unlikelyredheadedsuspect - Tumblr blog

[unlikelyredheadedsuspect]

Cancer as a Flowing River

I’ve spent 4 years now drifting on the river.

Most of the time I can be seen floating on the smooth glass-like surface,

gliding by the ever changing landscape. 

Sometimes I get snagged by a log 

hidden so discreetly beneath the surface.

But I’ve been on this river for awhile now. 

I know to look out for them….

the logs and hidden debris.

Sometimes the depth and pace of the river frightens me;

fear that the current will pull me away from known lands,

sending me hurling towards the abyss.

And then I look back and remember I am a strong swimmer.

Strong no matter the river level or swiftness of the current force. 

In honor of this anniversary I returned to where I first entered the river. 

I went back and read through 

(from the beginning) 

my sorely neglected blog. 

In doing so I traveled back to those places along the river;

sat in those waiting room chairs. 

Ohhhhhh the many waiting room chairs.

Acutely aware of the metacognition at play. 

As I sat uneasily in that first chair,

2 days prior to my official cancer diagnosis,

I remember wondering about the stories and lives of the others in the waiting room. 

I wondered what story they conjured up about me - 

A young woman sitting alone in the Breast Services waiting area. 

I can easily bring myself back there. 

The multiple sets of mammograms taken that day. 

Texting updates back and forth between myself, my older sister, and mother. 

My half dying phone 

(thanks to a hole-in-the-ground toilet in a Shanghai park - A story for another day.)

Trying to articulate the facts of the matter and my perplexed thoughts & emotions. 

I remember laying on the oddly comfortable exam table looking at the screen, 

guiding the tech to the lump I felt. 

I remember feeling proud of how calm I was 

up until the tech called for the Radiologist. 

It still wasn’t until I signed the biopsy consent papers that it hit me. 

Dread and fear crept in as I unsuccessfully attempted to choke back tears. 

Unsure of what lay ahead of me 

I let the cancer word pop into my thoughts.

But only for a moment. 

I needed to focus on the task in front of me - 

an immediate biopsy procedure.

So I quickly popped the cancer thought bubble.

I don’t remember much of the time 

spent on the river between biopsy and results. 

Instead I visualize reaching for scratch paper in my car 

as I hear the words “invasive carcinoma”

PERIOD.

Easily reliving the internal turmoil and grief I felt. 

Wanting to crawl back into the womb I came from,

I called my mother. 

This was not what I had planned. 

This was not even close to being okay. 

In fact this was all wrong. 

I desperately wanted off the river. 

I relive this story each year and each year it reads slightly different. 

The same event. 

Same set of facts. 

But with a different perspective from a year older version of myself. 

I think of cancer every day. 

More often about how it has transformed me 

And yet also how it hasn’t changed me. 

Less about the fear of reoccurrence.

More about how this river has been a catalyst.

How this river can continue to be a catalyst 

if I let it. 

I may not be able to master the river.

This mighty powerful river.

But maybe that has never been the goal. 

Instead I learn from the currents,

gathering knowledge & skills from my journey,

to help keep my head above.

And...

just like I said before...

I’ve become a good swimmer.

[unlikelyredheadedsuspect]

Cancer - SAY WHAT!?!

Three years ago today, I was sitting alone in my car when I was informed that I had Cancer. Although I remember being eerily calm for the split second it took my brain to compute these words, it wasn’t long before all the air in my lungs was swiftly sucked from my body. “Breathe” I remember telling myself. “Just Breathe (like the song by Anna Nalick). Since these moments, I have come to recognize Cancer as a doorway that I have run towards and often away from. Nevertheless, it remains a doorway. 

“Life continues to open itself to us when we pay attention.” - Danielle Doby

Recently, in the midst of this Pandemic pause, I began thinking about how others might have felt as my Cancer news spread to them. In a recent conversation with a dear friend I became acutely aware of how the Cancer news not only shaped my life but significantly (or slightly) impacted others. Please know that I care to hear your true feelings on this as I recognize you might not have been able to share with me before. Love to you all for hearing me out and for all the support. 

[unlikelyredheadedsuspect]

Magical Ride

I thought I had a fatty deposit, a cyst of sorts. Maybe I was imagining things on such a mystical day, St. Patrick’s Day. Two years later I believed I had discovered gold. At least that’s what my blog post declared. Today I am uncertain...unclear...ungrounded by my discovery of a cancerous tumor three years ago. I did not go digging for it, yet it found me just the same. I continue to believe that challenges (cancer included) help to push us towards our true selves, encouraging growth where it may have been stifled. Yet I am more acutely aware of the tumor’s haunting powers than ever before. The growth is on hold.

You, cancer, gnaw at me and have been doing so since your discovery. Most times I hear you whispering before you quickly fade away. Other times you actively taunt me as a way to engage with you. When something physically doesn’t feel quite right I waffle between being adamant that something is seriously wrong to thinking I might actually be insane, or close to it. I seek validation that my body is healthy, clear of disease. Haven’t I given you enough of me? The ghost doesn’t answer.

You see, the ghost was hidden for a while. Hidden because my head and heart were consumed by the realness of cancer and facing it head on. And now that the actual tumor and cancer is gone...and the initial processing of “what the fuck just happened” is complete...the ghost has appeared. I’ve read about this sort of thing, the way we are never actually cancer free. Yet I WAS strong then. And I AM strong now. And I am NOT so strong. Learning how to align these three parts of me has proven to be tricky.

I was lucky (and fortunate) enough to have a recent CT scan after a few months of chest pain. During this time the ghost was ever present and loud. It became louder and started screaming when a loved one was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer. I was hesitant and reluctant to mention the ghost due to fear that others might think I’m insane or that they wouldn’t be able to hold the pain/fear along with me. However, naming it helped me face the ghost, ever so gently. Even still, cancer continues to tease me. However, solid facts (diagnosis of 3 healing fractured ribs) help to loosen cancer’s grip and sends the ghost back into the background....for now.

I end this post, like I try to end most of my writings, with gratitude.

I do thank you, tumor, for showing up when you did...before you invaded more of my body. There is some mystical powers in your timing. With death often comes life and as crazy as this might seem, I believe my grandfather was breathing life back into me as he was laid to rest 3 years ago today. I love you. I thank you. I wish you were here to see me now.

[unlikelyredheadedsuspect]

Attempting to Focus on Joy

There are several draft blog posts in the que, thoughts on the tip of my tongue. It’s been a long while since I last wrote and inevitably life has continued on, as the crests and troughs of the waves disturb the surface of life. Previously, I was working on a blog posted entitled “Sex, Drugs, and Menopause” which simply put was about several worrisome and messy months realizing that I was not pregnant or sexually transmitted disease ridden but in fact in a drug induced menopause which is more like intermittent menstrual bleeding these days and a few hot flashes. Phew on many levels!

Besides focus and attention on my reproductive and sexual health, I’ve had several other health mishaps (broken foot in August, Flu & Walking Pneumonia in Nov/Dec and potential popped rib joint that has not yet healed) which has led me to a place I have been before but never to this magnitude or length of time - fear of recurrence. I believe I have spoken of this in previous posts. Major paranoia? Acute awareness of my body? Something in-between? Or is this just what it feels like to be 35yo?

I understand that the risk of recurrence varies greatly from person to person and depends on several factors including biology of the tumor, stage, and treatments received. All of these factors lean in my favor except for my HER2+ status. I also have the cerebral comprehension that my chance of local recurrence in 5 years is about 6% since I had a double mastectomy with no lymph node involvement. Since most local recurrences occur within the first 5 years after diagnosis, I don’t feel out of the woods quite yet. On the other hand, distant recurrence (metastasis) occurs when cancer spreads beyond the breast and nearby lymph nodes to other organs such as the bones, liver, lungs or brain. I worry about metastasis more than a local recurrence although statistically speaking the chances remain low. Clearly I have done my research and now apologize for spewing facts at you.

I write this to reassure myself. To find some light and my footing in the dark. Continuing to work on living my life well with the inescapable unknown is sometimes a challenge. I don’t often dwell on it but when I do, I can sometimes get sucked in. I recognize that in a lineup of Breast Cancer Thrivers, I am not a unique case but rather just another person having lived through cancer. I continue to hope that I can follow the statistical majority and have my cells “stay in line” so to speak. I don’t need to be the outlier especially as it relates to this cancer story. I choose to be “special” in many other ways.

It’s challenging to find someone to talk to about my feelings and fears related to recurrence. In my head, either no one wants to hear about it because cancer is in the past (“So 2.8 years ago, Suzy!”) or they are just as scared as me about the thought that this disease could return. No one wants to dwell on something that they cannot control and on something that may or may not occur. I don’t want to be reassured and told that it’s not likely. As you can see/read, I already know the statistics and facts. The truth of the matter is we don’t know. You don’t know. I don’t know. The doctors don’t know. So I have no choice but to relinquish control over something I have no control over. How does one do that? I guess it is about acknowledging the thoughts and feelings and focusing on what brings me joy.

So with the arrival of my 35th Birthday I am seeking to focus on what brings me joy as well as my health, by eating clean and exercising daily (something I have gotten away from in the past year). Oh and more importantly convincing my doctors to body scan me. That will do it for sure.

[unlikelyredheadedsuspect]

My Past Waters My Roots

“My strength is not determined by the heaviness I choose to carry. When I loosen my grip on what once was, I allow myself to experience the fullness of what is now. When I release what no longer serves me, I return to the natural rhythm of my highest Self. To be connected to Self is to be connected to the very ground I stand on - the foundation where all rises from. My past does not define all that I am, it waters my roots and prepares me for where I am going.” - Danielle Doby

The following is a poem of sorts - a string of words, a cluster of thoughts, as I reach the two year mark. 

Two years. Time. In two years time. 

Where was I two years past?

Oh yes, sitting in my car. Parked in my own driveway. 

Alone. 

Holding my breath. Listening for my results. 

My mind and body trying to compute the word “CANCER.” 

Cancer in relation to my body. my           self. myself. 

Hearing the teacher from Charlie Brown. 

Clinging to the phone. Grasping for understanding as the entire world turned and the ground shifted beneath.

Good thing I was sitting. 

Afraid to be found....in more ways than one.  

Mom! That phone call with my mom still haunts me today. 

I never felt so out of control. Outside of myself and inside of myself all at the same time. 

Two years. Time. Two years time. 

Get over it - No. 

Move past it - No. 

It’s woven in my tapestry. Just like all of my experiences.   

Cancer - 

like all pieces of my past 

continuously waters my roots. 

[unlikelyredheadedsuspect]

An Irish Blessing

St. Patrick’s Day never meant much to me before 2017. You see…I am not so Irish (although I could be mistaken for such with my hair coloring and one-of-a-kind freckles) nor do I identify as a Christian. So it makes sense why I might not acknowledge the commemoration of the arrival of Christianity in Ireland. Culturally, I never quite jumped on the green bandwagon and “pinch me if you dare” attitude. I never once wanted to catch the mischievous leprechauns (Ok maybe when I was 5yo) and I didn’t quite get the allure of the whole green beer thing in college. However, I have always appreciated the thought of collecting a substantial pot of gold…

Now, if you’ve ever so diligently read my blog, we all know where this is going, right? The question is, am I really going to do this? Am I going to compare my cancerous tumor and in-situ carcinoma cells with a pot of gold? The answer is…why not!? I did, in fact, feel the lump of “gold” in my breast two years ago on Saint Patrick’s Day. It oddly seems fitting.

And the thing is, you don’t need me to tell you how bizarre life is…how complicated, unexpected, painfully beautiful, challenging, disappointing, and “extra” life can be. And boy, oh boy! If someone told me when I was 5 years old that the pot of gold at the end of one of my rainbows was a freaking tumor, I would have laughed and called them a “dummy” cause that shit is just plain silly. Yet I’m not five and can express myself as I please.  I will, however, remind you that it can be challenging to pause long enough to listen to life’s lessons when the world is continuously loud and overwhelming. Sometimes we come across a pot of gold and have enough strength, perseverance, and quietness in our heads and hearts to make significant use of the riches.

The truth of the matter is, and I have expressed this sentiment before, my tumor has been a gift, a blessing and curse which can also be said about gold - utilized wisely it can bring pleasure, yet spent foolishly can conjure pain. It is not the gold (aka “cancerous tumor”) itself that has made me “rich.” Instead it has been my spending habits – from the beginning of how I viewed my diagnosis to how I have accepted and embraced cancer in a way that enriches the totality of my life.

So what is it that I am really saying here under all this St. Patrick’s Day mask? The answer – I have gained the wealth of enhanced curiosity, openness, and willingness to be vulnerable (although I am often scared as hell). I now know to seek self-compassion above all. It took cancer to jostle my life in such a way (to its core) for me to really examine my happiness and to move forward, daring greatly. The shiny “lump of gold” has illuminated my fundamental need to start showing up for myself instead of just for others. It shines a light on the simple fact that I have been buried in the hurt…in the stories that I conjure up in my own head coupled with the narratives that society has feverishly reinforced. Cancer reignited my self-exploration and still reminds me that I must keep questioning in order to return to myself. I am no longer here to be who you want me to be. I am here to be more me than ever.

And although the lump of gold is out of my chest and has remained out of my body for the past 2 years (*note photo at my latest 3-6mo oncology appt.), I am continually reminded that I am indeed golden and full of weallth.

You thought I was coal My friend, I'm gold Can't you tell? – Song Lyrics from Ruth B.

“Finding yourself is not really how it works. You aren’t a ten-dollar bill in last winter’s coat pocket. You are also not lost. Your true self is right there, buried under cultural conditioning, other people’s opinions, and inaccurate conclusions you drew as a kid that became your belief s about who you are. “Finding yourself” is actually returning to yourself. An unlearning, an excavation, a remembering who you were before the world got its hands on you.” – Emily McDowell

May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. –Irish Blessing

[unlikelyredheadedsuspect]

Scratch That...(Or Part of That)

So I had this plan. I just shouldn’t plan. Plans don’t work for me. Clearly. Why do I keep trying to make plans? Why do I try to organize the chaos? There is no organizing the chaos. I guess I need to learn this lesson over and over and over and over until I never learn this lesson. Didn’t Albert Einstein exclaim that “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results” I am clearly insane.

So what the heck am I talking about? I don’t really know exactly, but I am going to try to express the mashup of my heart, brain, and now gut (thanks Ryan:)). 

Part of my last blog post was processing a recent rejection from a man I was very much interested in and I how I was going to “manage” dating going forward. After further exploration, a healthy dose of successful dates, and a little kindness (from myself and the wonderful people I surround myself with) I realized I was actually giving power to my fears, allowing them to take over and run things. Rather than remaining open, curious and kind, at the first sign of uncomfortability and uncertainty I quickly became rigid, “controlling” the situation, leaning away from vulnerability and protecting myself from further loss and the hurt that uniquely follows. What I felt was “rejection” was ultimately a lesson...that this man was not “my person.” Simply put. 

As the self-doubt waffled and waned, I got back up. I put myself back out there and continued “bumbling” my way through the Richmond dating scene. And for the past two months, I have met up with several different people. People like me who are trying to find someone to connect with. People looking for a spark...some (or a WHOLE LOT) of chemistry...an aha moment. People with stories of their own - joys and challenges, fears and triumphs and the “so ons and so forths.” Some people are frankly just more self-aware of the demons they face and further still choose to remain in the growth mindset despite the pain.  Those ones....those are the ones who are attractive. Those are the ones I invite into my life. “My person” is there...in the midst of those people...waiting to embrace my stories...waiting to lean into the vulnerability together. And as I write that I think I sound like a gross, corny mess. Yet because that damn vulnerability is key, I won’t say, ‘Scratch That!’

Instead, I will scratch out the control, self-doubt, and looking towards others to validate my own worth. Why put the value of myself in someone else’s hands? I am a bad-ass, secure, and overall healthy person. I like who I am (for the most part). I have gotten to a place where I like both my visible and hidden internal scars. So what’s up with me and my relationships? Through the help of a therapist who focuses on women who have experienced cancer, I have started exploring myself in relation to other people. I realize I have to go more inward to go outward. I am challenged in bringing myself back to myself...doing the inner work that I desire to do to grow as a person. I am taking in this moment, mindful of the here and now. More importantly, remaining mindful of me...in all my uniqueness as well as the universal human parts. 

[unlikelyredheadedsuspect]

Is this what “Survivorship” looks like?

I’ve been very quiet on this here blog over the last several months for a myriad of reasons...none of them very good excuses for not taking the time to express myself...to release the built up toxins in my head and heart. 

This journey is not easy. Life is no piece of cake as we all know...but more like a....box of chocolate...!?!?

There is not a single day that goes by that cancer does not pop into my head for some reason or another - calling to get medical records, needing a new Tamoxifen prescription, night sweats and leg cramps, and feeling those “things” on my chest...those “things” that are not real but just there. And oh yeah...October being a month long "awareness” party. 

Some triggers remain the same, I’ve added to the collection, and sometimes it all just comes out of the blue.  I am mindful of my thoughts and feelings at any given point and there is nothing to be done sometimes but to sit with the smorgasbord of emotions that rise and fall with the trauma of it all. 

Recently, I had an almost public “episode.” I went to pick up my first Tamoxifen prescription (I’ve now been on this drug for a whole year) under my new insurance plan.  When I was employed in MA this life saving drug cost me not a single dime which I greatly appreciated. In moving to VA and working for another non-profit, I was expecting to pay at least a little something under my new plan, but when I got up to the counter and the tech reported the total as $45 I quickly felt a lump forming in my throat and my eyes starting to well. I inhaled and remarked how I am used to the medication being free, then proceeded to questioned whether there was anything I could do to reduce the cost. The tech suggested that I call the insurance company to see what could be done. I practiced some self-talk, pushed down the tears, and began focusing on my breathing so I could finish paying and get the heck out of the store before I had a complete meltdown...which actually occurred about 10 steps outside the entrance. I simply couldn’t hold it in. Spending money on cancer treatment has been/is such a trigger for me. And it’s not really about the money (although it is). The hurt comes from a place of betrayal. My body betrayed me after I took such good care and I am angry. My “this isn’t fair” monologue starts echoing through my mind and ricochets throughout my soul. So I call on my loved ones to hear me out and simply acknowledge the pain. Feel the mess...express the anguish....and move it forward.

At the same time as I have been trying to navigate the cancer world in Virginia, I have also begun dating. This has inevitably unleashed some new triggers and fears, and has significantly heightened my sense of vulnerability. How do I navigate the dating scene while cancer is wrapped up in so many things - my partial reason for moving back to VA, overall health, body image, and sexuality/intimacy to name a few. 

How and when do I share my story? My whole story? When do I explain my scars? Should my outfit cover my port scar so I don’t have to worry about curious questions?

Ultimately, it all boils down to the fear of rejection based on my diagnosis and the resulting effects on my health and body. I have put a lot of thought into how to approach this with potential suitors and have also decided to seek professional help within the cancer world. This much I know to be true for me:

No booby conversation on the first date.

No booby conversation on the second date unless it is responding to a direct question or somehow cancer is already a part of the conversation...and even still I might not share.

If interested in pursuing the relationship past the third date, suitor must be informed of part of my cancer story...doesn’t have to be the whole kit and kaboodle.

This is no magic recipe for success, as much as I would like it to be. My vulnerability and fear are things I am really going to have work through. I recently went on my first 3rd date where I brought up cancer when talking about tattoos. I was very nervous and choked on my words a little but did not go into detail. In fact, I didn’t even say what kind of cancer I had. The limited information was received well and we continued on with our lovely time though he never asked me any follow-up questions. Later that night (over text) when determining if there would be a 4th date, he stated that “something isn’t clicking.” Now, I am a good read on people and for the most part I felt like we were really connecting. However, I respect his feelings and I am glad he was able to be honest. In the back of my mind, unfortunately, is what role cancer played in his feelings and decision to not pursue the relationship further. I know I am not going to know the answer to this question but I still have to figure out a way to be O.K. with that. I need to remind myself that I am enough and that I am worthy of a true, deep, and genuine love. 

Manifesto of the Brave and Brokenhearted

There is no greater threat to the critics and cynics and fearmongers

Than those of us who are willing to fall

Because we have learned how to rise

With skinned knees and bruised hearts;

We choose owning our stories of struggle,

Over hiding, over hustling, over pretending.

When we deny our stories, they define us.

When we run from struggle, we are never free.

So we turn toward truth and look it in the eye.

We will not be characters in our stories.

Not villains, not victims, not even heroes.

We are the authors of our lives.

We write our own daring endings.

We craft love from heartbreak,

Compassion from shame,

Grace from disappointment,

Courage from failure.

Showing up is our power.

Story is our way home.

Truth is our song.

We are the brave and brokenhearted.

We are rising strong. -Brene Brown

[unlikelyredheadedsuspect]

I AM GOLDEN

SHE FOUND HERSELF

OVER A LONG

AND TREACHEROUS ROAD

AND THE MORE

TREACHEROUS

THE ROAD BECAME,

THE MORE OF

HERSELF

SHE FOUND. -Atticus

“One year of my life has come and gone, a year of love and loss, of fear and comfort, of pain and peace, of fortitude and friendship. I count myself so very blessed.” - Christine Corrigan (Cancer Survivor) 

This moment gives me pause to reflect on what has passed and to consider where to go from here. I have thought about the end since it all began, and now that the end of treatment is here, it seems quite surreal.

Even though I know that (after completing my treatment plan) I have a very low risk of recurrence, cancer patients are generally not considered to be in complete remission until at least 5 years have passed since the end of treatment without recurrence. So, my journey with breast cancer is not yet coming to an end, as much as I would like to say that it is  

Also, what many don’t realize is that the end of treatment can be unexpectedly unnerving. Everyone wants to celebrate “the finish” (myself included). Many  assume relief comes from not having to spend so much time in doctors’ offices. Outsiders/bystanders assume that life will simply go back to equilibrium. However, it is not that simple. Buried anxiety and fear – “Is IT back?” – can creep up any time after the end of treatment. I often find myself wondering... questioning...spinning...if something typically “normal” is a bit “off.” Is this freckle skin cancer? Do these strange cramps signify ovarian/cervical cancer? Changes in my bowels must mean colon cancer! Is this dimple in my breast a part of my implant or should I be worried?

“To live in the present is no simple task. We look to the past, rehashing it, or to the future, constantly planning. Yet, we only have this moment, this now, with all of its doubt and pain, wonder and grace, and the scars that remain. Sufficient then is this day. Let us use it well. Tomorrow will take care of itself.” -Christine Corrigan  (Cancer Survivor)

[unlikelyredheadedsuspect]

Infusion Selfies

[unlikelyredheadedsuspect]

Ta-ta to the TATAs

I remember it all...or at least I think I do. I remember the surrealness of it. How time ticked so slowly and yet so quickly. Maybe it was the drugs. Perhaps it was nerves. Or better yet, possibly the presence of something greater and unexplainable. I like to think of it as being surrounded by love, light, peace and tranquility that was sent my way by so many on surgery day. 

And even now, it is still surreal...like a fictional story...someone else’s biography. Often it feels as if cancer didn’t really happen to me. (I guess this is a good place to get to when processing the journey).  Even when I go to treatment, it is so routine that nothing feels abnormal about it. And yet I am sometimes flooded and consumed with memories that remind me that Cancer did in fact happen...that this truly is my story. MY story which I often reread and thus rewrite. This chapter is no exception.  

When I think back (reread) I was absolutely terrified and god-damn driven. This wasn’t going to be the end of me. I wasn’t going to give up. I was just getting started. This fuel fanned the flames to sure-me-up and sequester my anxiety. OK, OK... that last part isn’t true....it was the happy drugs they put in my IV a few minutes before surgery, but I can pretend I had something to do with it. I can pretend I felt brave. After all, it is MY story to rewrite.  

I remember waking up from surgery a year ago today (June 13th, 2017) after saying ta-ta to my tatas just over 5+ hours before. I was confused at first before quickly becoming oriented to my surroundings. I remembered something had happened and that I couldn’t really move and I was thirsty. Then it dawned on me all of a sudden...I was alive....breastless but alive. And that is where my recovery from my bi-lateral mastectomy began. 

When I left the hospital I felt pretty good. I thought for a brief second that recovery was going to be a piece of cake since I felt so “fine”...sluggish maybe, but fine. Ha! Little did I realize how much drugs I was hopped up on and I soon found out when they started to wear off hours later. 

The next 3 weeks are a bit of a blur. I remember having to sleep on the couch for a month for positioning reasons. I remember not being able to sit up on my own and having to hold on to the coffee table to help simply pull myself to sitting. I remember sleeping for most of the day (taking 2-3 naps) and moaning from pain in my half-sleeps (I imagine how unsettling this must have been to hear). I remember nausea and constipation in the beginning.  I remember those damn painful drains that my sister and mom helped me “milk” twice a day. I remember the inability to reach my arms high enough to wash my own hair so my mom and sister, Caroline would help me bath. I remember thinking my scars were black because the sharpie line remained under the glue which stayed in place for over a month after surgery. I remember finding an electrode stuck to my hip and trying all sorts of alcohol swabs to remove the sticky residue from all the medical tape covering my body. I remember smoothies and long, long walks (although the first walk I remember I could only make it two doors down to the end of the block). 

I remember so many things. And although I sometimes relive the fear, sadness, vulnerability and later anger that accompanied this time, what often sticks out the most in my brain and my heart is the profound genuine love I experienced. With the turmoil and disorganization I found myself in I also found a village. A village of people that I love dearly and who apparently love the heck out of crazy old me (who would have “thunk” it?)...an abundance of sincere love for me...even when breastless and later bald.    

My memories (and scars) are what I have to hold on to of this time....something so profound and life altering that I truly do not want to forget a second of it. I work on letting go of what I have lost, practice focusing on what I have to be grateful for, and inviting in the lessons that continuously flow from this hell of a ride. I am beyond blessed for I now truly understand why we must fall in order for us to rise.  

“this is the recipe of life

said my mother

as she held me in her arms as I wept

think of those flowers you plant

in the garden each year

they will teach you

that people too

must wilt

fall

root

rise

in order to bloom”  - Rupi Kaur

“it has been one of the greatest and most difficult years

of my life. i learned everything is temporary. moments.

feelings. people. flowers. i learned love is about giving.

everything. and letting it hurt. i learned vulnerability

is always the right choice because it is easy to be cold

in a world that makes it so difficult to remain soft.

i learned all things come in twos. life and death. pain

and joy. salt and sugar. me and you. it is the balance of

the universe. it has been the year of hurting so bad but

living so good. making friends out of strangers. making

strangers out of friends. learning mint chocolate chip

ice cream will fix just about everything. and for the

pains it cant there will always be my mother’s arms.

we must learn to focus on warm energy. always. soak

our limbs in it and become better lovers to the world.

for if we cant learn to be kind to each other how will

we ever learn to be kind to the most desperate

parts of ourselves.

-Rupi Kaur

[unlikelyredheadedsuspect]

This is a story of becoming…. or so they fucking tell me

“The heaviness

is here

to teach you

how to rise again”

– Danielle Doby 

Oh really!? The “powers that be” must want me to be freakin’ levitating at this point…for I have experienced another loss (a few months ago) in a year already filled with losses. I have chosen not to write about this particular loss until now, as things were far too raw to share. I will continue to keep the details private, in respect of my partner and our relationship, and will rather focus on my own processing and feelings.

And the story is…after 5 years, my relationship with J. has ended. This was not a mutual decision and came out of the blue for me. Thus I have a LOT of big feelings.

“I regret the end.

The way we couldn’t

leave one another

without wounds.

The way we made

it seem as if

all the love we shared

was wasted time.”

-S.L. Gray

Breakups are painful no matter how you look at them...no matter how you roll the dice. I have found that breakups after going through a cancer diagnosis and active treatments with your partner is a different kind of painful.

Although cancer was not given as a reason for the end, I still wonder what role my cancer diagnosis and treatment played in ending our relationship. If I never got sick where would we be? How would my life look differently?   

Clearly I am hurt. And from the hurt the anger is flourishing. How is any of this ok? What the hell is happening?

I am furious.  

I really don’t want to look back on this year, this really challenging year, and see his face, hear his discerning questions to the doctors, or feel his comfort in any and all forms. I honestly cry as I picture him helping me with my fertility shots, sitting with me as I got prepped for two surgeries, walking with me along the Charles while healing from my bi-lateral mastectomy, keeping me company during chemo, and his pained expression as he watched me cry over and over again.

In this moment in time I want to erase it all. To me, one doesn’t get the privilege of sitting with and holding someone else’s pain to then just get up and go. He doesn’t just get to get up and leave when I couldn’t. It’s not right and it’s not fair. Yet he can and he did. My perspective and attitude were the only things I could really control over the last several months. It is absurd to me to expect otherwise. Yet he left. And I am left with the trauma and J. soaked memories that are not likely to fade…these experiences you don’t forget, nor do I want to forget what I have lived through.

Enough said. Maybe my desire to erase him will change over time….as time helps heal most broken hearts. My wish for me is that I will continue to reflect, learn from my relationships, love openly and honestly, and invite growth in.

“the breaking

leads to opening

the opening

allows expansion

the expansion

creates more space

the space

invites growth in”

-X

I have turned to music, poetry, quotes, and running as my therapy. Although Zumba really is my thing, I realize I like the pain of running as it tends to numb out the emotional aching. As I run (and when I am home alone) I listen to music. I identify with many songs and enjoy reading the lyrics – especially ones that are kickin’ ass and taken names, as well as songs that remind me of him.

With my best friend getting married this weekend (one of the last of the crew) my heart aches a little more for myself. This does not mean in any way that I am not 100 percent happy for my bestie (this was a long time coming!)! And this is not about me feeling sorry for myself….or maybe it is, I don’t know. But I’m ready for more of my life vision to come to fruition. Maybe my vision has gotten lost in the shuffle of life….in the “comfortable” spaces. Well, clearly life is no longer “comfortable” so bring on the growth already. This period of disorganization has to end at some point. I guess I am not done sifting through the mess.  

“the beautiful thing about being in the mess is – it creates friction,

it disrupts comfort, it ignites movement.

Movement is what helps us sift through what’s real, what’s of value,

and what deserves to stay.”

-Danielle Doby

[unlikelyredheadedsuspect]

Crying Over Spilt Milk

I felt like that is what I was doing/did when I got in the car after leaving the New Balance Outlet store and looked down to find half of my poor fingernails literally bent upwards and the other half cracking at the base of the nailbed. 

I had held it together in the store when I overheard a little girl making quizzical statements about whether or not I was a boy or a girl, which is fair to question; I do look a little androgynous these days.

Then the moment one of my “mad-at-the-world” jams came on, I lost it. Like ugly cry, big boohoos, and heavy sighing. I even almost missed a green light and got beeped at by the person behind me. I opened the sunroof to feel the sun beating down from above and put my sunglasses on to hid the tears from other motorists (like they care). For a split second I thought about turning conveniently into McDonalds and purchasing a $1 sundae to wipe my blues away, but decided against it. I have been very mindful about not self-medicating with food or eating my feelings. But, DAMN….a sundae would have been nice.

As my mind flitted from the girl’s comments to my nails and then ultimately to the ice cream, I became deeply aware of why I was so upset. It wasn’t the nails or the fact that I look androgynous. In this moment I was flat out angry. And I am still angry. I’m angry that this isn’t over....and the prolonged effects are razor-blade reminders of this fact.….can’t this just be over? I want to scream sometimes that THIS IS SO NOT FAIR. And No…it is not over little girl, fierce lady, powerful woman....That is not how this really works.  

So in a split second (or actually several minutes later) I reminded myself that I needed to put my big girl undies on and stop crying over spilt milk. This is ridiculous! Get it together kid!

And so I did.

[unlikelyredheadedsuspect]

Cancerversary

A year ago today I received a gift wrapped in three words, “You have Cancer.” A non-refundable gift which I reluctantly accepted as my bubble (that I didn’t even realize existed) burst around me.

At this point in treatment it’s hard to imagine my life without having experienced Cancer, but a year ago today when I heard those words, I was beyond disbelief. I feel as if the English language has such a limited vocabulary to describe what followed. No words to express the complicated mix of emotions that pulsed through my systems that day. I have never in my life experienced such an intense emotional response…such anguish before April 27, 2017.

“Were it possible for us to see further than our knowledge reaches, and yet a little way beyond the outworks of our divining, perhaps we would endure our sadness with greater confidence than our joys. For they are the moments when something new has entered into us, something unknown; our feelings grow mute in shy perplexity, everything in us withdraws, a stillness comes, and the new, which no one knows, stands in the midst of it and is silent.” – Rainer Maria Rilke

I cry as I read this quote because the new appeared, as Rainer Maria Rilke said it would, though I couldn’t always see it or appreciate it while in the midst of the sadness.

I am new. I am in a different place than I was a year ago. I was given this gift –

“In it I found courage I never knew existed and a patience far beyond anything ever experienced. I was given the ability to trust a stranger with that most dear to me, and an endurance for the unknown. I was given unconditional love of family and friends, always there, never stopping, never faltering. I was given many prayers from far and wide, and the warmth of knowing I am truly cared about. I was given a fond farewell of my modesty and vanity, and the acceptance and love of an imperfect body. I was given a strong shoulder to lean on when that shoulder had once grown distant, and laughter and good times, more special than ever before. I was given many new friends, wonderful, courageous women I am so very proud to know. I was given warm sunshine and beautiful green grass, blue skies, and sparkling city lights. I was given things to see, that once before were ignored. I was given the chance to wake up, instead of sleepwalking through life. I was given every glorious day to enjoy, every month to savor, every year to rejoice. I was given the gift of life, I was given breast cancer. Excerpt from Poem, “A Gift” by Linda Nielsen

Today I stand NED (No Evidence of Disease).

Today I am proud of my scars that run deep across my flesh and cherish the new nicks to my heart.

Today I realize my strength, my potential, my fierceness

Today I realize how much I am loved

Today I won’t back down

AND

Today I still fear; my heart still aches; I cry; yell when I am angry; laugh at myself (I’m pretty hilarious).

Today I reflect and examine my life – Who Am I? Am I living my best life?

Today I know I am where I am meant to be even though I don’t know what the future holds

Today I am learning to be more comfortable with the unknown

Today the new is standing in the still and silence

As I soon head into a place without Cancer treatment (doctors’ appointments, tests/scans, blood draws, surgeries, etc.) I am no longer consumed by my experience. My journey is like a web which has woven back into the fabric of everyday life (life pre-cancer) but with a golden thread highlighting the way, giving me perspective of those things most important in life - love and connection, gratitude, and joy in simplicity.

Thank you, boobs, for showing me who is really boss….that I am not in control of everything and that I too can ride this wave of life, even when the waves are big and scary.

I am still here. I am still alive. I continue to show up.

[unlikelyredheadedsuspect]

Labels

Labels are very significant in the Cancer world, though these classifications, I feel, are sometimes inaccurate and restrictive in nature. The labels are individual to each person and not everyone diagnosed (or doctors for that matter) agree on how to classify. 

I personally prefer informing others that I am NED (No Evidence of Disease) rather than Cancer-Free. Both are technically accurate at this point in time, AND no one knows for sure whether there are cancer cells floating somewhere in my body. With HER-2 Positive Breast Cancer (a more aggressive form) I am hesitant...not wanting to jinx anything. Just the thought that HER-2 positive breast cancer used to be a death sentence before the development of the drug Herceptin (which I have been on for a year) brings things back to reality. Don’t get me wrong, statistically speaking my prognosis is AWESOME! However, the fear that one single cell is still alive is embedded in the back of my mind. 

At this point in time, I do not ascribe to either survivor or warrior labels as it does not encompass for me, my experience. I have undergone many treatments to rid my body of cancer cells as well as preventative measures to ensure that my body returns to optimal functioning when treatment is over. And yes, they were terrifying and challenging as anything I have experienced prior. And yes, I was very strong when I was strong...and weak when I was weak. You do what you have to do to make it through, which is different for each person with Cancer....and I respect that. As my mom and I say, “you can’t go over it; you can’t go under it; you have to go through it.” 

No, I don’t see myself as a survivor. What does that say about those that don’t survive but fight just as hard? I have also shifted my thinking about language such as “fighting” and “battling” and (my favorite) “kicking cancer’s ass.” As I continue to reflect while writing this today, I feel as if I needed metaphoric motivation to chug through the challenging treatment process. Now, almost on the other side, it feels less about “kicking ass”(although I love kicking ass!) and more about acceptance and healing. I wonder what would be different in my life if I had I lead with the latter. 

[unlikelyredheadedsuspect]

“You cut your hair!”

I started to go back to my beloved group fitness classes (Zumba and Barre) in March after a 13 month long hiatus. A few of the women recognized me and one remarked, “you got your haircut.” Like the crazy dork I am, I couldn’t just say thank you and leave it there. I responded instead with, “yeah…you see I was diagnosed with Cancer about a year ago…” After remarking that she was sorry to hear of such news, the conversation was over - side-railed by someone who suddenly got hurt in class. I wanted to be able to say my piece.

And it didn’t stop in Zumba class. I’ve run into numerous acquaintances that don’t know my story and comment on my “haircut.” 

Needless to say these interactions have been really challenging for me. Whenever this happens my stomach immediately flips and a quick internal dialogue ensues where I decide how I am going to respond. You see, I like to have my cards on the table, or at the very least be honest….but it doesn’t always fit the situation. So more and more I have found myself simply saying thank you and moving on. I, however, don’t leave the conversation feeling satisfied.

I look “normal” now (Remember the guy at the bar who asked what was wrong with me when I had no hair. HA!) with a little pixie cut. People don’t realize what’s beneath the surface.That I don’t always feel normal…In fact sometimes I feel a bit traumatized from it all. Other times I ask myself what all the fuss was for. Regardless of my feelings, I am not the same woman as the one who walked out of Zumba class over a year ago to train for a half marathon and then suddenly found herself embarking on a whole different kind of physical journey. I wish people knew I was different. Maybe I will just need to make deeper connections and turn my acquaintances in to friends.  

[**side note: I remember learning from the Breast Surgeon (before meeting with Oncology) that I would need chemo and that I would likely lose my hair. I remember being upset at this point, not because I would be bald, but rather that people would know something was wrong...that I was sick. Now it feels a bit reversed; that I look normal but want people to know there is more to the story. It’s all a part of the journey, I suppose.***]

[unlikelyredheadedsuspect]

Back to the Beginning: The Lump and a Funeral

I guess you could say this is where the story actually begins. March 17th, 2017 is a day that marks an anniversary of many things.  Saint Patrick’s Day, the loss of my beloved grandfather, and the appearance of a mysterious lump in my right breast.

I’ve been thinking long and hard about what I might write today. Even well before this day arrived, I have pondered deeply about what I might express. I find that I am struggling to come up with words as I reflect on what my heart feels. 

Honestly, on this day I have very mixed emotions ranging from thankfulness to lonely. I realize that the lump was a beautifully disguised gift that has taken me down a path that I never imagined I would venture down. The lump propelled me into a journey that I have not always appreciated...This little 1.5cm lump forced me to stare Fear and Loss in the face over, and over, and over again. And this lump is not done with me yet. I am learning that although this lump doesn’t physically exist anymore, “the lump” will never be done with me...And I am continually learning to find the beauty and gratitude in the lump. 

“I thank the universe

for taking

everything it has taken

and giving to me

everything it is giving” 

– balance 

Rupi Kaur 

I love you Granddad!