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My Friend Is Dying of Cancer

by | Oct 7, 2010 | Coping With Losing A Friend, Friend Loss, Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Hospice, Ovarian Cancer | 3 comments

my friend is dying

of cancer

a friend. a cyber-friend.

we met 4 years ago on a grief site, called “beyond indigo.” there were about 5 or 6 of us who all came on at the same time, and we were a nice, tight little group. (these internet sites can be great…in the middle of the night, when you feel awful, someone may be on. even if no one is on, someone has written about feeling as awful as you…helpful. very.)

she is very spiritual. she follows the sufi path. she told us all in a post about an “ancestor ” shrine, so i made one for tom. and while it is mostly dismantled now it helped me. it was such a wonderful idea and i learned and grew from it.

anna’s loves name was ishaaq, and he led groups, and loved life, and was gorgeous. they played and sang together at their meetings (i am probably getting terminology wrong here, but it does not matter) he, and she, both seemed so wild and free to me. and that’s in a spiritual sense. there were problems. he had diabetes, and died from complications of it. she has major vision issues, which have left her disabled, and yet anna is a remarkable artist.

it just comes from within her. she is a shining spirit, to me, to many people. she dreams of ishaaq, and they are beautiful dreams. she never thought my “winks” were silly. i’m grateful to her.

here’s one of my favorite anna facts: many people in her religious tradition seem to take new names. she has a friend who posts on FB as Shaqeena Nonofyourbeeswax. (again, i may be a little off, but you get the picture). that is a cool friend. anna is cool.

she’s dying.

i guess, in reality, we all are, but she is, in reality. she has ovarian cancer. she had an operation and chemo, she was doing well, and now it’s back. and faced with a decision of more chemo and shitty quality of life, she chose hospice and pain management and, quite possibly, another lovely year…another walk around the sun.

(i now wish something that anna taught me to people for their birthdays….”a wonderful walk around the sun”)

you really can just be friends online these days. we’ve never met, but we have a connection. we do talk on the phone, and i’m always glad when she calls. it breaks my heart that she has to go through this. it makes me so happy that she has the friends that she does who do, and will continue to, support her. i think that her spiritual tradition is amazing about death, about crossing over and about soul-mates and eternal life. when she called me to tell me she said “i’m going to be the first to see my soulmate”…i knew what she was saying. in that instant i felt happiness for her.

i felt jealous of her.

i know anna is facing some rough times. i know she will get help from hospice and her friends, family and religious family. when she makes her transition she will be “handed off” into the arms of her beloved ishaaq. and her friends will be sad that she’s gone, that her gentle, creative and loving spirit has left this world.

i will be too. i’m her cyber-friend.

one day we’ll meet, on another plane. maybe she’ll be there wearing one of her incredible dancing outfits and she’ll sing me into another world with her sweet voice. maybe she and ishaaq will be there and they’ll bring tom to me, having befriended him on the other side.

i wish anna peace and strength and love.

i know she’ll have all of those things as she moves through her life.

Getting Sucked Into The Black Hole Again

by | Oct 7, 2010 | Anxiety Disorders, Coping With Depression, How To Cope With A Suicide, How To Help With Low Self-Esteem, Major Depressive Disorder, Sadness, Self Loathing, Self-Esteem, Suicide | 9 comments

I’ve battled depression since I was a teen. I didn’t know what it was until late into my twenties. I just felt as if something was wrong with me or like I was a bad person.

I’ve been on medication for the last year. It was working. Working really well. My mood had greatly improved. I was no longer hearing a baby cry random times of the day. My anxiety had lessened. But the last couple of months it’s stopped working. I thought I was just in a funk. It happens from time to time. When I’m in a funk, I feel down and I lose all interest in housework, my kids, my husband, and my life in general. The one thing that keeps me going is school. I love going to school. I love doing the homework. It gives me purpose.

I started to feel down this summer.

I don’t have any friends. People say “you must have some friends,” but the truth is: I haven’t had a friend in over 10 years. When I met my husband it was wonderful. He was my friend and that was all I needed. Truthfully, I think I need more friends. I need someone to connect with. Someone to talk to besides him. I hate this feeling of being alone. I know my anxiety keeps me from talking to people and I need to work on it.

I was in therapy the first seven months that I was taking my medication. My counselor thought I was doing wonderfully. I wanted to be doing wonderfully. But the truth is, I was still having anxiety. Anxiety about leaving the house. About meeting new people. About about being a good enough parent or spouse.

I’m back to the dark place. I’m having thoughts of suicide again. Sometimes, I think sometimes everyone would be better off without me. I’ll think of how easy it would be to wreck my car while I’m driving to school so everyone would just think it was an accident.

I know I need to change my meds again. I need to call and set an appointment up. But I have anxiety about that, too. I don’t want to admit I am a failure. That once again I am not okay. And I worry, what if they don’t believe me? What if I am just overreacting?

What if I get in to see the doctor and I don’t have enough courage to say what I’ve said here?

(ed note: why don’t you bring this post in with you if you’re afraid you can’t talk about it? Any doctor will take you seriously.

Much, much love. Please remember that suicide is never, ever the answer. The Dark Place is a place that many of us have been before. There is hope.

If you are seriously considering suicide, this is the phone number for the National Suicide Prevention Hotline:

1-800-273-8255

Please know that you are loved. And you are never alone.)

I Just Need Someone To Be There

by | Oct 7, 2010 | Breast Cancer, Cancer and Neoplasia, Denial | 23 comments

What came first, the chicken or the egg?

Did I first find a band of brothers that could be there for me, through life’s ups and downs, and use them to help, should shit get rough? Or, somewhere in the back of my mind, did I know that through all the denial, something was about to come up that I was going need back up for?

I have found so much respite, joy, strength, laughter, camaraderie, hope, humble…wait, is humbleness a word? (I think, “been humbled by” is more appropriate but it didn’t fit grammatically.) And I feel like what I have to say right now will betray everything I have found. I will betray what has become my family, mi familia, and they don’t even know how important they are to me.

I’m all over the place, a grammatical idiot, probably fucking up my spelling to the highest (even though I am a middle school spelling bee winner!)

I want to be irreverent and funny and take it all in stride. I want to have the strength that these women who have had horrible illness, sick babies, miscarriages, lost of loved ones, painful break-ups have. I want them to still want me as part of their band. But I know what I am doing… or not doing…is so wrong..and I don’t want to lose them. I am making every excuse, cutting every corner, and not hitting it head on.

I am so sorry if I have pretended to be someone I am not.

(Christ on crutches, I sound like an insane crazy person.)

I have developed relationships here and on The Twitter that I am so vested in. I’m afraid to tell you. Will you still want me, after you have survived, you have fought, you have won, you have lost and I finally tell you my secret?

I have a lump. A sizable lump. My left breast has hurt for about a month. I have done nothing about it.

Because what if it is something? There is NO ONE here for me.

My Chelle Belle. She would be devastated. She reminds me constantly that she doesn’t know what she would do without me. When the ache first started, we joked, “what the hell would I do if all the sudden you came to me and thought you had The Dead ? You can’t have The Dead? What would I do without you?”

So I can’t tell her. And my Bean, my beautiful Baby Bean…what would she do without me? There is NO ONE for her besides me.

Her dad? The 40-year old Roller Derby sensation, who has been on the verge of eviction for the last 5 years? The one who only makes time for her if it’s one of his championship roller derby bouts? And she can find her own transportation to it? At 17?

Or maybe my mom, who is living on my couch right now. Acts like an addict even when she isn’t using. Until this morning, I thought had been in jail for the past three days for driving with no license, in a car with bad tags. Any minute now, she’s going to find the next great thing in American health care. Which means that every morning, I hand out bus fare to my mom and my kid. And at around 3PM, everyone calls me to ask what’s for dinner. Well, at least Chelle is only calling because she knows I’ve forgotten to defrost something. She’s home and will happily do that for me.

Because, when the kid is 17 and the mom is crazy and the partner is a musician, you only worry about that ache in your boobie the third time you toss and turn. Which only happens at about 2am, when the dishes are done and the dog is walked and the clothes are pressed and the homework is done and YOUR homework is done, and work clothes are clean and school clothes are clean and your kids who AREN’T your kids are tended to and you’ve gotten a little strength from your blogs….

And you still feel like you failed because there are dishes in the sink and you didn’t exercise, no matter how much you bitch about your weight, and that paper could’ve been better and, have you seen the ant brigade making a home right next to the fridge? and the lawn needs to be done and the job is trying to kill you and the floor needs to be vacuumed and the beautiful jungle you loved when you got the house REALLY needs to be pruned before it eats one of the poor babies walking to the bus stop on your corner and there are only 3 paychecks before Thanksgiving and it’s at your house this year and…

And…

There is a lump on my left breasticle. And my boobies hurt. And whatever that means, I just don’t have time for it.

But I’m gonna call my doc – the same doc who has NEVER met an ailment that a vegan yoga lifestyle wouldn’t fix, thank you Government HMO – I’m gonna call him tomorrow. And I’m gonna try to make time for an appointment to go see him before I’m due in Kansas City for 6 days. But I’m scared. And I’m sorry to all of the women who are probably cursing me out under the credo of early detection. Because I just know its bad. And I don’t know how to tell anyone. And I am surrounded by people who can’t care and listen because my job is to care and listen.

And I’m scared, terribly scared.

And I just need someone to be there.

And I am so sorry for asking.

Update: So after writing this last night I was a mess and clearly had to tell ChelleBell  what was going on. And then i frantically found Aunt Becky on the Twitter and asked her PLEASE DON’T POST THAT. And because she rocks my socks off, AND has probably picked up on the fact that I have roving bouts of the Bat Shit Insane, she agreed to put the squash on it. But now I know how important all of that was to get out, and I feel like a total punk after the stories you all have shared here and my apologies for not trusting you. And I’m feeling so much lighter today.

And just called my doctor.

And I totally am having cupcakes for lunch.

I Want To Sue Susan G. Komen

by | Oct 7, 2010 | Anger, Breast Cancer | 6 comments

I want to sue Susan G. Komen.

I want to sue Playtex gloves, Campbell’s Soup, Glad wrap, and every single corporation making money on the carnage of cancer. I want compensation for the last 7 Octobers shoved down my throat with pink ribbons and “awareness.”

How dare you. My physical rubble, my scars, my rib cage, my bones remember the day my breasts betrayed my body – I still had a baby at home to hold.

How dare you paint me pink. And to place your pink interpretation of my experience on mundane housewife products? Insult, meet injury. I hear some effed-up patriarchal focus group somewhere, dudes kicking back, women wearing men’s suits trying to live with the fact that they sold out. This is what they are saying to me with every pink ribbon: “See…I even own this; you are a woman and you mean nothing more than cleaning products—and if I can, I will whore you out to make money.”

I thought we’d come a long way, baby?

…baby?

Psyche, join hands with your old friend despair, as we walk through the aisles of life in October and are hammered by image after image of a pink ribbon and the plethora of pepto-bismol shaded products I am supposed to buy. Does a kitchen sponge really make a woman get a mammogram? Is the dog food manufacturer really giving money to breast cancer research? I want evidence. I deserve evidence. I want the lab report on the efficacy of the color pink to reduce incidence of breast cancer. I want evidence that demonstrates that just seeing a pink ribbon on a golf ball increases the chance a woman will do a self-examination.

My body was hijacked by a disease at 36 . Hacked up, hacked off. Nerves cut, nodes removed. Home in time to hold my baby and play with my toddler. Dead tissue, dead sexuality, dead eyes meet mine every time I look in the mirror. Each October, my “recovery” is held hostage by corporations who sell their products with pink ribbons on them. Another invasion. Another intrusion. More and more mocking and belittling by those in power. I have to fight to “survive” October.

Oh October, I am tired of surviving you, and the other traumas of invasion that make me qualified to use the word “Survivor”.

Susan G. Komen, Avon, Revlon–you take one good look at my daughter’s 7-year old face when she sees the wreckage of my body. See her naive disgust, confusion, and fear that it will be her fate as well. See her try to piece together why her mother has no breasts, no nipples, no evidence of being a woman. Look directly into her eyes when she asks if she will “get it,” and I dare you to hand her a pink ribbon.

I want to sue Susan G. Komen.

Today Is Bullshit

by | Oct 7, 2010 | Abuse, Animal Abuse, Fear, Grandparent Loss, Pain And Pain Disorders, Psoriasis | 0 comments

Let’s take a look at some things that are total bullshit right now.

Psoriasis is bullshit. The itching, the peeling skin, the pain. People staring at me. People making nasty comments about me, asking to be moved to a different table so they don’t have to sit near me, avoiding any chance of touching me. All bullshit.

Medications to treat psoriasis are bullshit. All the damage it can cause, the extra blood tests needed, the worsening of the itching (and to think, I thought it wasn’t possible to itch MORE), the dryness, my lips chapping and bleeding even though I’m practically attached to the chapstick tube. All bullshit.

My best friend’s Grandma died yesterday, and the best I can do is help her by editing a couple of letters she needs to send, and being there online. Because she lives several states away, and I can’t just go hug her and tell her that she can relax and cry, and that I’ll take care of the huge list of things she has to do. That she doesn’t have to hold it together alone. Bullshit.

That people I don’t even know online have lost people so very special to them, and there’s not a damned thing I can do to help. I read their words, and I can relate to how they feel, but I can’t find the words to help. Instead I’m sobbing my heart out for people I’ve never met, and wishing that somehow, I could make it just a little better. All bullshit.

I’m afraid to walk from my car into the store because my purse might get stolen again. I should not have to live in fear. Fuck you, asshole, for stealing my purse, and part of my confidence. It was really fucking hard to get that confidence, and it will be even harder to get back there again. Total bullshit.

The Mate is in constant pain, and no matter how much I want to, there is no way for me to make it better. He’s on so many heavy-duty drugs, and still, he hurts all the time. Medical science can find a way to build robotic arms and legs, and no way to help him with the pain in his spine? Bullshit.

Animal abuse. I don’t even need to go into how many animals are out there suffering, and I can’t fix it. I do what I can, I have more animals than I can easily take care of, I transport, and still, there are so many more out there suffering. It’s all bullshit.

Parents that are assholes, abusive, nasty, whatever. I had them, and I hate that anybody else might have to go through something similar to what I’ve gone through. I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT. I just want to gather everybody up in my arms and some how make it better. And I can’t. And that’s bullshit.

There is so much more bullshit I’d like to cover, but I’m having trouble typing through my tears, so I’m going to go hug my dog, find some tissues, and try to figure out at least one bullshit thing that I might be able to fix.