Limbodacious

As Promised

But Wait! There's More!

Watch this space!

Soon to come:   News!  Shoes!  Pictures!  (Including one that I will post here against my better judgment of a very special dress!)

It has come to my attention that my last three posts have cost me $4.95 each.

There have been complaints about the new color scheme, and to these concerned individuals I would like to say two things:

1.  Thank you for your concern.  We at Limbodacious are constantly working to improve the blog-reading experience for you.

2.  Suck it.

The truth is, I changed the colors in response to a feeling of change within me.  A little softer, a little sadder, a little more cautious.  I have felt for a while now that I am on the verge of... something.  It's a hard feeling to put your finger on, just a vague sense that something good, bad, or otherwise is about to happen.

It became a little clearer at my last appointment with my gyn/onc.  As I checked out, the receptionist asked me, "Would you like a referral to a gynecologist?"

"For what?"  I asked in disbelief.

"You know, your pap smears, routine things that you don't really need your gyn/onc to do."

I must not have concealed my shock very well, because she added, "It's not like we're not dumping you.  Wouldn't you rather go to a regular gynecologist than your cancer doctor every time?"

A regular gynecologist.  I knew what the words meant individually but couldn't really comprehend the concept.  But she was right, I should try to transition into a non-cancer-patient lifestyle as much as I can, because you know, I'm not a cancer patient anymore.

And that's what it is.

I am at a point where I need to re-assimilate myself into a world where I feel misunderstood and awkward.  And really, I don't want to.  It's not that I enjoy going through treatment, believe me, but at least within the four walls of an oncologist's office I felt safe, I was doing something actively to help myself, and most importantly, people understood the gravity of what I was going through.  Now as my scars heal and my hair grows out, my outside does not even reveal a hint of my recent struggles.

When I called the gynecologist they suggested, I mentioned that I had a history of agressive ovarian cancer.  I mentioned this, of course, to give them a picture of what exactly they're dealing with when I come in and, of course, to get a sooner appointment.  It's a strange saying these medical types have, "a history of..." like since it is not currently happening, it's all in the past. 

I guess now the issue is finding out what I have "a present of", which seems like it would be obvious, but instead I find myself clinging to the past looking over a cliff. 

And so now we begin a new color of Limbo for a new stage of Life.

Things That Are New

One of my biggest frustrations is running into someone I haven't seen for years, and instantly being asked, "So, what's new?"

"Well, since I saw you last, I got cancer, almost died, almost died again, almost died one last time, and now I'm really into Boston Legal.  So, how's school going?"

But, today when I checked my email I got the clear message that I was due for checking in with the internets and giving a what's-new kind of update.   It said, "YOUR TYPEPAD ACCOUNT HAS BEEN SUSPENDED."   I changed my bank account and it had been so long since I bothered with Typepad that I forgot I would need to update my account with the new information.   So what this email should have said "YOU HAVE ABANDONED YOUR INTERNET FRIENDS YOU FILTHY FILTHY WHORE."

And so I post to you now.   And in the spirit of full disclosure, I feel I need to tell you I have no good reason for my absence.   I wasn't busy, I have nothing big happening in my life, hell, I can't even say I was planning my wedding because we have opted for more of a scheduled elopement.  The truth is I just didn't want to think about cancer.   I wanted to go off and be Ms. Normal and forget that all this shit ever happened.

By the way, you can't do that.   The more I tried to distance myself from those thoughts the more they became all I could think about.   Perhaps this is why they say to keep your enemies close. Without an outlet I spiraled further and further down into the Abyss of Bitterness.   Even now as I type this I feel a load lifted off of my shoulders and transferred onto an insignificant page of the internet that hardly anyone will ever read.

So to make a long story somewhat less long, here is What's New.

1. The main thing going on right now is I am having some trouble with fainting.   As in, I faint a lot.   This has been a problem that has plagued me off and on for some time, but it is getting worse quickly.   My doctor ran 800 tests and found a heart defect, got all worked up and told me I needed a pacemaker, and sent me off for 800 more tests under the supervision of the Most Unpleasant Cardiologist in the World.   But after all of that, it turned out the defect was not causing my fainting, was pretty minor, and the whole thing turned out to be an useless albeit interesting detour.   I am currently under the care of a neurologist who is tirelessly searching for any other incidental findings that aren't causing the fainting either.  I have much more to say on the subject of fainting but I think I will leave it for another entry on another day.

2. So did you guys know that having a job absolutely blows?   In case you didn't, let me be the one to tell you.   Having a job blows.   After about 9 months at my job I realized I jumped back into the working world way too soon and had to cut back my hours.   I am constantly frustrated by my boss, my coworkers, my hours, but goddamn if this place doesn't have the best insurance plan I have ever seen, so I'm sticking it out for a while.   Boyfriend is having troubles of his own and is considering making a transfer... a pretty big one.   So be on the lookout for news of a Noelle-esque move.

3. I have recently discovered the zen of gardening and plan to torture you with minute-by-minute updates (with photos!) of my garden.

4. I'm trying to answer all the emails I am behind on, seriously.   Give me another week, I swear.  I also have a smashing Ode to My Shoes in the works which I'm very excited about.

So there you have it internets.   Maybe you didn't miss me but I sure missed you.   Anyone have any What's New of their own to share?   Because, um, I haven't been reading your blogs either.

Sieze This (For Lack of a Less Crude Title)

Let me be honest about something.  I watch a lot of television.  The depth and breadth of my knowledge on almost every show since 1983 allowed me to become a three-time TV trivia champion on the local public radio station.  So it isn't surprising, really, that most of my posts here begin with "I saw this thing on TV the other day and..."

Anyway, I saw this thing on TV the other day, and I got a little worked up about it.   A patient, being wheeled out of the hospital said, "I should be dead but I am alive.  From now on every day is a gift."   I started my jaw-dropped, dramatically-slow-I-can't-believe-what-I'm-hearing head turn routine toward Boyfriend, who immediately recognized the maneuver and, knowing that an explosion was imminent, quickly started his the-grass-needs-mowed-the-dogs-need-fed-and-oh-would-you-look-at-the-time routine.

The thought itself is not very original, a person goes through a horrible trauma and comes out on the other side with a renewed appreciation and zest for life.  Seize the day, whatever.  I just don't understand it.  If every day is a gift, for me it appears to be of the hand-knit-poodle-skirts-with-yarn-balls-for-tails variety.  (A little Rae trivia:  That is a gift I really received when I was 16 years old, and I rank it as the second worst gift I ever got.  Number 1 is a can of peanuts I got for Christmas.)  Maybe with all the lasting complications I've had, I'm still too mired in the mess to see past it all and start smelling the roses.  Maybe my late great grandmother was right, and I was born jaded, and jaded I will forever be.   

Either way, you won't find "seizing the day" on my to-do list.  I will not come back better than ever and travel the world, devote my life to service, or date Sheryl Crow.  In fact, I find my to-do list shrinking by the day.  I leave dishes in the sink,  I don't react when my dogs start barking insanely at the neighbors, I rudely cut the Victoria's Secret girl off in mid-spiel when she is telling me about their great new credit card, and I consider it a personal affront that my boss expects me to show up every day (on time no less!) ... all the while repeating my own post-cancer mantra in my head:

I don't have time for this horseshit.

So I guess this is my way of seizing the day.  Armed with the knowledge that I may keel over at any moment, I refuse to sweat the small stuff.  The small stuff being earning a living, dealing with annoying people, and contributing to society in general.  And I will continue to cast off all those responsibilities that keep me from watching season after season of syndicated shows on DVD, so that someday I can rest in peace knowing my tombstone proudly proclaims:

Here lies Rae... loving wife, devoted dog owner, and four-time NPR televison trivia champion.

It's Been a While Since I Did a Little Bitching and Name-Calling, No?

A Letter to the Various Employees of My Former Oncology Office

Dear Dr. McBitch,

Yes, I did tentatively nickname you Dr. Feisty in the beginning, but I see now that your feistiness was really just bitchiness masked by your extreme desire for a new patient.  I am gravely disturbed by your apathy regarding my health.   Did you notice that I missed two appointments?  Did you notice I went to the ER three times?  Did you notice that I had prescriptions for antibiotics called in?  Did you notice that I stopped taking maintenance therapy?

I hope that you didn't notice, because if you did and just didn't call me, you ought to be investigated.  At first I tried to defend you, telling myself, "I can't expect her to be like Dr. Wonderful."  But you know, I think I can expect you to be like him.  I think it's reasonable to expect that your doctor cares whether you live or die.  Call me crazy - oh wait, that's right, you did call me crazy once.

If you haven't guessed by the tone of this letter, you are not my doctor anymore.  But don't beat yourself up too much, it's not all your fault.  The people you hired have also driven me away.  Thanks for nothing, and I look forward to your bankruptcy.

Sincerely,
Eat Roast Beef

Dear Nurse, Whose Name I Can Only Assume Is "Unavailable at This Time,"

Only since I was 8 years old and writing letters to Santa have I attempted to correspond with such an illusive and mystical person.  I wonder sometimes if you do in fact exist, or at least if you ever have the time or the decency to call a very sick person back.  I know that I do not currently have active cancer, but I'd say I have enough problems to warrant at least a halfass acknowledgment on  your part.

I think this whole nursing shortage has given you a dangerously inflated view of your own importance.  Don't get me wrong, I'm the first person to praise nurses and their superiority even over the doctors they work for.  I'm talking about YOU.  You are a no-good, useless waste of a phone extension.  You are a haughty witch who should not even be able to call herself a nurse, since I have never actually witnessed you lift a finger to help any patient, ever.   I cannot believe you still have a job, and if I were you, I would thank my lucky stars that you haven't been fired yet instead of bitching about how much stress you have to deal with. 

Please do not respond to this letter.  Not that you would.

Sincerely,
Eat Roast Beef

Dear Receptionist, For Whom No Snarky Nickname Even Scratches the Surface of the Evil Contained in Your Black Heart,

First of all, get that sandwich out of your mouth.

Okay then.  Look around you.  That building you are in is called a "Doctor's Office."  The people who come in there are very sick and probably already a little upset about how things are going.  Your job, contrary to what you may have been told, is not to make them want to just get it over with and kill themselves, no matter how dramatically that would cut costs.

It's bad enough that you think you know more about my condition than I do.  It's bad enough that you either don't know how to work the phones or hang up on anyone with a problem you don't know how to deal with.  It's bad enough that when I told you the ER doctor thought I had an abscess, you tried to give me an appointment four weeks away.  But in addition, you insist upon being a spoiled, self-absorbed, lazy, rude cow.

A lot of the other patients probably just think you are stupid, but I can see through your dumb act.  You know exactly what you are doing.  You choose to make people feel bad about themselves, to frustrate them, to kick them when they are down, all so you can feel better about your empty life and hollow soul.  It's sad that you have to go all the way down to cancer patients to find someone worse off than you.

In closing, the only reason I haven't killed you is because a jury would never believe there is a person as pure evil as you.  You are the only person I would wish cancer upon.  The only thing you have ever said that I agree with is your terse closing on the phone... Buh-bye now.

Sincerely,
Eat Roast Beef

My Most Recent Excuses

Death in the family
Infection in the eye
Concussion in the brain
Wedding in the works

Flare-up in the bowels
Crazy in the head

My recent life is a series of minor unfortunate events that, when viewed as a whole, add up to two months of pure crap.  Sure, it could be worse, but it's pretty damn bad as it is.

A long time ago, my parents and I wanted to see a movie, and I graciously let them pick which one we saw.  They chose "As Good As It Gets."  You've seen it.  I hated it.  I fell asleep and whined about it for a week.  But one moment of that movie stuck with me.  The main character, whatever the hell his name is, is, er, somewhere, and out of nowhere, he stops stunned and thinks aloud, "What if this is as good as it gets?"  There is something about that moment that affects me powerfully today.

Don't get me wrong, I still think the movie sucked.

But these days, I wonder.  Is this as good as it will get for me?  I mean, objectively, things are okay.  I'm getting married, and I'm in remission, and I have a steady job and a great house.  But the repercussions of cancer and its treatment affect me on a daily basis, I am plagued by a million and one niggling little irritants.  Although I was once a calm, easy-going person, my default stress level is now always one notch below boiling point, so that every minor stressor sends me into a hysterical fit.  (Someday I will tell the tale of the failed spaghetti-and-meatballs attempt that nearly killed me.)

What if this is the best I can hope for?

The scariest part is that every time something happens, it brings up the same thought... This is never going to end.  This is my life, from now until forever.  A lifetime of crap.  It's easy to console yourself when you're going through a rough time when you have the hope of improvement later... "When I finish chemo, things will be much better" or "After my surgery, I won't feel as bad."  But when this is your regular life, this is the norm, it's frightening to think that this is as good as it will ever get.

Okay, my whining is done.  I apologize for this bullshit post.  In more important news, let's congratulate Louise on a job well done on the wikiCancer site she moderates.  I am so proud to be her friend.

Some People Might Say I Am Obsessed with Extended Metaphors

(Subtitled:  No, I Am Not Dead, and I Thank You for Asking)

I live right off of Interstate 75.  I feel that divulging that information doesn't really threaten my anonymity, as I-75 stretches from Key West to the Upper Peninsula and disappears under another name into Canada.

My life has always been located on this highway.  When I was a child we lived off a rural exit that only existed because we had the only gas station for twenty miles.  When I went to college, I took 75 home every Friday, and I cried the entire 400-mile trip back every Sunday night.  I nearly passed out at the wheel over two years ago when I first went to the emergency department.  And in recent months, I have taken it every day to Precision Radiotherapy Inc., another name-dropping that doesn't reveal my identity, because as far as I can tell, this is what every radiation facility in the country is called.

Though the last few years have taken me to some unexpected places, I always know how I am going to get there, and get home.  I know the most of the exit numbers in this state by heart.  It adds a certain comfort level to my travels.

As I drove on 75 this particular time, heading to Precision Radiotherapy Inc.  # 1,683, I let the anxiety about my scan results wash to the background as I counted the mile markers.  I waited in the room designated for that purpose for the man who is nothing you would ever want in a friend but everything you want in a radiation oncologist... awkward, sneaky, and robotic.

As he told me the good news that there was currently no evidence of disease, he seemed relieved that I didn't hop up and down or try to hug him.  My happiness is quieter now, now that it is clear that every "remission" is just a pit stop before I merge back onto Cancer Alley.  I'm glad, of course, but I also know the odds.

I know that "currently" is just a way of saying "for a while."  I know that the rest of my journey will just take me north and south along the road I have already traveled.  But for now, I'm just happy to be on the road.

Love in the Time of Teratoma

Okay, let's just get this out right off the bat.   I am engaged.   And no, I am not going to tell you the whole Proposal Story, although it is a quite good one, involving the Heimlich maneuver and a hilarious analogy to a bank robbery.

After it happened, I went to bed thinking, "Wow, this is so great.   Boyfriend loves me and wants to be with me forever."   Then when I woke up, I realized I get to plan a wedding.   Which means there will be lists and spreadsheets and MAYBE EVEN A BINDER.   What says everlasting love like a categorized, color-coded binder, really?   So to celebrate this joyous occasion, I will compose the first of my many lists.

Things I Will Not Do While I Am Engaged

1. I will not start sentences with, "My boyfriend... I mean my FIANCE! I keep forgetting, I JUST got engaged!"

2. In fact, I will not use the word fiance at all, with the exception of quoting the Seinfeld episode that makes fun of the lady who uses the word fiance too much.

3. I will not pat Boyfriend condescendingly on the head and summarily dismiss his idea. Unless it is really, really dumb.

4. I will not suddenly become BFF with Boyfriend's friend's obnoxiously pregnant wife just to score another bridesmaid.

5. I will not, no matter what my health status is, stop planning this wedding or think even for a second that it won't happen.

6. I will not live like a monk and eat beans out of a can to save enough money for a lavish 400-person wedding.

7. I will not send out Save the Date cards with pictures that make us look like a cosmetic dentistry ad.

8. I will not pretend to be chaste and tell Boyfriend we can't have sex again until the wedding. In fact, I will love him so much that on our wedding night he might just say, "Honey, can we just rent a movie or something?"

9. I will not stop staring at this ring that makes my hand look brand new. EVER.

The Dog Ate My Blog Post (Or, My Blog Sucks, Read Someone Else's)

Welcome to the Carnival of Compassion, Better Late than Never Edition!  It has been an eventful few weeks here in Internetland, and I had trouble narrowing down the posts to include here.  I hope you enjoy these great pieces from my friends, acquaintances, and untouchable idols.

1.  "I've struggled with emotional scars in the past and I know I have some that still get a twinge of pain from time to time." 

Noelle from A Most Livable City writes about the similarities between physical and emotional scars.  She beautifully connects the physical pain from her illness and the emotional pain of losing someone in this great post.  (Also, stop by her blog and give her a shout out... two cross-country moves in a matter of  a few months!)

2.  "...So I'm being very mature and making my husband suffer right along with me, in a manner of speaking." 

Cancerbaby explains how this Thanksgiving will be a little different at her house in her usual humorous, poignant style.

3.  "She refuses to let me own her." 

Kerri from Six Until Me writes this beautiful post from the perspective of the disease she has been living with most of her life.  Her eloquent writing is only overshadowed by her incredible strength in the face of her illness.

4.  "The world is both dark and bright; the cold burns your skin, and you feel completely and utterly alone." 

Louise from Bomb in My Belly compares a cancer diagnosis to a violent storm, in a piece that is so beautifully written I defy anyone who says they didn't cry reading it. 

5.  "It is one of those eye-popping examples of the killer diabetes experiences many of us have lived through or heard about."   

Amy from Diabetes Mine shares a story she received from a friend who had a terrifying experience because of her diabetes.  I like this post because it shows the impact that a close-knit internet community sharing information and experiences can have on one person's life.

6.  "I am trying to assume I will have good days, and I wake up each day and ask myself what kind of day I want to have that day." 

Spike from Something Evil This Way Comes has been writing recently about making the transition to life after cancer.  Hers is one of the best verbalizations of the roller coaster of emotions we experience after treatment I have ever read.

7.  "Also like turtles, every so often I need to withdraw into my shell and get away from the world to regenerate myself."   

Moogle from Moogle's Thoughts writes a good post about the similarities between herself and turtles.  I especially enjoyed this because I have a personal soft spot for turtles myself!

8.  "One might think that, since I currently work for the government, when a destroyed body part needs replacing, I might luck out and get ones capable of superhuman powers." 

Congratulations to Jeannette of Two Hands, who recently underwent a successful breast reconstruction, bookending her period of cancer treatment.  In this post she discusses both her personal experiences with the surgery, and important information for women considering breast reconstruction.

9.  "...Over a third of all cancer deaths world wide are potentially preventable." 

In this sobering article, Cary from Cancer News Watch explains that many deaths from cancer could have been prevented.

10.  "The technician looked at me as he said; 'Good luck with everything,' and I knew by his words that he had seen something." 

Dr. Charles writes an incredible piece on his experience in the MRI machine.  This can be a horrific experience for even the most seasoned patient... or doctor.  Dr. Charles' unique perspective as a doctor is fascinating, and his words capture the fear and wild emotions of the diagnostic testing phase in a perfect, crystalline picture.