The X Files

Early in my first pregnancy, I lay on our couch one night with my hand lying on my still flat stomach, watching TV.  I had just started noticing a slight rounding of my stomach - a hint of the expansion that was to come.  I don't remember what I was watching, but I do remember what I felt.  It felt almost like a gas bubble - a soft, barely perceptible push against my hand.   It was the first time I had felt my baby move, and in that moment he became completely real to me.  Before that soft movement, I knew I was pregnant, knew I was going to have a baby, but it was all kinda abstract.  Once E pressed against my hand, it all changed in a moment. 

That was my moment - not shared really with anyone.  While I told my husband about it later, that moment was all mine.  It wasn't when he felt the baby move for the first time - that happened later.  It was mine.

On my way home today, I felt a gas bubble that almost felt like a baby moving inside me.  Since I lost my omentum during my debulking surgery last October, I can feel gas as it moves through much easier than I could in the before.  If it's moving through my small intestine as it tries to bulge through my incisional hernia, I can really feel it.  Today it struck me how similar it was to that first movement of my son all those years ago.  And how last fall, it all changed in a moment as well.

It's an apt comparison.  After all, my cancer is like an alien I grew in my belly - something foreign and new, cells dividing and multiplying and changing my body.  More like a mutant - those dividing cells abnormal and lethal instead of having a fund super power like laser vision or the ability to control the weather.  Even more like a parasite - living off my body, taking over my abdomen, doing its best to displace what was me with its malignant replacement.  My own version of the X-Files.

There is a tendency to try to personify cancer - to infuse it with personality traits, labeling it evil or wicked.  The truth is - it's just cells gone wild - rapidly multiplying instead of showing its neutrons off to the other cells to see who can collect the most strands of DNA like chicks on Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras.  My cancer can't even be blamed on my wild impetuous youth - there aren't environmental factors that contribute towards ovarian cancer.  I can't blame spending too much time in the sun, or smoking too many cigarettes, or drinking too much booze.  I just may have ovulated too much.  Not much I could have done about that.  I had my two kids, and I chose an IUD rather than birth control pills because I didn't do well on the pill.  Not that they're sure that ovulating every month for years on end causes ovarian cancer - they just think it might have something to do with it.  But they don't know. 

They just don't know.

I haven't been blogging much lately.  I'm still fighting the blues that seem to have decided to hang out in my head this summer.  Don't worry - I have an appointment with a counselor set up, and it's not ruining my summer.  I spend my weekends working in the garden and spending time with family and friends.  I'm not depressed - just a little unsettled, a little unfocused.  More likely to lose myself in a book or a TV show or a movie.  Then I don't have to think about the friends that have lost parents or husbands in the last few weeks - and how I've been too cowardly to reach out to them during their bereavement. Or think about what comes next - or what might be growing in my belly or around my lungs while I'm taking this chemo break.   I know I can't run from those feelings and thoughts forever.  But right now, that's what I'm doing.  I'm hoping talking to someone will help me deal a little better.

I'd really like to stop comparing my gas bubbles to mutant alien parasites, ya know? I'd like to find a way to stop trying to figure out why me?  Why not me?  I'd like to stop constantly worrying that every ache, or pain, or itch means the cancer is growing again, that I'm platinum resistant, that I won't get my 10 or more years. 

It's one of those things that cancer survivors have to figure out - how to return to their lives After.  How to live every moment, and not worry and obsess.  You would think being in remission (even if it is just "partial") I would be partying it up.  I don't know how to do that.  I'm trying to figure it out.  I'll keep y'all posted.

Until then, I'll just keep taking it day by day as much as I can.  So here are a few things that help me remember how lucky I am:

One of my crepe myrtles, and Grandma's cast iron bench.

My favorite roses.

My other favorite roses.

 

And my garden doing its thing.

It's not a bad life, eh?

Living the Good Life

We've had rain out here in Hicksville lately.  Wonderful glorious rain.  Our fields are a pretty green color you can only get from weeds.  Ah well - so far, the cow seems happy with them.

Speaking of our cow - we used to call her Steak.  Because we're warped.  But now the hubs sent her off to get knocked up, and we're pretty sure she obliged, so she needs a new name.  I've considered Lactation, but only if you say it with a slow southern drawl.  Go ahead. Try it.  Makes ya feel a little like Scarlett, doesn't it? 

I say pretty sure, because we don't know how to tell if she is really knocked up or not.  I googled how to figure that out a minute ago and I would like to say oh HELL NO.  I'm not stickin' my arm up any cow's booty.  [shudder]  Just the thought wigs me out.  So I guess we'll just wait and see.  She's getting mighty rotund and spends alot of time laying around waiting for someone to feed her fresh green stuff or cow bon bons or something.  Maybe we'll have a cute little calf to get entirely too attached to so it'll never be sent to processor after all.

We still don't have any baby chicks.  A few hatched, but none of them lived very long because apparently Java's are crappy mama hens.  Now I have four more hens setting, but they haven't had a rooster on that half of the coop for weeks, so they're pretty much wasting their time.  I'm going to have to get some eggs that might actually produce chicks and move them over there.  Otherwise those poor hens are going to start doubting their ability to hatch chicks, and the last thing I need are neurotic hens.

My garden has been loving the rain we've had lately.  The green beans have tiny little beans growing, and I actually found potatoes under some of the volunteer potato plants.  I've found some green tomatoes.  My onions seemed to have all died out.  I'm not sure why - they were getting watered, and we had mulched them in, but I can't find any of them now.  So they either died, or the evil bunnies that inhabit our land snuck in and ate them all.  Bastards.  Unfortunately, the weeds and native grasses have enjoyed the rain as well.  I've spent the last couple of weekends pulling weeds and grass and mulching. 

We don't have but a few weeks left of summer - and it makes me sad.  Just when I start feeling like myself again - waking up to have my breakfast on the back porch, then spending a few hours in the garden.  Sometimes I almost forget what I had been doing over the last nine months.  Sometimes I fool myself into thinking it was a bad dream - or that it happened to someone else.

Then I bend over to pull a stray weed out of the lawn, and the fluid around my left lung follows gravity and ow.  Or my incisional hernia feels like my intestines are about to pop out.  Then I remember that I'm not the same person I was a year ago.  Now I'm a cancer survivor.  Now I have limits to what I can do.

It's better than the alternative.  I'm alive.  And I'm living my life.  Spending time with my husband, and my kids when they have nothing better to do.  Someday I hope it won't hurt when I bend over to pull those weeds.  I won't have to have a cart to sit on as I roll around the garden and pull grass.  I won't have to hold my hand over my hernia when I sneeze because I have a fear that my intestines are going to shoot out across the living room.  (No - I have no idea what hyperbole means.  Why do you ask?)

Another friend of mine will be laying her mother to rest tomorrow.  I never met her mom, but she sounded like a wonderful lady.  Skin cancer took her.  I don't know why I went into remission and she didn't.  I hate that my friend lost her mama.  Yet I'm glad my boys didn't lose theirs.  I'm glad I can call myself a survivor.   I wish her mama could have too.

Things are good right now out in Hicksville.  We're going to try to enjoy the last few weeks of summer.  I hope you do the same.  Live deliberately.  Embrace each moment.  I'm determined to do that myself, and to not let myself get caught up in the daily grind again.  Now I know all too well - you just never know how much longer you have.  And like they say - no one says "I wish I had worked more."

I'm pretty sure no one says "I wish I had stuck my arm up a cow's booty when I had the chance" either.

I Get By With a Little Help From My Friends

This morning I had my breakfast on the back porch, as I did so many mornings last summer.  I listened to the birds chatter to each other and to our roosters greeting the day.  It was a still, perfect beautiful morning.

I needed that today.  Lately it seems as if I'm surrounded by sadness. Three funerals today that I should have gone to.  The mother of a friend is now on hospice.  Another friend just lost a dear friend of hers to MS.  A former classmate's wife just diagnosed with late stage ALS.  And last night a two year old little boy drowned in our community.  It's just too much.

I'm not sure why all of this seems to happen at once.  Why bad news seems to come in clusters.  I just know that I don't handle it as well as I used to.  Last year I would have tried to go to at least one of those three funerals.  This year - well, I haven't been able to attend a funeral since my diagnosis.  I feel cowardly for not going.  But it's just too close to home for me right now.  I don't want to go and imagine my own funeral - and I know that's what I would do.     

I try to remember to pray for all of these people every night.  I try to focus on just how blessed I am right now - it could be so much worse.  But the sadness comes at me from every direction.  I know that it just might be time.

Time for what?  Time to talk to someone professional.  I've been struggling a bit with feeling a bit blue lately.  It's probably pretty normal - after all, I just spent months fighting off a wicked disease that was aiming to kill me.  I was so focused on that, and now it's like I'm just trying to figure out what's next.   The blog has been a huge help - I've been able to write through so many of the things I've been going through.  But I'm feeling a little overwhelmed these days.  At my monthly oncologist visit last week, I asked for a referral, and I will be getting something set up in the next few weeks. 

So many of us feel like we can't go to counseling - that it makes us look weak.  I'm trying to not think of it that way.  One thing I learned throughout this journey is that I can't do it all myself, and it's ok to ask for help.  It doesn't make me weak to do that.  It makes me smart to not try to do it all on my own - and to know when to ask for help.

And in the meantime, I'm going to try to enjoy the peaceful still mornings.  Right now we have a hen setting on eggs again, we're pretty sure our cow is going to have a calf of her own in a few months, the garden is growing well, and a big rain is predicted for next week.  Life goes on.  That's what I need to focus on. What we all need to focus on.

Life goes on.

Let's Talk About Sex, Baby....

(Today's post is a frank discussion about sex.  If you are related to me, especially if you are a male related to me, or a friend of my sons, for the love of God - click away now.  NOW!!!!  These are not things you want to have in  your head when I see you on holidays.  Or any other time.  This especially includes my Daddy.  Daddy PLEASE - don't read.  And if you do - please don't ever tell me you did.  EVER. Love you.)

Despite having grown up smack dab in the middle of The Bible Belt, USA, I've always had a pretty good outlook about sex.  Most of that is because of the women who raised me - my mom, who is awesome and didn't blink when she discovered I had been reading her bodice-rippers in junior high (she just said "if you have any questions, let me know.  And keep in mind, it's just a story.  Real life is different"), my grandmother on my mom's side (she and my grandpa shared a bed until the day she died, no twin beds or separate rooms for those two), and my beloved Aunt Linda, who was like a second mom to me.  Both my mother and aunt talked frankly with me as I was growing up, and neither of them hesitated on confirming that yeah - sex is fun, even after marriage.  Especially after marriage.  It's what God intended (if you believe in Him), and it should be a big part of any healthy marriage.

Because of those two awesome ladies, I've always been pretty comfortable with my sexuality, and with my body and everything that goes with that. When some of my girlfriends would sit around and bitch and moan about how they were too tired or just not in the mood and oh my lord their husbands were always wanting to do the deed and why can't he just let me sleep....I would sit quietly thinking "um - somebody ain't doing it right, because if they were, these chicks wouldn't be bitching so much."  That probably sounds pretentious, but it's the truth.  I just didn't get why so many women weren't interested in hitting the sheets with their man - wasn't that part of the deal?  Most of them hadn't waited until they were married, so it's not like they didn't know what their husband's skills were in bed, or that he liked sex.  Um - hello - man.  They all like sex.

One of the side effects of most cancer treatment is a loss of fertility.  For many women,  the chemo and/or radiation cooks their ovaries so they don't work so well anymore.   With ovarian cancer specifically, you lose half of the parts that make you a woman.  It can be devastating to a younger woman - one that hasn't had all the children she had planned on, or one that hasn't decided if she wants children or not.  The surgical menopause - as I've mentioned before - is horrendous.  And all that is talked about pretty openly.

But what about sex?  Yeah - no one talks about that. 

It should be talked about - no one should have to wonder if their sex life will ever be normal again.  For ovarian cancer patients like myself, there is the worry that we might not feel desire ever again, or even worse - what if we do regain our desire, but lose our ability to orgasm?  Just how big a part does the uterus play in achieving orgasm?  Will sex be painful now?  Is that a given?  Will those personal moisturizers [wink wink] really help so that it won't be painful?  Will my husband/partner even want to have sex with me again?  I literally have a question mark on my belly - as if the surgeon knew that my whole sexuality would be in question.

The hubs and I had to discuss these things beforehand.  We talked about it as I recovered from surgery, we talked about it as I went through chemo.   We have talked about whether he would still find me sexy after my surgery, and after all the things I went through recovering from that.  How could any man be attracted to a woman that he had to watch hurl for hours?  Who spent three days with a tube down her throat that made her sound like Slingblade when she talked?  Not to mention other intimacies that you go through recovering from major abdominal surgery that were beyond embarrassing.  Let's not forget I have these freaking tubes on my sides, and my hair is currently shorter than his.

Let me tell ya - I am one sexy beast.  Not.

So you take all of that and you get one insecure wife.  Add in the hot flashes from hell that flare up whenever he touches me, and a considerate husband that is afraid of pushing too soon, or that I'll hurt, or break or whatever - it was a mess.  As a couple, we were lost.  Since I see a regular oncologist, not a gynecologic oncologist for my treatment, I don't think he was comfortable talking about when it was ok to resume marital relations.  It's not something that's addressed in the cancer binder you get.  There's talk about eating, how to manage nausea, regaining your strength, dealing with hair loss, but nothing on dealing with intimacy loss.  Or how to re-start your sex life after recovery.

So we muddle through.  I'm not going to discuss where we're at in that process.  I still have a son in high school, and the last thing he needs to hear is punky school mates giving him a hard time about his parent's sex life.  As it is, I have to get the hubs to read through this to make sure he's ok with me putting this all out there.  I'm hoping he will be.  I hope he realizes how important it is that there be some type of discussion of how sex changes after treatment, especially for those of us whose cancer affects our sexual organs (including breast cancer patients - talk about a whole slew of body image issues and feelings!).  It needs to be talked about.  There needs to be better resources.  Women should not feel that their sexual life is over just because they had cancer.  The idea that I might never enjoy sex again was a scary one for me.  I know I can't be the only one out there that's worried about it.

So let's talk about sex, baby. 


(For the record - I had my husband read this before I posted it. While he admits it made him a bit uncomfortable because he's a very private person, he agreed that it's important to talk about this stuff, so here it is. )

Reunited...and It Felt So .. Weird.

This past weekend, I went to my 30th high school reunion.  I debated myself long and hard about going.  After all - my head is covered with a quarter inch of insanely gray hair and my eyelashes are about half their normal length.  But I did want to see a few people, and it's always fun to see what your former classmates look like now.  I even attended the tour of my high school to see all the changes.  There is now carpet in the hallways, and still no elevators to sell tickets to.  (Only a Plainsmen will understand that.  Heh)

There is a weird doubling of vision at a class reunion.  You look at Billy Bob and while you see him as he is now, 30 pounds heavier and certainly balder, you also see him as he was - with his blonde hair and the clean shaven face he sported back in the day.  He moves the same, and he sounds the same - but that weird overlay is there.  As you see him move around and visit, you have flashes back to high school - remembering moments you shared, conversations you had.  Then you shake your head and he's back to being just Billy Bob - a little older, a little greyer.

Then there are the folks (mainly men, by the way, and that is so unfair) who haven't changed a bit.  There might be a couple of lines on their faces, but for the most part, they haven't changed and you can't help but wonder if they have a painting in their attic.  Bastards.  Age,  will ya!  It's only fair.  If I have to have these laugh lines and grey hair, so do you!  Hmph.

I struggled the most with those who I couldn't recognize.  Thank goodness for the name tags most everyone wore (although I would enlarge the print for the 35th reunion - I'm sure I'm not the only one who's eyes are going).  It should be mandatory that everyone wear a name tag at all events, in my oh-so-humble opinion.  I feel so strongly about this that I'm going to put myself in charge of the name tags next time.  (Yes Crista and Allison - I'm serious!  One less thing for y'all to have to deal with!) There are still several folks that I didn't recognize.  There was one that I was sure who it was - then I saw him the next day in town, and he wasn't even there!  He somehow missed the whole weekend.  Oops.


Over the years I've become friendlier with some of my classmates thanks to Facebook and Pinterest.  One chick that I was in drama with has discovered just how geeky I really am.  It was fun to see her, but I didn't get near enough time with her.  I get the feeling that we could sit and debate sci-fi movies for hours.  We totally need to do that over adult beverages one of these days. 

I wasn't one of the "popular" kids in high school.  I didn't really belong to the "cool" kids group/clique/whatever you called it.  I wasn't a "grit," or a "nerd" or a "jock."  I might have been considered one of the "stoners" - but although I did my share of illicit activities, it wasn't my be-all, end-all.  I was friendly with kids from most of the groups listed above.  Since I didn't really fit in any particular group, I pretty much created my own little group, and we thought we were pretty cool.  But most of the girls I was closest to were in the grade behind me.  Those are the chicks I really would love to hang out with at a reunion.  I'm seriously contemplating crashing their reunion next year. Ha!

To be honest, my husband and I didn't really visit with that many people there.  We did more people watching I think, which I find just as entertaining.  But once again I came away from the reunion a little down.  I don't know if it was because of my hair, or my energy level not being what it used to be, but I just felt out of place a bit.  I had moments where I felt comfortable, but most of the night I missed my girls.  Melissa, Becky, Marla, Bret, 'Nicey,.  Those are the chicks I wanted to hang out with and re-visit old times with.  The majority of the kids from my class that I hung out with were dudes, and oddly enough, wives don't always appreciate some chick sitting and re-visiting old times with their man - even if there was no dating involved.  Go figure.

There is no guarantee I'll be around for our 35th.  It's my plan to be here.  Just in case, I went this year.  I'm glad I did.  It's part of my new philosophy - to live with no regrets.  I don't to look back and think "I wish I had gone to that last reunion."  I'm living my life with intent now.  No more what might have beens.  No more regrets.  So far - so good.

Now to start planning for that trip to Cancun.....

Missing: Work Enthusiasm

In the fall of 1990, I was hired by the Department of Geeky Science at Mid-Size University.  I was hired as the receptionist.  It was my second real office job, an entry level position.  I was so thrilled to finally be working for Mid-Size University - at last I could put food service behind me.  Around 10 am that first day at work, a student came into the office, saw me sitting at the front desk, and stated - loudly so as to be heard by not only every person located in the Dept. of Geeky Science, but also over in the Dept. of StuckUp Geeky Engineering across the courtyard - "Hey!  I know you!  You used to work at Burger King!"

Well, so much for that. 

Despite that embarrassing beginning, I grew to love working for Geeky Science (to be known as GS from now on).  I enjoyed working with the students, and with the faculty, and eventually with the alumni.  When I got up in the morning, I looked forward to going in to work.  I loved the variety at my job, and I loved what I did. I was a young engaged woman when I started.  I got married while working in GS, had both my children, tried leaving the department for two years, and practically begged to go back when my old position opened up again.   They threw me wedding showers, baby showers, anniversary parties, and the occasional birthday shindig.  And when I developed cancer, they rallied behind me and supported me, even though I disappeared on them for 4 months with very little warning.

A large part of who I am now is because of that job.  It taught me how to multi-task, how to anticipate, how to delegate, how to be diplomatic, how to interact with people from all sorts of cultures and nationalities, and how to appreciate those differences.  I grew from a nervous girl into a confident woman - secure in my place, happy that I had found my niche.  I knew how lucky I was to love my job.  I spent a significant part of my recovery worrying about my Dept. of Geeky Science because I knew I didn't leave anyone trained well enough to take over for me during my sudden absence.  I couldn't wait to get back to work.  

When I think of who I am, it's wife, mother, coordinator, friend.   I love my job.

So could someone explain to me why I'm having such a hard time going to work each day?

The first few weeks, it wasn't a problem.  I looked forward to going into work, and relished the challenge of getting back on track and catching everything up.  It took me awhile, but now I'm working full time again, and am working on getting things caught up.  I'm making pretty good progress on that.  I have more good brain days than foggy brain days now, and I don't feel like it's a struggle to comprehend the various tasks I need to do each day.

Yet when I wake up in the morning, I hit the snooze button more often than I should.  Once I finally accept that I have to get up, I then have to talk myself out of bed so I can get dressed to go to work.  Driving to work is no longer the time I spent going through my to do list in my head and planning my day.  Rather it's the time I try to pump myself up with enough enthusiasm to do a good job once I get to work. 

I find myself thinking of how much longer I have until I can retire.  Currently, I have to meet the "rule of 80" in order to retire with full benefits, and that won't be for another 5 years for me.  I used to think that being able to retire at 53 would be awesome - I'd still be young enough for the hubs and I to really enjoy retirement.  Then I was diagnosed - and now I wonder - can I even count on being around in 5 years? 

I wonder if I really want to spend these next years working at a job where I don't have the same joy as I used to.  Yet my family's insurance - including my own, which is critical now - is through my job at Mid Size University.  If I left my job, there's not an insurance company out there that would take me on - not with a Stage IV ovarian cancer diagnosis.  The hubs has his own health issues - he probably couldn't get insured either.  So whether I want to stay working or not - I really don't have a choice in the matter.  Perhaps that's why I've lost my joy.  It's hard to feel joy in your work when you know you are basically trapped.

Or it could just be because I'm having a hard time adjusting to this life after treatment.  You spend months fighting against a disease that wrecks havoc with your body, your mind, your family, your job - then suddenly it's over and you have to re-focus.  Somehow it's hard to see setting up a new phone system as important after fighting for your life.  Go figure.

I'm hoping this is temporary.  I'm hoping I can find my joy again.   I don't want to be that lady that forces herself to go to work.  That scares the students and faculty because she's such a grump.  I want to be the one who enjoys the people she deals with every day - who welcomes visitors to her office, and goes out of her way to help the students complete their degree, to help the faculty provide a top notch education to those students, and to help the alumni in any way she can.  The one who makes her chair look good.  I used to be that lady.  It used to be effortless. 

I hope that someday soon, it will be again.  Until then - I fake it.  I go to work, put on a smile and do what I can.  It's all I can do right now.  

 Guess I won't be taking down that "Beware!" sign off of my door anytime soon.

Freedom

I've written before about my vanity.  I've written about why I wear scarves instead of hats.  I've written about my fear of letting the world see my now nearly bald head.  Today I want to talk about the public's reaction to those of us with cancer.

I haven't really talked it about it much.  I haven't discussed how wearing a scarf out in public immediately brands you as someone with cancer.  It does.  When you wear a hat in public, especially a baseball cap, there is always the possibility that you just had a bad hair day.  But a scarf - that's your badge, your identifier.  Wearing a scarf in  public practically guarantees stares, sympathetic half-smiles, or those well-meaning looks of pity.  Total strangers will ask you what type of cancer you have, and what your prognosis is.  And when you come across another scarf wearer, you share a look - you too?  Yes - me too.  It didn't matter what type of cancer we had - we just knew we were part of the same tribe.  The tribe of fighters.  Of survivors.

I didn't like the stares, but I never minded the questions.  I've never shied away from answering questions, and encouraging conversation about my type of cancer.  Part of that is because I'm just not that secretive a person (as you might have noticed here).  Part of it is because so little is known about ovarian cancer, and I think it's important to share what I know about the symptoms so that maybe someone else can get diagnosed early, and not have to go through what I've had to go through over the last 8 months.  Part of it is because many of those who know about ovarian cancer think it's an automatic death sentence, and I want them to know it's not.

Since I'm currently not undergoing chemo, my hair is growing out.  It's still pretty short, but it's coming in thick.  I'm still  hoping for chemo curls.  It's gray - good gracious, it's gray.  But it's growing back.  Now that it's summer and I have a bit of hair, wearing a scarf is hot. Hot hot hot.  One day last week, after about the 15th hot flash of the day, I pulled that scarf off and didn't put it back on.  I drove home without out it.  And I decided I was done with it.  Done with wearing that badge of cancer.  Done with hiding my head. 
Done with being only seen as cancer.

Since then, I go about bare headed.  Guess what?  I don't get stared at as much.  It's like without the scarf, I'm just a normal unremarkable person again.  Granted, one with very short hair, but just your average everyday gray headed chick.  I was so sure that I would be stared at more.  I had no idea it would be the opposite.

I had heard that going around bald was freeing.  I thought they meant it was just being free from all the styling and grooming.  I had no idea it freed you from the stares.  From the badge.  From being one of the cancer tribe.  I'm not real sure how I feel about that.  Yet I know one thing.

I don't miss that scarf.

Old McDonald Had a Farm....

I might have mentioned before that we live in the boonies.  It's not as much the boonies as it used to be - we've had all sorts of families move in around us in the last few years.  And while I might rail against their pointless and wasteful pole lights and over-watering of their lawns, it's not too bad.  Since we live in the middle of our 15 acres, we still have some elbow room.

On that elbow room we have a cow and some chickens.  Some of those chickens are currently broody and sitting on eggs.  They've actually hatched a few chicks, but sadly, none of them have made it.  We don't know if one of the hens sitting is killing them, or if it's too hot, or what, but I'm getting pretty tired of finding cute baby chick bodies.  If anyone has any bright ideas on what is happening to our babies, let me know.

Our cow just recently came back from visiting my cousin's herd.  His herd has a bull or two, so we're hoping she got herself knocked up.  The only problem is that if she is knocked up, she probably won't be dropping her calf until February or March.  March won't be too bad, but February is an awfully cold month for new calves.

We might not have planned this very well.

Face it - we're amateurs at this homesteading stuff.  We've finally gotten the gardening side down pretty well, but we're still learning when it comes to livestock.  When our banty hens hatched some chicks a few years ago, we only lost a couple of chicks.  Those were good mama chickens.  These "heritage" breeds my husband wanted don't seem to be doing as good of a job.  And we're clueless when it comes to cows and calves.  It's a new adventure for sure, but one we like to think we're ready for.

So  wish us luck.  It can't be any more frustrating than trying to type on my new laptop and constantly having the cursor jump to somewhere two paragraphs up because the base of my hand rested too long on the touchpad.

Stupid technology.

What new adventures are you exploring this year?

Work It Girl!

Before I was diagnosed last year,  I would get up every morning at 5:30 and work out.  The two months or so before my diagnosis I used my new elliptical machine.  I loved that thing.  There was something about getting into my workout clothes early in the morning, plugging in my earbuds from my iPhone and spending 30 - 45 minutes working up a sweat that was very satisfying.

;-)  I should have realized then I was a sick woman. 

I still worked out every day up until the point my ascites bloated my abdomen up so large I could barely breathe.  I think my last workout on it was about a week or two before my surgery.  After that I could hardly sleep, much less work out. 

After my surgery, I remember asking my surgeon how long I had to wait before I could get back on my elliptical.  I was convinced that the sooner I could get back on it, the sooner I would feel better.  I had no idea that it would be 8 months before I would be able to use it again.

Yes - it took me that long to get strong enough to even consider turning it on.  After I finally came home from the hospital, I would take walks around my house to regain my strength.  I would see it sitting there - unused.  I would think of how everyone told me that it would make a good place to hang laundry. Isn't that what usually happens when we buy a piece of exercise equipment?  I had sworn not only to myself, but to my husband that if we bought one for the house, I would use it religiously.  Yet for months I didn't have even enough balance to get on it, much less the endurance.

Now that I'm in remission, I am using the elliptical again.  It's only for about 12 minutes a day right now, and it's not at 5:30 am.  Instead I fire that baby up after I get home from work.  It'll take me a while to build up my endurance, but I'm working at it.  I'm determined to get back up to the kinds of workouts I did when I got sick. 

I think my husband might worry that I'm pushing myself too hard.  He doesn't see why I feel such a deep need to get back to my pre-diagnosis state.  Part of him probably thinks I'm doing it to get my figure back.  Ha!  I'm pretty sure that ship has sailed.

The fact is, I feel like I'm in training.  I'm eating more healthy, drinking more water, exercising more.  Not to lose weight.  Not to have a perfect body.  Not to compete in a marathon, or participate in one of those Relay for Life things.  But I do have to be as healthy as I can.  In the best condition I can.

So if it comes back - I can fight it off again.

I'm convinced those 5:30 am mornings gave me the strength to fight off my cancer.  It's why I'm finally bouncing back now.  There aren't alot of women who get a Stage IV diagnosis and go into remission.  Who feel as good as I do these days.  But I was healthy.  In good shape.  Ready for the fight of my life. 

I have no intention of not being ready the next time.  If there is a next time.  So I hit the elliptical for those 12 minutes for a few more days or weeks.  Then I'll add a few minutes.  Then I'll add a few more.  One day I'll be back up to 45 minutes.  And if the cancer comes back?

Bring it.  I'll be ready. And I'll win again.

The Family That Rocks Together...

The cover picture on my Facebook is a picture of a happy family.  My youngest son, my husband, me, and my eldest son, taken at a concert held at an outside amphitheater last summer.  It is just a few weeks before my eldest son moved away for college, and I wanted a picture of all us together, doing something we all loved - attending a hard rock concert - before he moved off and I had to adjust to being a family of three.

We are happy in this picture  - although you can tell my husband is getting tired of our friend taking picture after picture with my phone.   My husband and I are holding our beers and our boys are spending a few moments with the parental units before they head down to the mosh pits to enjoy the concert as teenagers are meant to - jumping to the music and banging their heads.  We were so proud - we had shared our love of rock with our boys, and they embraced it fully.  Party on dudes.

I have a full head of hair, and am a bit overweight, but not much - and it is concealed well by the top I'm wearing.  You can't see it in my Facebook cover, but my feet are bare, as I wiggled my toes in the grass while we posed.  I can still remember how it felt cool on my feet as we stood there.  I can still remember telling the boys that they were to smile, and look happy - damit.

I had no idea that cancer was running rampant through my body.

I chose that picture as my cover because it is one of my favorite pictures of all of us together.  I also chose it because it is one of the last really happy moments I remember from last year.  Moving my son to another city to attend college was a proud moment, but full of anxiety for this mama as her first bird went out to try his wings.  A few weeks after that I slowly started developing the symptoms of my cancer, and had a low level anxiety that I really had no name for.  I just had a vague feeling something was off.  And then in October, my world came crashing down around me.

It's been a crazy 8 months.  At times it's been scary, and at others it's been uplifting.  I've grown so much emotionally and spiritually.  I've made new friends, and have seen others just disappear.  I've also seen old friends shower me with love and support, courage and "sistah hood."  I have been blessed.  My marriage has reached new depths that I don't think I could have imagined before I was diagnosed.  My sons have grown into young men - no longer the boys they were last summer.

We are still that same family.  But we are so different now than we were last summer.  I'm not sure that's a bad thing either. I think we took our lives for granted last year.  Nothing is taken for granted anymore.

This week my oncologist told me that for now, he is just going to monitor me.  No more treatment unless I have some kind of symptom, or my CA-125 shoots up.  While I still have pleural effusions around one lung, the doctors feel it will resolve on it's own.  For all intents and purposes, I am in remission.

I am free.  Free of the dread that the chemo isn't working.  Free of chemo every 3 weeks.  Free of the nausea, and fatigue, and bowel issues.  Free of the constant need to eat eat eat so I don't lose any weight.

I am free.  And today, as I wear the same top that I wore in that picture, as I coordinate it with a scarf that I won't be wearing much longer, I breathe a little sigh of satisfaction.

I fought.  And I won.  Maybe not the war - recurrence is always looming.  But I beat that bastard back.

I won.

(Don't worry.  This isn't a goodbye blog by any means.  There is still plenty to blog about.  Including the fact that we have babies out in the boonies!!!  Chicks are hatching and I'm hoping to have pictures of the babies, and the garden, and my roses, and maybe even a new family picture soon.  So stay tuned!)

Gonna Fly Now

The first time I walked into the cancer center where I get treatment, I noticed the staircase.  It seems to loom over the entire first floor of the center.  I remember looking at that staircase, as imposing as the one in Gone With The Wind (only without the rad red carpeting) and thinking to myself "I'll never be able to take the stairs again."  Those stairs seemed as daunting as the stairs Rocky ran up during his training in the first Rocky.  No way I could do that.  I was so grateful for the elevator.

You see, I was so weak.  This was after 2 weeks of ascites building in my abdomen to the point I could barely breathe, and hardly eat.  After surgery a month before that opened me up wide and removed multiple organs - and as much cancer as they could see.  After weeks of nausea and vomiting and not being able to keep anything down.  After blood clots in the lungs and having to have TPN because I just couldn't eat much.  After losing 30 lbs - 7 liters of it ascites that was drained during my surgery - and much of that muscle strength.  The day after my first chemo.  I had to have my husband drop me off at the door to the center because I simply didn't have the strength to make the walk.

It was a scary time.

Since then, I've lost the nausea (as well as my hair), regained my appetite and my ability to eat regular meals, ditched the TPN and built my endurance back up.  But I was still taking the elevator when I went to the cancer center.  Those stairs still scared me.  The thought of only being able to get halfway up worried me - would I then have to go back down?  Or get help to go back down?  Or worse, have someone come get me to carry me the rest of the way up?  Those stairs are completely open to the main floor - as well as the 2nd floor - everyone would be able to see my humiliation if I failed.  So I just didn't try.

Not trying isn't usually my MO.  Yet the changes my body had been through affected me emotionally as well as physically.  And to be honest - I wasn't that brave a person to begin with.  Public humiliation has never been something I was willing to risk.

I tend to be a little more willing to step out there now.  It's like I figure what do I have to lose?  I've already lost my ability to have children (as well as the ability to regulate my body temperature - good lord a'mighty I'm tired of these hot flashes!), my appearance, hell - my modesty/dignity while in the hospital.  Does it really matter if I made a spectacle of myself?  Does it really matter if people can see my newly grown in silver hair?

Can I let them see me try and possibly fail?

Sure I can.  Last week, when I went to get my weekly blood draw, I took the stairs to the second floor.  I told myself I would take it slow and one step at a time.  I grinned all the way up.  I made it to the top, all by myself.  I might have heard "Gonna Fly Now" in my head while I did it.  I did manage to restrain myself from dancing around with my fists above my head when I got to the top.  Just barely.

Last night, my youngest brought a couple of friends over to the house.  I tend to be bare-headed in the house, unless we have company.  Last night, for the first time I didn't rush to the bedroom to grab a cap or scarf when I heard voices on the porch.  I just stayed in my chair as we watched the hockey game, and let the boys see my bare head.  And you know what?  None of those boys seemed to care that I was practically bald.  I may not quite be ready yet to go without my scarf at work, but I'm getting there.

One step at a time.

Leap of Faith

After a west Texas spring that lasted all of 1 week, summer has finally arrived here in the boonies.  And that means it's time to garden.  We planted onions, potatoes and cabbage earlier in the year, but now it's finally warm enough to plant the warm weather veggies.  Tomatoes have gone into the garden at last, and in the weeks to come we will plant peppers, green beans, black eyed peas, cantaloupe, watermelon, squash, okra, cucumbers and of course - more tomatoes.

It may seem like a lot, but my husband and I love garden fresh veggies.  Right now we're in the midst of enjoying home grown asparagus any time we want it, and canning the extra.  Fresh green beans or black eyed peas are a treat that everyone should try at least once.  And oh my goodness, how I love home grown cantaloupe and watermelon.

I haven't purchased hot sauce in years.  I much prefer to make my own from home grown tomatoes.  Not to mention my Uncle James only speaks to me because I make him chow chow in the fall.  (Oh I kid.  He still spoke to me last year when I wasn't able to make him chow chow due to a lack of green tomatoes.  He said "where's my chow chow girl?" at Christmas. ;-))

I look at gardening differently this year.  For me, it's an act of faith.  I have faith that I will be healthy enough to take care of the garden while everything grows - weeding, watering, harvesting.  I have faith that I'll be healthy enough to enjoy those fresh green beans later this summer, and those home grown taters this fall.  Faith that I'll have the strength to can the extra harvest.

Faith that I'll be here.

There - I said it.  Once upon a time, not too long ago, I couldn't imagine trying to garden this summer.  There were days I didn't think I was going to ever get any strength back, much less enough to take care of a garden.  I'm still not all the way back - but I'm on my way.  I'm so grateful for that.  And even though it's been a struggle, and I still tire easily, I know now that it won't always be that way.  I know that eventually I'll be able to bend over and pull weeds without feeling like I'm drowning.

Until then - well - that's why I have children.

The Lost Girl

Trying to figure out what to blog about these days is getting harder.  Do y'all really want to hear more about my hair coming in almost totally gray?  Or what the doctor said about when my last two drain tubes can come out?  I could blog about how my chickens seem to have made it their mission in life to scratch the mulch out of my flower beds and eat my day lilies so they'll never bloom this year.  I'm about ready to put some frickin' chickens in my freezer if they don't leave my day lilies alone.   It's a good thing my husband put a cage around my newly planted bluebonnets, or they'd be roasted already.

The fact is - sometimes I feel like without the cancer, I just don't have much to talk about.  We had friends over for burgers and beer ( well - THEY had beer - I had burgers and cokes/tea), and I found that I spent a lot more time listening than talking.  More than once I thought about jumping into the conversation, but whatever I was going to say had something to do with my cancer, or its various side effects, and I didn't want to be the chick who is always talking about her cancer.  It's like I don't know how to make small talk without bringing it up.

Geez.  Might as well call me Debbie Downer if that's all I can talk about.

Yet the cancer is a huge part of who I am now.  I don't know how to leave it out of the conversation - but I don't want it to be my only topic of conversation.  I worry that my friends are getting tired of hearing it.  I try to make a joke out of it - using my ever-present scarf as my "excuse to get out of doing stuff" or a way to laugh it off when I use the wrong word (chemo brain!) or forget a date or something we've discussed.  Who am I if I'm not the chick who laughs at cancer?

Who am I indeed.

That's what I'm trying to figure out these days.  How to be the chick who used to have cancer.  How to chat with my friends about everything and nothing and not just about cancer and its side effects.  I used to be able to do that with ease.  But that was in the Before.  I used to spend long afternoons consuming chips and hot sauce and talking about nothing with my peeps.

Here in the soon to be After, I'm not so sure how to do that.

So if you happen to run into me in real life, and I seem quieter than I used to be, that's why.  My whole world has been wrapped up in cancer and treatment and side effects and fighting to get better, and now that I'm nearly at the end of that chapter in my life, I'm a little lost. 

It's just all a part of this new normal I guess.

What Partial Remission Means to Me

It's been a week since I blogged.

It's not that I haven't wanted to - trust me.  There are tons of things running through my brain these days.  It's just the weather has been wonderful, and my energy level is somewhat better, and I've been doing other things.  By the time I would want to sit down and write, the hubs had the laptop and I was out of luck.

I think I need my own laptop!

Despite how thrilled we are with my test results last week, we know that this isn't over.  I have an appointment tomorrow with the doctor who put my drains in for my lungs to see if he has any idea why I'm still having fluid build up around them.  It has gotten less in the last few weeks, but there is enough around my left lung that by the 3rd or 4th day, I'm short of breath.  I don't have any significant fluid around the right lung anymore, which is good.  My skin on that side is starting to react badly to the constant bandage changing every 3 or 4 days, so something is going to have to be done about that.

See?  I still have issues.  I'm hoping my platelets come up enough that my oncologist will feel comfortable with me having chemo in early June.  I feel weird knowing that right now I'm not doing anything to treat my cancer.  Then I have to remind myself I don't have much cancer left to treat.

It's strange, this partial remission.  Every time I feel a twinge or pain in my abdomen, or back or anywhere I wonder if it's the cancer getting worse, if the chemo isn't working anymore.  I have to remind myself that my scans were clear just two weeks ago.  And that just last week my CA 125 was at 26.  I'm ok right now.  The chances that I've had a tumor develop into a mass large enough to cause me pain in just two weeks are pretty low.  I'm ok.  I'm really ok.

I have a feeling - backed up by reading the stories of other ovarian cancer survivors - that I'll probably spend the rest of my life wondering.  I'm sure eventually I'll get to where every single pain won't automatically lead me to think the cancer is back, but it'll still be there.  With every gas pain, every weight gain, every time I feel short of breath or bloated - I'm going to wonder.  Because I know it can come back.  It can come back in two months - or two years - or twenty years.

I don't want to live my life in fear though.  I want to live it fully.  I want to take the time to spend afternoons with my family, evenings with those I love.  I want to fill my life with laughter and happiness, not worry and fear.  I have things I want to do - my "bucket list" so to speak.  But I wonder if starting to work on my bucket list isn't self-defeating - isn't that what terminal people do - their bucket list?

I'm just not sure how to navigate this partial remission chapter of my life.  There's no guidebook for that.  No educational binder with tips on how to navigate life at the end of treatment.  I still don't have my energy level up to where it used to be, nor my endurance.  I worry that people around me think that because I'm in some type of remission, that my battle is over, and that I'm well now.  When I'm not - I still have a way to go before I'm back to "normal."  If I ever get there - my normal may be different now.  So I don't know when I'll be able to keep my house clean.  When I'll be able to go and do like I used to.  Hell - I don't even know when I can have an adult beverage again. 

But even with all that confusion - it's better than the alternative.  I'm alive.  I'm beating cancer.  I'm surviving.  I'll get everything figured out eventually.  Hopefully my friends and loved ones will be patient while I find my way.

And if they don't?  Well - too bad for them, eh?  They're going to miss a whole lot of fun when I get it figured out!

Celebration Now - Come On!

 (There's a party going on right here - a celebration to last throughout the year....Celebration time - come on!  - Kool & the Gang)

Today is a good day.

Wait - actually - today is a GREAT day.

This morning, my oncologist told me that my scans were clear.  There is no evidence of tumors in my pelvis, abdomen or chest.  Except for some remaining fluid around my left lung - I am cancer free.

Cancer free!!!!

When I started this journey last October, I had no doubt that one day I'd say those words.  What I didn't realize is how I would nearly burst into tears when I heard them.  Or that I would grit out the words "Yes yes yes!!!" when I heard them.  It was just like winning a competition.

Make no mistake.  I know I haven't won.  Not the war anyway.  Ovarian cancer is insidious - you can be in remission for YEARS and have a recurrence.  I'm realistic about that.  It wouldn't surprise me if I have a recurrence in the future.  I'm prepared for that if it happens.  But I just won a battle.  A big freakin' battle.

And damn.  It feels AWESOME.

So - get out there and enjoy today.  I know I am.  While I still have that damn fluid to deal with, it's less.  I'm in "partial remission."  The chemo worked.  I'll most likely have another chemo treatment in a month - my platelets are very low and my oncologist wants to give my body some time to recover.  But for today - everything is rosy.

Take that cancer - you bastard.  I said you wouldn't beat me.  HA!!!

Letting My Light Shine a Little

Yesterday, I skipped church.

One thing I haven't talked a lot about is my faith and where it all fits with this cancer journey of mine.  The fact is - I 've always been one of those folks who figured my relationship with God was ... well, between me and God.  I've never been one of those who wishes everyone a blessed day, or beat everyone over the head with my particular brand of religion.  I'm just not geared that way.

I was raised in a variety of religions.  My mom was a Methodist who married a young man who wanted to be a Southern Baptist preacher.  Although he decided when I was a baby that ministry wasn't where he wanted to spend his life after all, we still went to Baptist churches for a significant part of my childhood.  At some point, he and my mother decided they weren't happy with the direction the Baptist church was taking them, so we began our family's search for something else.

It was an adventure, let me tell ya.  From the big fancy church where ladies in high heels and exquisite hairdo's danced in circles and the preacher ran around the sanctuary hollering "The King is coming!  The King is coming!" to the little hippie church that you got to by going down an alley near Mid-Sized University and in the yellow door then up the rickety stairs with earth mama types nursing their babies, candles in wine bottles everywhere and singing Kum ba ya....we tried 'em all.  In the end, we ended up going to a non-denominational church.  It had a little of the raising hands in praise, a little speakin' of the tongues, and a little of the newer gospel songs that were being written left and right in the 70's.  (Am I the only one who's childhood soundtrack includes the songs from "Come Together"?  And I don't mean the Beatles song.)  It was different from what they were raised in - but it touched their souls.  They felt God there....and they taught me that's where you go to church.  Where you feel God.

My husband and I have tried a few different churches in our life together.  But I never found one that really touched my soul until we started attending the Methodist church in Hicksville.  It's different from what I was raised in - but it touched my soul.  I found a place that soothed me in a way I didn't even realize I was missing until the first service I attended and they sang the doxology.

It may not be for everyone, but it works for me.  And that's kind of how I view religion.  There are so many different flavors because we're all so different.  What speaks to me may not speak to you.  My husband attends the same church I do, but for him, where he really feels God is out in nature.  I'm good with that.  I know he attends for me, but if he doesn't feel like going, I don't hold it against him. 


I believe in God.  I believe that He's helping me in this journey.  I believe He hears the many prayers that have been said on my behalf.  I believe He doesn't care where those prayers come from - whether its from the Methodist church, or the Baptist, or the Church of Christ, or Catholic or Pagan or the church of williewonkas.  He just hears the prayers.  Knowing that comforts me.  I'm not asking that it comfort you - unless you also believe.

And if you don't?  That's cool too.  I'm not a big believer in assuming my spiritual path is the only path.  There are many paths - and I think they're all valid.  Your mileage might vary.  

I skipped church yesterday because my son had a friend spend the night, and we were all up late.  I don't think God holds that against me.  I think He knows my heart.  He knows this week will be a tough one for me as I wait to hear my CT results.  I think He's holding me up.  I know having my faith helps keep me strong.

And that's all I'm going to say about that.  I hope your faith - in whatever you choose to believe in - keeps you strong as well.  I hope it soothes your soul in some way.  I hope it gives you peace.

Most of all - I hope it makes you feel as loved as it does me.

Saturday Musings

Today, I made the brave decision to thin out my clothes.

You've been there - that moment when you realize it's time to let go of those pants you'll never squeeze your butt into again, that cute pink skirt set that is 10 years out of style, your period panties.

Oh come on.  We all have 'em.  And some part of us is looking forward to that day when we no longer need them.  For me, that day is now.  I have no more lady parts, so I have no need of period panties.  Boom - they're gone.  I also pulled out my big knockers bras.  It seems when you lose 25 pounds, you lose at least 5 pounds of that in your boobs.  Poof.  Gone.  So...I pulled them out of my bra drawer, but I put them into storage.  Because let's face it - I come from a long line of big boobed women, and it's entirely possible the boobs may be back.  And big knocker bras ain't cheap.

I'm still avoiding my tshirt drawer.  I have the hardest time getting rid of tshirts.  But I've got to do something about that drawer - I can barely close it now, and I just got a new Regionals track tshirt to wear.....

Ok - I have a problem.  And instead of dealing with it, I took a break to rest and discovered a Glee marathon on Oxygen and well....that tshirt drawer and the top of my closet just might have to wait until tomorrow.  You can't ask me to ignore a Glee marathon.

Tonight we're going to go celebrate a friend's birthday.  I'm trying to decide if I should take a few cokes to drink while I'm over there, or a couple of tea bags.  Since I don't know if I'll be on chemo again this coming week or not, no beer for me.  I miss beer.  I really miss those adult beverage pouches.  Stupid cancer.

Basically, for the most part I've just had what passes for a normal day around here.  And you know what?  Sometimes that's all I need.

Here's hoping you have a normal day today.

When To Let It Go

I've been back at work over a month now.  Since I work at Mid-Sized Big 12 University, we're coming up on the end of the spring semester.  It's a busier time, but not the busiest.  It's a time of gathering data and doing evaluations, and taking stock.  So that's what we're doing.

You know what I've discovered?  I'm a control freak.

When I was diagnosed last fall, I went from working full time to being incapacitated in about 2 weeks time.  Suddenly, my work place had to handle the things that I normally do.  Unfortunately, while I had been working on training my staff on many of the things I do, I hadn't gotten to things like reconciling accounts, how to run financial/personnel/budget reports or how to just handle everything while I was gone for an extended period of time.

Basically - I threw them into chaos without a rope.  I'm not happy about this.  I spent a lot of time during my recovery worrying about my department.  They did the best they could and found ways to divy up my job duties.  And they figured it out and managed.  Of course.

But now I'm back.  And I'd like to have my job back.

I do in a way.  Some of my job duties I've already taken back over - thinks like reconciling accounts, and procurement cards.  But there are a lot of my duties that other staff members are doing and my natural reaction is to want those duties back.

But is that what is best for my department?

I realized today, when I came across yet another thing I used to do is being handled by one of my staff.  My first reaction was to want that thing back.  Then I stopped and thought about it.  Is it absolutely necessary that I have that particular job duty back?   Am I really the only one who can do it right?  Or is it something that someone else can handle just as well? 

Let's face it - scheduling rooms isn't all that complicated.  There's no reason someone else can't do that.  I just didn't realize she was still doing it.  I just assumed that now that I was back, everyone was sending their requests to me.  Apparently not.  So I'm trying to let go of that task.  I'll have to sit down with her and make sure that she's getting the right information to do it, and sending the correct responses to requests, and that she's sticking to first in first out....but then I'll have to let go.

Boy - that's hard for us control freaks. 

Yet it's what I have to do.  Some things I need to let go of.  Just like letting go of my hair,  cleaning the house, my expectations of what my life was going to be like.  I just have to learn to let go.  To accept that some things can be done just as well by someone else.  That I'm not irreplaceable. 

Hmph.  This is hard!  I want to stomp my feet and do everything I did before.  I don't like giving up control.  And I feel like I have so little control left anymore.  I feel like if I give up too much...I'm giving up all together. That I can't do.  So I have to find a balance between what I can do, what I want to do, and what is best for me to do. 

Task by task, day by day, figuring out what to keep and what to let go of.  Not just at work but at home, in life in general.  It's what I try to do with blog - work through this new normal.  Figure out what is worth hanging on to, and what needs to be let go of. 

Thanks for joining me for the ride.  It won't be the smoothest ride, and my daddy tells me it can be hard to read.  But I'm trying to be transparent - to not gloss everything over.  I'm not just writing for me, but also for you, newly diagnosed ovarian cancer patient.  I want you to know that what you're feeling is normal, and we all go through it.  I also write for you, caretaker of the cancer patient, so that you know what your loved one might be going through, and why they think some of the things they do.  And last but not least - for you, beloved friend, family or aquaintance.  So that you can understand who this person is that you reached out to over last six months and know that your efforts weren't wasted.

Y'all just let me know if I start sounding pretentious, ok?  I don't want to sound pretentious.  Because as we all know - an ounce of pretension is worth a pound of manure.....

(Hey I never promised to be classy!)

Braaaiiinnnsss.....I Want Braiiiiiinnnnnssss....

Yesterday was a good brain day.

Since I started treatment, I don't think as well as I used to.  I used to be pretty sharp.  For the first few months after my surgery, I was on so many medications, my brain was a  little foggy.  It was hard to concentrate.  I didn't really read anything but Facebook posts for over two months.  For me, that was beyond weird.  I'm a reader.  I was always reading a book or magazine.  It took awhile before I was able to concentrate well enough to read magazine articles.  Then I worked my way up to "fluff" novels - the kind you don't have to think too hard with - no complicated plots to try to remember.  I finally worked my way up to the Game of Thrones series - then I knew I was ready to go back to work.  Try reading those books back to back and keep up with who is doing what to whom.  That's a pretty good sign your brain is working again.

Since I've been back, one of the things I've struggled with is concentration.  Most days I do pretty well.  But every so often - usually within a week or so of chemo, and certainly the days right after chemo - I have a foggy day.  A day where if a faculty member asks me a question, I let them know that I don't know, but I'll look it up.  I know I won't be able to look it up that day....most likely if I happened to remember where to look it up, I might not understand it fully anyway.  I've actually put off doing a project for my boss because I knew it was one that I needed a sharp day to even understand what she wanted....and not every day is a sharp day.

It's frustrating.  I had heard of chemo brain during my treatment, but actually experiencing it is unsettling.  Sometimes it's just taking longer to figure something out.  Sometimes it's searching for a word.  Sometimes it's using the wrong word.  And sometimes it's looking at a form you've completed dozens of times and thinking you're doing it correctly, then having it come back with instructions on how to do it right.

Yeah - that's embarrassing.  I'm sure folks in other departments around campus are getting annoyed at getting screwed up stuff.  It hasn't happened *alot* - but the fact that it's happening at all bothers me.  So - I look up directions on how to do stuff that I used to not think twice about.  I make my to do list more often.  I go through my email even more often to make sure I don't miss deadlines.  I try to remind myself that it's all part of the process - the process of getting better, of recovery.  And it won't be this way forever.

This morning I had CT scans to see where we are at with my cancer.  I've had the 6 carbo/taxol chemo treatments that are the standard front line of care for ovarian cancer.  I still have some fluid around my lungs, so I don't expect to be considered NED (aka  - no evidence of disease) just yet.  But I'm optimistic that I'm close to that.  That my cancer has responded well to chemo, and maybe I just need one or two more treatments to finish it off.  I'll find out next Wednesday.  Y'all keep me in your prayers until then.

Now - for something non-cancer related!  My youngest son J competed in the District/Area track meet for his school a few weeks ago - and placed 2nd in District and 4th in Area!  We are so proud of him.  This qualified him to go to Regionals for the first time.  That was the goal he had set for himself, and I'm so glad he reached it.  Unfortunately, he had a bad day throwing at Regionals - nerves I guess.  But next year he'll be a senior, and he has this experience to learn from. 

If I haven't mentioned it before, we have a cow and chickens on our place out in the boonies.  Currently Steak (our cow) is off at my cousin's place meeting some boys.  We're hoping she's playing the hussy and getting herself knocked up.  Ha!  Maybe once she's had a calf, I'll change her name to Lactation.  (Yes - we're terribly inappropriate in our naming of livestock. We are rednecks.  We don't hide that.  We wear it like a big ole badge!)

I'm currently considering names for the chickens - right now, Fricasse, Parmesan, and Korma are my favorites.  Let me know if you have any suggestions - I've got 13 chickens to name - 3 of 'em roosters. 

It looks like we're expecting yet another freeze tomorrow night.  I have 8 tomato plants that are trying to find a way out of the house.  And I'm about ready to hunt down Mother Nature and provide her with some damn Midol because seriously?  It's May.  There is no need for this freezing crap in May. 

See?  Life goes on.  Even with cancer.  In SPITE of cancer.  Because that's the way it should be. 

I'm So Vain.....I Bet I Think This Blog is About Me...

As I stand in the bathroom smoothing moisturizer onto my throat and face, I stare at myself.  Only now instead of looking to see if there are any blemishes that need covering up today, or whether the dark circles under my eyes need it, there is only one thing that draws my gaze.

My head. My nearly bald head.

Look - I know it's part of the deal.  In order to beat this stupid disease, I need treatment, and that treatment makes me bald.  I accept that.  But I don't have to like it.  It's weird.  ALL the changes that this disease and treating it have made to my body - they're all weird. 

You may not realize this about me - but I'm vain.  Always have been.  Not conceited - I'm no Cindy Crawford by any means - but I was a cute girl, and a pretty young woman, not to mention a bit of a hot mama in my younger days.  I took pride in how I looked.  I may not have re-done my makeup 4 times a day in high school (and yes - might have made fun of those who did), but I made sure my hair and makeup looked good before I left the house for the day.  And I did that every day.  I was not the gal who ran to 7-11 without her makeup on.  Ever.  If you saw me out and about, I was wearing makeup.  It might just be foundation and mascara, but it was there.

I can't wear mascara anymore - because I have no eyelashes.  I can't fix my hair anymore because I have none.  I wonder if perhaps God is teaching me a lesson somehow - that I took too much pride in how I looked before, and now I'm having to re-evaluate my image of myself.  Even if that's not the case, it's what I'm doing these days.  When I don't look in the mirror and see a little old man anyway. 

I had hoped that I would have some kind of ethereal beauty even with my baldness - that somehow something would shine through the havoc cancer has wrecked on my body.  Um. No.  Didn't happen.  It's hard to look ethereal with a sparse gray fringe and no eyebrows. This is why I wear scarves and don't rock the bald look.  I try to smile more - smiles always make you look better.   But it really does bother me that I have no eyelashes.

Why am I sharing that I'm a vain ex-hottie?  Not to get comments that I still look good, or anything like that.  Really.  Rather I'd like that someone with this stupid disease to find this and realize that cancer really does change more than just your body.  It changes your attitude - and how you view yourself.  Once upon a time when asked to describe myself, I would say "kinda cute, mousy brown hair, nice brown eyes."  Now I'm "the chick with the scarf on her head."  That's it.

 Man what I wouldn't do to have that "mousy" brown hair again.  I wonder if I'll ever be able to just accept that I'll never be that woman again.  Will I be able to accept this new look?  This disease and its treatment has aged me - it really has.   I spent most my life looking somewhat younger than my age.  Now I look much older.  As I look towards my birthday tomorrow - where I'll turn 48 - I look in the mirror and see a woman who looks older - in her 50's maybe.  But that's not really such a bad thing is it?  Isn't 50 the new 40?  If not, I'm making it so! 

Don't get me wrong, I'm so grateful to be having another birthday tomorrow.  There were a few days last October when I wasn't so sure that would be the case.  And now - oddly enough- I'm looking forward to turning 50.  Before I got sick, I was kinda dreading it.  Now I know - it's way better than the alternative!  Yet I'm trying to be brutally transparent on this blog - because I think it's important for people to know what cancer does to you.  How it changes you - not just physically, but emotionally as well.  I'm lucky that it's not making me bitter (much).  I hope it never does.  But I am not the same woman I was 7 months ago. 

Not hardly.  Maybe that's not such a bad thing.