgeon digs around in your brains enough times, the result might be occasional short circuits in your wiring. We told the Rockstar Neurosurgeon about my symptoms, and he said that sounds like it was probably a seizure. I've not had one in the presence of a medical person, so The Husband has been the only one to witness what happens. At this point, it's a best guess diagnosis until it happens in front of someone medical.

Anyway, if it's not one thing, it's another.

I've been struggling with the inspiration for this blog. Maybe next time I'll write about my most recent favorite movie [spoiler: it's Troop Zero].