Cancer update!

Still have cancer! Got a recent scan, results are stable-ish. Stable enough that there is no need to panic at this point. The cancer is just doing what it does, so we adjust the pills as needed, and re-scan in a couple of months to see what's happening in there.

Really, at this point, MRIs are almost boring. I fall asleep in there every single time, so if nothing else, I know I can squeeze in a nap for the day.

So, the good news is that today, I actually AM more than my diagnosis. The cancer is not the most important or exciting thing about me. I have my writing, my awesome cancer friends (I never expected to be able to say that!), and somehow, even with stupid coronapocalypse quarantine, I'm managing to stay reasonably busy considering I almost never leave the house besides treatments and bloodwork.

Is that it? I think that's it.

Reminder, kids, cancer still sucks!

One Year cancerversary

Well, one year ago today, I was diagnosed with brain cancer. I'm still here, still mostly me, minus a few bones and plus a few extra scars. When it comes down to it, I don't want to celebrate this as some special milestone; I just want to say that inertia keeps me going, and as long as I can keep on going, I will keep on going.

As a young kid, I remember taking a special test, and in the 3rd grade I was moved to the Gifted class. I was proud of being a smart kid. I loved to read (still do) but for me, for most of my life, my proudest asset was my intelligence, my logic, my rationality. Life played a dirty trick on me by letting this happen, and it just wasn't fair. I felt betrayed, lost.

I was afraid.

But it wasn't just the cancer, I was afraid of losing myself. I begged my Rockstar Neurosurgeon not to make me stupid. I was so scared to wake up from actual literal brain surgery having forgotten how to read, how to spell, how to write.

Would I even know if that part of me was erased? Who would I be without that part of me? My Rockstar Neurosurgeon is a true Rockstar, and I came out of that first (of multiple) brain surgeries with very little in the way of deficits. My reading speed slowed down, but otherwise I was okay.

Since then I've had radiation beamed directly into my head, three different kinds of chemo, three brain surgeries, countless MRIs, finding more tumors, and the never-ending isolation of Covid quarantine. But after a year of all of this, I am doing okay. As okay as I can be with cancer.

Yeah, I have cancer, but I'm not helpless, and I'm not dying yet. I spent a lot of time thinking about my inevitable mortality, staring at that bus. It took me a long time, but I am finally able to stop thinking about it, at least for days or even weeks at a time. It's not about dying of cancer any more. For now, I choose to mark this milestone by living with cancer. No cakes or parties because I don't want your germs, but I won't say no to a few more penpals, and if you would like to donate I still have that Gofundme, Amazon wish list, Cashapp, stuff like that. Do you know how much it costs to keep up with prescription copays?It's a LOT

My family and friends who have been here for me, thank you for all of your love and support. It means more to us than you could possibly know.

Ok, ready to hear the original poem of the day?

Things they don’t tell you about cancer:

It is lonely

It is frightening

Everything hurts

The chemo isn’t even the worst part

Well, sometimes, it is

There is so much to keep track of

Like a full-time job

Flu season is scary

Covid quarantine is pants-shittingly terrifying

You can’t hug every friend or family member you see

No matter how much a good strong embrace would help

It is too dangerous

Besides

Your skin will hurt

Your stomach will hurt

Even hugging your dog will hurt

there is so much fear

Is this a normal cancer symptom?

When should I worry?

When should I just take a valium and go to sleep?

How to turn off the loop in my head?

Cancer cancer cancer

Cancer cancer cancer

Eat dream and breathe cancer

It erases who you were

A professional

A friend

A sister

A daughter

Instead you become the diagnosis

Cancer cancer cancer

A reader

A writer

A mentor

Cancer cancer cancer

Consuming you

Destroying you

Shredding you to bits

Tearing away all of your softest spots

Leaving you with only the hardest pieces

Cancer cancer cancer

It leaves you with nothing but stone

They don’t tell you that you will have to be stronger than you have ever been

That the scars will harden you

Preparing you for the fight of your literal life

It will be quiet

Whispers and murmured euphemisms

So many prayers and thoughts

Overflowing good vibes and warm fuzzies

They won’t tell you any of these things.

-         11 June 2020

That's my stuff for today. I hope you have a good day. Love you guys!

Original poem, and a commentary on quarantine

discarded mask

disgusted by the disposable nature of safety

one year ago I would not have needed the muzzle

keeping me in

keeping you out

stifled by hot breath

disgusted by myself

why is it I have to burp every time I put on the mask?

disappointed in protesters who disrespect my condition for their "constitutional rights"

Freedom to kill me

dissolves my Freedom to be

I long for before

1 impatiently wait for after

unable to mask my disgust at the unmasked-

so afraid of every cough, every sneeze.

- 21 May 2020

I wrote this for my writing group a few weeks ago, and I want to talk about this coronapocalypse. Now, I know that people are stir crazy, fighting cabin fever, and trying to figure out how not to dropkick their kids out the window.

The thing is I've been essentially on lock-down, self-quarantining since flu season started. I go out every once in a while with The Husband, with my reusable washable mask, and tons of hand sanitizer. Our trips out are quick and purpose-driven, and involve very little in the way of meandering. Since I've been essentially in isolation since December (I think?), I've become very uncomfortable being in public. People cough, sneeze, and breathe on all kinds of things that I don't even want to think about. So essentially I stay in my house.

On top of all of that, I just recently started anOTHER new chemo protocol. Plus my wonderful oncology team has so kindly added even more pills to take every day.

I've got uppers, downers, anti-inflammatory pills, antacids, the whole lot. This new treatment protocol is HARD. Not to get into too much whiny detail, but sometimes it feels like drowning under the weight of it all. I've been trying to keep up with people as much as I have the time and energy to do so, but y'all, I am tired. There is nothing interesting happening, and because I am even more immunocompromised than before, I really just don't trust going out in the public. If one flu virus or strep germ gets to me, it could be incredibly dangerous.

So, that being said, I know that I've been pretty radio silent for a while. I know there is a whole apocalypse happening out there in the world. My silence doesn't mean I don't notice what is happening out there. My silence means that I have my actual literal brain as my top priority right now. That is all I can focus on at the moment, and you know what, I have actual literal brain cancer. I think this focus is fair.

"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].