And I will give you rest...

Years ago there was a Saturday Night Live skit in which the characters were loud, opinionated, chatty, nosey, old Jewish women. They were gossiping over the top of each other, trying to out-do each other with their amazing news and stories. Each time one of them mentioned some serious malady that a neighbor or relative had, they whispered the condition instead of speaking it aloud, as if saying it right out loud would make it more real or contagious. Whatever the reason, it was funny and silly and now years later, all I can think of when I meet someone who hasn’t heard my news and is puzzled over my serious lack of hair, is that I have (shhhh) ‘the cancer’.

Cancer is something that just happens. It doesn’t really sneak up on you, because by the time you know you have it, it’s been part of you for a while. For me at least, it didn’t come as a huge shock since I had been feeling odd for many years before the official diagnosis. Exhausted, lethargic, depressed, unmotivated. I think we were more relieved than surprised. “Oh, that’s why you’ve been such a slug for the last four years!” “Ah ha, finally, we know why I’m so tired all the time.” “No wonder I never lost the baby weight!” It just all added up and started to make perfect sense.

Maybe because of that perspective, and also due to our faith, we have never felt like there was a huge conflict looming. I often get well-intentioned advice from folks regarding “fighting the good fight”, “battling cancer”, “staying strong and charging on”. My path so far has been more like a welcome rest. We know we are not in control. We know it’s not our place to know the plan or make any demands. We have surrendered to His will for me and our life together, and the freedom that is found in that gift is immense.

Now you might guess that Greg is feeling much more stress and pressure than I am. I know he’s worried about, well, everything. But just last night he said he’s far more stressed out at work than he is here at home. Counting that as a blessing. And of course I do get those fleeting thoughts like, “What if I’m not here for next Thanksgiving? How can I make this one the best for the girls? How can I lessen their sadness?” But for the most part, we live each day much as the next one and much as the one before: get up, do what we do, take lots of pictures, and try not to yell.

Blessings abound every day. My ongoing murmur of thanksgiving this week has been to praise God that neither one of the girls nor Greg has to go through this. I can’t imagine having to bear the critical suffering of my own children and I’m so thankful that I don’t have to at this time. Greg is our glue right now and we depend on him too much to have him down and out.  So, really it only makes sense that I be the one to carry this load. It’s much easier for me, anyway.

Ever since the diagnosis in September we have never asked “why?” once. My natural bent was to think, “Yeah, why not?” Breast cancer in particular seems so commonplace these days. It’s almost impossible not to know someone who has gone through it themselves, or has a wife, mom, or sister who has. (Do not even get me started on the poisons in plastics and hair-care products.)

Every now and then, someone will ask me what my prognosis is. I’m so happy to tell them that I don’t have any idea. We never even asked the doctors since we know they’re not running the show. After all, it really doesn’t matter, does it? It’s really just an opinion and I’d rather be secure in knowing God’s got it all under control than to be wrestling with what one doctor says versus what another study shows.

Not to beat the SNL skits to death, but I’ve been feeling very Rosanne Rosannadanna lately. People ask how I am and I mistakenly think they’d like to hear detailed descriptions of my digestion woes or my hair issues. I seem to get in to way too much explicit, uncomfortable specifics for most people. Luckily the occasional nurse will appreciate this need to divulge odd bits and even ask for more of the exciting minutiae of chemo side effects. But most people do not want to know. Fine. Point taken.

BUT! Just in case you are one of those people who were wondering, here’s one little aspect of breast cancer that you might find interesting. Have you ever seen those labels on certain products that make you think, “Did I really need to know that Brand ChemX was the official deodorant of the US National Pairs Figure Skating Cliff Diving Combo Team?” Or that a particular cereal is the official NASCAR brand? Whatever, who cares, right? Well, Scotch offers a lint roller with official Susan G. Komen labels all over it and lots of rather annoying pink ribbons. I’ve often thought, “My gosh, they’ll stoop to anything to sell more stuff!”

Not so with this one. There is actually a reason for this association. The lint roller is one of the most fantastic devices ever invented for …. Removing chemo hair! I am completely addicted to mine. I roll my head many times a day. It feels so pleasant to get that old, yucky hair out, off, and away. TMI? Probably. But now you know.

Anyway, there’s a small glimpse of today, this week, this life. Random thoughts that pass through my foggy brain. We’re doing well. We’re in His hands, the very best place to be.

 

This is the Perfect time NOT to blog...

I'm fine. I'm here. Things are okay. I'm not awful, but I am "off".

The last few days have been very roller-coaster-y. My emotions are just all over the place. First I'm just gushing at what a blessing Greg is (he IS!); then I'm watching Boo at swimming lessons and having a moment; then I'm freaking out about the air freshener and how we need to do "just one spritz!"

Sometimes I think this whole experience is helping me be more thoughtful and introspective. Then I realize that I'm eating Kraft Mac & Cheese like I' preggers. WHICH I AM NOT. But that is precisely the kind of cray-cray emotional ride I've got going. Crazy pregnant lady emotions. Oh yikes.

Therefore the last thing I need to do is put a bunch of garble-mumble on here about how I'm feeeeeeeeeling. Ugh. You just never know who else is on the Internets, y'know?

Last week's treatment was again, thank You God, very mild. No headaches, no vomiting, very little nausea. We have wonderful friends bringing incredible meals. The girls are doing so great. And even the dog is behaving herself lately.

So for now, know that I am still here. Still keepin' on. Not enjoying it all that much sometimes.

But mostly it's awesome. Here's a movie quote for you, "I'm just happy to be here. Write that down."

Let's Talk Climate Control

Okay, so I am now essentially bald. My hair started shedding to a rather annoying degree, so it had to come off.  The girls had a cutting and styling session, and then Greg buzzed it to about ½ inch.  I took it down even shorter for church on Sunday, but it’s still coming out. Argh! There’s hair everywhere. In my eyes, nose, and mouth, in my hats, on the pillow. I thought it was a good idea to cut it off, but now I’m not so sure. Two reasons:  1. Instead of long, soft hair all over, it’s now short, bristly, sharp hair and it’s not soft or smooth, but very ouchy. No likey. 2. I can’t figure out if I’m hot or cold. Half the time I’m freezing and half the time I’m sweaty.

Hair is the perfect insulator and now I don’t have that. I have many hats but they are all too warm, too scratchy, too stiff, too wrong. What I thought I needed and wanted was a couple of those soft cottony baby hats, like what they put on newborns in the nursery, but Jenni-sized. I thought that would be perfect, but it turns out the bristly-ness of my head makes wearing those actually painful. I think I’m going to have to have Greg shave it completely down to baby-bottom smooth and then keep it that way. Unfortunately, some of my chemo-resistant hair is still growing so I’ll have to actually “do” my hair, something I haven’t done in years.

Sorry about the whining. Let’s see…. Oh yes, on the plus side, I’ve been scheming about what will be a very lucrative “Waiter-there’s-a-hair-in-my-soup” racket.

And NO, there will not be pictures. I’m afraid one of you would mistake me for The Biggest Loser version of G.I. Jane. You stil want to see? Okay, picture this:  if I put my glasses on, I’d look like “before” pictures of Drew Carey. How’s that for a visual? You’re very welcome.

ACK- I forgot, I do have some FANTASTIC news! I talked to my Swedish surgeon's office today and a bilateral mastectomy is ALWAYS covered by insurance. It's apparently in their best intere$t$ to have them both come off since the risk increases exponentially that cancer would occur in the other side eventually. Woo Hoo! I had concerns that I'd be cyclop-tic after all this.