Limbodacious

Totally Gushy, Weepy, Nausea-Inducing Post

Here is a short list of things that always make me cry:

1.  Talking to my grandma, knowing she doesn't remember who I am. (Alzheimer's)

2.  "Tears in Heaven" by Eric Clapton

3.  Finding out a chemo regimen has failed.

4.  The scene in "Cast Away" where Tom Hanks realizes Wilson has drifted out to sea. 

And a new addition to the list...

5.  This post from Louise.

And not just because it says some very kind things about me at a time I desperately need to hear them.  It is just spot on. 

In my own experiences, I have found that Today's Woman is being pressured to turn away from her femininity.  I lived mostly in what we might call a "man's world."  Military.  Factories.  Engineering school.  And to get ahead, actually just to keep up, I had to deny everything in myself that was emotional, vulnerable, and silly.  The women I encountered and I played this back-and-forth game where I thought they resented me, and they thought I looked down on them. 

So when everything that made me anatomically a women malfunctioned, the irony was not lost on me.  But I sucked it up and headed into the project that would show me how tough I really was.  Or wasn't.  It took a few months of clinging to my independent, stubborn ways before I finally realized I needed a friend. 

The thing is, women just need other women.  Not just when we have cancer, or are infertile, or going through a divorce or insert-your-life-crisis-here.  I felt so stupid for going through life like some kind of robot trying to "get ahead," and now that all of that had fallen apart I had no one to talk to.  No one who could understand the issues I was faced with.

I never thought I'd say it, but thank god for the internet.  I was shocked to find out how many women were out there, looking for the same thing I was.  And not only were they willing to give me a few answers and compare experiences, they were willing to be my friends (I won't name names because I'm sure friends of mine would rather remain anonymous...ha).  And I finally saw that even though we were far away, or had totally different personalities, or weren't going through the same things, that we had something to offer each other.  Something that cannot be summed up by a link in the "Friends" column.

So to Womankind... I say thank you.  Thank you for saying my shoes are cute, even though you don't know me.  Thank you for pulling strings to get me a same-day doctor's appointment because I sounded worried.  Thank you for listening to me whine, and for hating the same things I hate.  Thank you for making a joke.  Thank you for being kind and offering your friendship.  Thank you for helping me see there are things to be thankful for, at a time when I thought there were none.

Don't Judge a Book by the Unruly Barking Dogs on Its Cover

You know that neighbor you have, the one with the dogs that bark insanely at every passing person, dog, or gust of wind?  Well, that's me.  While I love my dogs to bits, I am mindful that everyone else does not love the noise they are almost constantly making.

Today was one of those perfect early-spring days... warm, sunny, dog-walking weather.  So, we were out for our walk and apparently, so was everyone else.  I. Was. Mortified.  Every ten feet my dogs erupted into a cacophony of barks and growls while my neigbors looked down on me with unmasked disdain. 

After a blissful hundred feet of uninterrupted doggie-walking, a man passed me on rollerblades with his dog.  Dogs explode into barking fits.  Then, a little while later, he passed me again.  Dogs go insane.  It didn't take me too long to realize I was being followed.  Well, not followed exactly.  He was making laps around me.  I thought, how rude.  He can see how he is upsetting my dogs and the stress it is causing me, but he keeps doing it.  Then he stopped.  He was ten feet ahead of me, clearly waiting on me.  I started doing that thing in my head where I search the area for weapons of opportunity if he tries to attack me. 

I passed by him, keeping my eyes straight ahead, trying to act like he wasn't there even though the dogs were growling and pulling towards him.  He was walking up to me.  "Ummm, miss?"  Shit, ignore him. Ignore him.  "I couldn't help but notice that your dogs seem to be barking a lot and..."  Thanks, asshole.  I hadn't noticed.  "...well, I'm a dog trainer, and I could help you if you wanted."  Oh shit, I'M the asshole!

This man, this total stranger, went on my walk with me pointing out how to keep the dogs under control.  He walked with me for a half hour, a half hour he could have been doing something like spending time with his own well-behaved dog.  Where all the other people I had passed saw an incompetent girl with annoying dogs, he saw a overwhelmed girl trying her best to be both a good neighbor and a good dog owner.  He saw an opportunity to use his particular skill set to help someone.  And I saw a creepy stalker guy and desperately tried to avoid him.  I really am an asshole.

It is encouraging to know that this kind of person exists in the world, even in my own neighborhood.  I hope that, given the chance, I will help the person everyone is scoffing at, too. 

This blog entry is dedicated to the nicest guy on my block... you rock.

In Which I am Schooled by My Little Sister

Yes, I am aware that my blog looks like ass, and thank you for noticing.  I arrogantly assumed that my 100-level course in computer programming and my unfaltering common sense would allow me to navigate the volumes of html neccessary to make my blog look pretty.

This was not the case.  So after altering and tampering the html to the point where it could not be repaired, I went with my tail between my legs to my 15-year-old sister.  Now, I don't flatter myself to think that my life is so fantastically exciting that everyone in the world would want to read about it, but what a 15-year-old is doing with a blog, I don't know.  It is mostly comprised of such gems as:

"OMG So-and-so's butt looked so cute at school today!  I hate homework!  Katie I know you are reading this you loser!! LOL LMAO ROFL JK!!!!1"

I love my sister truly and passionately, but come on.  The point is her blog layout kicks my blog's ass.  So I ask her if she can teach me some tricks to make mine look cool, too.  This is her response:

"I could try and teach you, but I don't know if it's something that can really be taught.  I think it's a generational thing."

O... M... G!

While I am working on this ugly beast, feel free to check out my newly-added, freshly-alphabetized links!  Because back in MY day, we had to alphabetize things (like, you know, those dinosaurs formerly known as BOOKS).

O Cruel Fate, Why Must You Screw with My Head?

I try not to whine about my physical problems resulting from chemo, but one that I really do hate is the loss of my hearing.  Due to some bad information (or rather, no information at all) at the start of chemo, I was put on a drug I probably shouldn't have taken.  This drug caused me to lose 80% of my hearing, which was damaged to begin with.

I tell you that story to tell you this one.

I went to an elementary school called Saint Rita.  In a neighboring town, there is another elementary school called Saint Rita School for the Deaf.  In third grade, we went on a field trip to a museum in said neighboring town.  See where I'm going?  They thought we were deaf, and it took fifteen minutes into the tour for us and the sign-language tour guide to figure out what the HELL was going on.

Fast forward to the present day.  My very ambitious, proactive social worker arranged for my boyfriend and I to have free sign language classes, for crowded or loud places where I simply can't hear anything.  She gave me the information sheet on the class, and it is taught at, guess where, Saint Rita School for the Deaf.

Bizarre coincidence or an eerie example of real-life foreshadowing?  We'll never know.

P.S.  Saint Rita is the patron saint of infertility, tumors, and impossible causes.

Mama Mia!

Despite my best efforts, my boyfriend has found this site.  He said that I sounded very negative (Ummm, hi, have we met?) and that I was too hard on the people I write about.  I told him I am only harsh and belittling on the internet, stupid, now get your goddamn laundry off the couch.

Love you honey.

His comment did remind me that while I have had a difficult year and a half, there have been some redeeming moments and wonderfully kind people.  One of the most surprising people in the latter category is my mother.

My pre-cancer relationship with my mother was, ummm, rocky.  From ages 0 to 18, she was your typical condescending, never-present, guilt-tripping mother.  From ages 18 to 20, I was your typical self-righteous, unforgiving, done-me-wrong daughter.  At age 20 we mutually decided to scrap the whole relationship up to that point and call it a do-over.  Because it was at this age that I realized I actually needed her. 

During chemo, radiation, and the general unpleasant-ness that a cancer diagnosis brings, it is hard to keep up on the daily routine tasks that you never thought about before.  On my bad days, I couldn't even think about switching insurance companies, needing new bras, decorating the house, or buying groceries... and thanks to my mom, I never had to.  And what is even more amazing than her doing all these things, is that she has never asked to be thanked, congratulated, or praised in return.  She has willingly embraced a role as my little helper, and never makes me feel guilty, smothered, or robbed of my independence.

There are a few specific things she has done that move me almost to tears as I recall them.  Sending $50 checks in the mail (so I can't put up a fight) and never mentioning them.  Discreetly handing me a bag when she comes over, and later when I look, it contains cute picture frames that perfectly match the newly-redecorated bedroom.  Taking care of my terror of a 6-month-old puppy for 10 days when I had to go out of town, and calling me nightly to tell me what cute thing he did that day.  Asking me out for a girls' shopping trip where we shop separately, but she buys the whole kit and kaboodle at the checkout.  Sending me cards in the mail weekly with interesting or pertinent newspaper articles enclosed.

I never knew that my mom, the bane of my existence for so long, was capable of these unselfish acts of caring.  I finally have the opportunity to get to know this beautiful person in my life.  And suddenly those silly arguments that kept us apart for so long seem just... well, silly.

Of course, my mom is only one of many people whose kindness to me during this hard time has been immeasurable.  And there are many more moms, dads, husbands, siblings, and friends taking care of their loved ones everywhere without the slightest griping.  To those people, YAY FOR YOU!  Go get an ice cream sundae and pat yourself on the back.

Bless This, Bitch

Occasionally late at night, I go into cancer chat rooms.  These places, like all other cancer resources, are usually filled with people double my age or older.  Tonight I was talking to another woman with ovarian cancer, and we were discussing different treatments we had, where we were from, and having a pretty nice commiseration.  Then, after a while, as people always do, she asked how old I was.  I told her, 21.

After hearing my age, she said, "Oh, bless your heart" and proceeded to strike up a conversation with someone else.  Maybe she had just exhausted her getting-to-know-you questions or maybe she wanted to include a less talkative member, but I felt like I had been dumped because of my age.

I don't exactly know what "Bless your heart" means.  I do know that it is my go-to phrase when someone shows me a picture of their toddler with a bucket on their head, so I'm pretty sure it doesn't mean, "I understand what you're going through and I'm sorry this happened to you." 

I mean, here was someone that up until that point I was having a perfectly dignified, adult conversation with for ten minutes.  And then all of a sudden, I was just some kid who was obviously too young to understand the complexities of what I, myself, what going through.  When I find out someone is 20+ years my senior, I don't say, "Shut up, granny, you have a husband and kids and you went into remission after your first round of chemo."  I don't say that because a) Despite how I might seem in this journal, I try not to be outwardly rude for no reason, and b) I don't have a clue what that person's life is. 

Talking to others affected by cancer often makes me feel like the little kid who wants to eat at the adult table at Thanksgiving.  (And even though she says no, grandma gives me some pudding to pacify me.)  Even as this collective group of so-called "survivors" and "warriors," the cancer world has devolved to the high-school level of cliques.  And just like in high school, I am not a perfect fit into any of them.   

Of course, it is nice to find someone with whom you share more things than just cancer.  But after a year of scouring the internet for sarcastic, cynical 20-somethings with ovarian cancer, I have found only 2.  So I am willing to expand my search criteria to find more people to talk to, if they will have me.   Isn't having cancer bad enough, without being shunned by the people who are supposedly there to support you because of age, creed, or what-have-you?

Oh, and on an entirely different note, my post-surgery bloodwork shows all markers are down almost to normal range.  And follow-up PET/CT doesn't show any new tumors or anything growing down there.  Good news all around!  Whew.

Obligatory Marriage/Fertility Post

Marriage and fertility are two topics that come up again and again when talking to young women with gynecologic cancers (which I do more often than the average person).  Normally I try to avoid the conversation entirely or just listen when others talk about it.  But I do think about it, and here's what I think.

My high-school English class had to read "Taming of the Shrew," as all high-school English classes do.  We also had to put on a little production of a few scenes.  When deciding who to cast as Kate, everyone in the class looked immediately at me.  My best friend, in one of the most embarrassing moments of my life, corrected them by saying, "That would only work if she never gets tamed." 

Ok, it is true that I have demonstrated some commitment-phobic tendencies, and yes, I did join the military and move to Texas to avoid becoming engaged.  But somewhere within me lurks the gene that makes silly girls everywhere dream of white dresses and roses on Valentine's Day.  I do want to get married, in fact, it would make me very happy.  Mostly I let the never-be-married comments go without rebuttal to keep my street cred with my cynical friends. 

Then, there is the matter of children.  This is a touchy subject for me, mostly because it is embarrassing.  The thing is, I never really thought that I wanted kids.  I feel like a terrible person when friends mourn the loss of their fertility, because really, it has not been a very emotional issue for me.  And worse still, I was able to keep my uterus, allowing the (unlikely) possibility of IVF with an egg donor, while women who really wanted children have adoption as their only option.  Sorry, I am a jerk.

In my head, I always thought I would get married, then someday end up pregnant by whatever way, and once I was pregnant I would embrace my maternal instinct and realize I had wanted kids all along.  But that will not happen.  To have a child now, I would have to really commit to it beforehand, do a lot of work and pay a lot of money to make it happen.  Cancer fucked my whole plan up, and now I have to face my biggest fear and actually think about what I want.  And that is very, very scary to me.

I still feel a little cheated, no matter how selfish it may be.  The option of having kids the natural way was taken away from me.  Maybe I would never have taken advantage of that option, but it should have been my choice to make.  So now I wait to see if my so-called biological clock starts ticking, so I can begin the long, arduous process of IVF or adoption.  Or maybe it never will kick in, and I'll never know what was the right choice, if I was in control of the decision. 

I don't know if any of this makes sense, mostly because the only other person I've discussed it with is, well, no one but myself.  It is hard to reconcile never wanting kids when you know you never will.  I feel like I should talk about it with my boyfriend, but I am afraid. Louise hit the nail on the head when she said she sometimes felt like "damaged goods," I can't help but wonder if my boyfriend will think that of me, too.  We seem to have an unspoken agreement to keep all thoughts of children unspoken.  The only opinion he has ever verbalized is that he would want to get married in the Church (although I can surmise that children are in his ten-year plan).  Going to Catholic school myself, I know that we could not be married in the Church if we know we can't have children.  The Catholics look down on this because without procreation, it is not a valid marriage.  (I withhold my own commentary on this statement, as the sheer ridiculousness of it speaks for itself.)  I am afraid that bringing up this sensitive subject would scare away any man who would ever consider marrying me (I say "any man" in the non-committal, future-tense way, but I mean my boyfriend).

I guess the point is, starting this cancer journey at 20 years old, I'm just not ready to make any of these choices.  I'm not ready to think about the entire rest of my life.  The only thought to fertility most of my friends have ever given is to wear a condom so they don't get pregnant in college, because that would be like, such a bummer.  I imagine as I grow, not being able to get pregnant will be a much more emotional issue for me.  Probably I will mourn the loss of my fertility at some point.  But for now my dogs are the biggest caretaking responsibility I can handle. 

I think this is actually one of the hardest things for young people with cancer, coming to important crossroads far, far ahead of schedule.  While other people our age are out partying and living like they are invincible, we are laden with financial and lifestyle choices, and the knowledge of our own mortality.  So instead of being wise beyond my years as I have been forced to for so long, I will respond to this fact with my most immature and self-centered (and true) response:  "It's not fair!"

P.S.  I do not mean any disrespect to our 20-something, invincibly partying friends out there.  Lives are just different, that's all.

Munchausen by Puppy Syndrome

I went into the ER with a stomach ache and left with a cancer diagnosis.

This fact has left me with a slightly skewed view of usually-innocuous health variations.  Therefore I project my fear of small rashes, slight coughs, and somewhat decreased appetites onto my dogs.  So when something happened that might actually cause alarm to a normal person, I may have overreacted slightly.

My dog was throwing up, once a day like clockwork, for a few days.  Seeing that this wasn't just an aberration but a growing pattern, I bullied the receptionist at my vet's office to make a same-day appointment.  When I got there, I relayed the symptoms to the vet and explained how this was clearly a life-threatening situation. 

He said to me what he has often said to me, "You know, I don't think most owners would have even noticed this!"  which at first I thought was a compliment, but as our vet-owner relationship progressed I realized he meant, "Give it a break lady, we have other work to do around here."

His diagnosis:  Acid reflux. Seriously.  Well, of course I left there in a huff to get a second opinion from a vet who wasn't a two-bit jerk with a dumb receptionist.  At the other clinic, which turned out to be extraordinarily more expensive, they were much more thorough, ran more tests, and came up with the same damn thing.  No ruptured organs, no flesh-eating virus, no bulging tumors, nada. 

It was at this point my boyfriend told me that I was acting crazy, and that we were going home to give Cooper the prescribed Doggy Tums. 

People in the medical world have been known to say, "If you hear hooves beating, it's probably a horse, not a zebra."  When I went in to the hospital, they expected me to have a cyst, or ectopic pregnancy, or something normal and routine.  But I was a zebra, much to everyone's suprise and dismay.

But I guess sometimes a horse is just a horse.  Unless it's a dog.

The Other Woman

The other night I had the, ummm, pleasure of dining at my boyfriend's parents' house.  Also in attendance was my boyfriend's brother and his semi-new girlfriend, Ashley. 

This girl was quite charming, as I found out in the obligatory we-are-going-out-with-people-that-are-related conversation.  My boyfriend and his brother rolled their eyes when we complained that both of them don't pick up after themselves and have generally bad taste in home decor.  Of course, this is one of those "safe" conversations that women who don't know each other can have, because it is basically what All Women hate about All Men.

She is also studying to be a pastry chef, so when she found out there was no dessert planned, she sprung into action and made a delicious apple crisp.  Seeming totally at home in the kitchen, she chatted with the mom and snuggled sweetly with her beau.

I, on the other hand, was too weak to get out of my chair and too spacey to make any real attempts at conversation with anyone.  And when I realized that my boyfriend's dad had touched the chicken with his bare hands, I was unable to eat dinner because of my low immune system. 

So basically, if this had been a competition in impressing the parents, Ashley kicked my ass.  While the parents were applauding her homemade apple crisp and laughing at her jokes, they were telling me, "Oh, dear, please don't get up" and trying to figure out whether my hair was actually my hair or a wig. 

But, later that night, after seeing how obliging and sweet she was to everyone, I was inspired.  I knew there was a gathering of my boyfriend's friends at a bar near our house, so I told him to stop by on our way home (me at a bar is more rare than a blue moon, he had a hard enough time getting me to go to his parents').  I even let one of his friends stay over on our couch (but just one, I didn't go too crazy with the favors).  After being so much more open and agreeable than I normally am, I felt very proud of myself. 

I was really a good girlfriend that night, hopefully I will repeat that performance again.  I guess all I needed was a role model... or a rival?

I've Never Been to Me

I was so excited to see the first little sprouts of hair growing back after I stopped chemo.  Finally, I thought, I won't look like a freak, I won't look like a freaking cancer patient.

Unfortunately, that has become part of the problem.  My hair is getting to the point of looking strikingly like a deliberate hair style.  Actually, it is looking pretty cute, much darker than it's ever been and covering my ears in the freezing cold days we have had recently.  There is now no physical reminder to everyone I meet that I have cancer, that I am very, very sick.

I thought that's what I wanted.  I can see people around me forgetting that I am sick, even though I still am.  I am not even out of treatment yet, I have been on radiation and going into chemo that won't make my hair fall out.  I can tell that my parents, my friends, even my boyfriend are starting to look at me as some kind of normal person again, not some frail, angelic cancer patient.

I thought that's what I wanted, too.  Here's the aforementioned problem.  Since I now have the appearance of a normal person (or at least as normal as I was before cancer struck), I am expected to act like a normal person.  When I complained of cabin fever last week, my boyfriend even suggested that I might get a part-time job to get out of the house a little.  I looked at him and thought to myself, Are you fucking crazy?  I am so exhausted and beat down and even a trip up the stairs forces me to take a nap! 

I was just about to give him the self-righteous How-could-you-be-so-insensitive speech when I realized that actually, I was jealous.  He has the ability to look at me and see me as I used to be.  He can forget about cancer, chemo, surgeries, and the whole bit.  He can forget all that and see the cute, fun girl he was dating before this shitbomb exploded on our life.  Unfortunately, I can't do that.  I have constant reminders thanks to endless appointments, pain, fatigue, and the black cloud of miserable-ness that has been following me for months. 

I wish that, maybe even just for a few minutes, I could forget all this and be who I thought I would be forever.  Tenacious, ambitious, and energetic instead of exhausted, cranky, and disallusioned.  I thought that maybe I would be a little run down while I was in treatment, and then Bang! instantly go back to the way I was immediately after I got better.  Just a little detour.  Apparently this is one of those detours that has you making three right turns and you go so far down a backroad you decide to just change your destination instead of figuring out where the hell you are.

Ok, I admit I was never Suzy Sunshine, but I was never like this either.  I have been discharged from the military, lost my job, lost many of my friends, and at some point I lost that drive inside me that wanted to do good things, make something of my life.  These are the things I defined myself by, and now they are gone.  When you take all the components of my personality, what is left?  What am I?  Or more existentially, who am I?  Were these things just part of a richer and still-intact identity, or have I lost much more than my way on the detour, my own self?

No, seriously, I am really asking you. 

I know this all sounds cheesy and very after-school-specialish, but these are things that I have really had to wonder.  If (god forbid) I do not recover from this disease, will I be like this for the rest of my life?  Unhappy, jaded, and worn out?  Call me vain but I would like better things to be said about me when I am gone.  I plug on in the hope that maybe when all this cancer shit goes away, I will be able to get back to my old self.  But I can't deny the possibility that might not happen, like I said many of the things I consider to be "me" are already gone. 

I am hoping that maybe I can compromise with this "new" person, and find my way from there.  Although, I have to say, she's kind of bitchy.