Some of these cancer ladies are out of their fucking minds. I belong to several online breast cancer groups. The women there can be very helpful. They "get" the fear and anxiety in a way that other people can't. But some of them are just crazily positive and prayerful and grateful for things that I consider to be the crumbs from God's table.
That's what they choose to present, anyway. There's no way to know who's really lurking behind these little windows. In the fleshy world they may be bitter and full of ire. But in cyberspace they are all happy, all the time.
Regina, for instance, has a pastel-pink, little-blonde-angel-laden, website. She directs all of the newly diagnosed women there, where they can learn how and why Regina is happy that she had cancer. She's happy because cancer has made her kinder, gentler, woman.
I suppose that may be true.
Regina has no recurrence. Regina is "dancing with Ned", as they say in breast cancer circles. NED is "no evidence of disease", and that's Regina, and she's happyhappyhappy.
I like Regina. She's always there with a kind word when I need one, and she encourages a lot of women. But she's sure made one big-ass pitcher of lemonade. She's made buckets of it.
Regina would never expect me to practice as aggressive a form of gratitude as she. Some other people, though...
The things people say to me just blow me away. People have suggested that it's easier for me to have a terminal illness than it would be for them, because I have a husband.
Hmmm.
Yes. So true. Because I do so relish the thought of watching Eric suffer right along with me.
And then there are the folks who say, "You have cancer and you STILL had a better weekend than I did! Look at all the fun things you did!"
Right... because everyone knows it's much better to have both a picnic and cancer than it is to be the picture of health but without a thing to do!
I'm making lemonade just as fast as I can, but forgive me if I'm not Regina.
I've always appreciated my life, and my husband, and our ability to have fun and experience joy. I don't understand why people want to remind me of the things that are good in my life. Does anyone think I've forgotten?
Is there someone who doesn't know that I spent all of the years of my early adulthood in a state of perpetual grief and loss, as people that I loved died, and died, and died? Have you heard the one about my brother lying in the street with a knife in his heart? Did you know that for the last few days of my mother's life she was convinced I was a imposter? I scared her. She wanted me to bring the real Martha back.
There's a reason why I've appreciated my husband and my life all along.
Unmarried people and folks with nothing to do on Saturday afternoon: Here's a newsflash. You're dying, as well.
Better get yourself some gratitude, people. Time's a-wasting.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Sign of the End Times
LONDON, Ky. - A Kentucky judge has been offering some drug and alcohol offenders the option of attending worship services instead of going to jail or rehab — a practice some say violates the separation of church and state.
District Judge Michael Caperton, 50, a devout Christian, said his goal is to "help people and their families."
"I don't think there's a church-state issue, because it's not mandatory and I say worship services instead of church," he said.
Alternative sentencing is popular across the country — ordering vandals to repaint a graffiti-covered wall, for example. But legal experts said they didn't know of any other judges who give the option of attending church.
Caperton has offered the option about 50 times to repeat drug and alcohol offenders. It is unclear what effect the sentence has had.
David Friedman, a lawyer for the American Civil Liberties Union of Kentucky, said the option raises "serious constitutional problems."
"The judge is saying that those willing to go to worship services can avoid jail in the same way that those who decline to go cannot," Friedman said. "That strays from government neutrality towards religion."
District Judge Michael Caperton, 50, a devout Christian, said his goal is to "help people and their families."
"I don't think there's a church-state issue, because it's not mandatory and I say worship services instead of church," he said.
Alternative sentencing is popular across the country — ordering vandals to repaint a graffiti-covered wall, for example. But legal experts said they didn't know of any other judges who give the option of attending church.
Caperton has offered the option about 50 times to repeat drug and alcohol offenders. It is unclear what effect the sentence has had.
David Friedman, a lawyer for the American Civil Liberties Union of Kentucky, said the option raises "serious constitutional problems."
"The judge is saying that those willing to go to worship services can avoid jail in the same way that those who decline to go cannot," Friedman said. "That strays from government neutrality towards religion."
Monday, May 30, 2005
Before Coffee
It's hard to think about cancer when there's a flatbed truck in front of you with eleven drummers and six women dancing in g-strings and feathers. It's hard, but not impossible. Still, as distractions go, it's hard to beat a carnival parade.
But today's today, and there's no parade. There's no movie we want to see. There's no picnic planned. We're too tired for a hike. We won't be setting up any volleyball nets or selling tickets for the booster club raffle.
I don't want to be left alone with my thoughts, which are big and sad or anxious and shrill. The ache in my chest is worse. It got better and worse many times before I knew it was cancer. Now that I know what's causing it, the fact that it's getting worse just freaks me out.
But I won't think about that now.
For a long time I tried to write about my experience with cancer for my entirely-content-free website, ohmartha.com.
I was too afraid to write it. This was a conscious thing. I was afraid to write a summation of the experience, because it felt to me like I was "wrapping it up". I was trying to put a period at the end of the breast cancer sentence, and I figured that the Fates would slap me down for that.
But eventually, I did write it. I can't even look at it now. It was full of optimism, and kind words for women with an initial diagnosis. It said that even though there's no "cure" for breast cancer -- no one can tell a woman that it'll never come back -- that, still, no disease can be a physical reality in a woman's body.
I wrote it, and less than a month later I found out that the cancer had spread to my bones.
I'm going to find something to make this day okay.
But today's today, and there's no parade. There's no movie we want to see. There's no picnic planned. We're too tired for a hike. We won't be setting up any volleyball nets or selling tickets for the booster club raffle.
I don't want to be left alone with my thoughts, which are big and sad or anxious and shrill. The ache in my chest is worse. It got better and worse many times before I knew it was cancer. Now that I know what's causing it, the fact that it's getting worse just freaks me out.
But I won't think about that now.
For a long time I tried to write about my experience with cancer for my entirely-content-free website, ohmartha.com.
I was too afraid to write it. This was a conscious thing. I was afraid to write a summation of the experience, because it felt to me like I was "wrapping it up". I was trying to put a period at the end of the breast cancer sentence, and I figured that the Fates would slap me down for that.
But eventually, I did write it. I can't even look at it now. It was full of optimism, and kind words for women with an initial diagnosis. It said that even though there's no "cure" for breast cancer -- no one can tell a woman that it'll never come back -- that, still, no disease can be a physical reality in a woman's body.
I wrote it, and less than a month later I found out that the cancer had spread to my bones.
I'm going to find something to make this day okay.
Sunday, May 29, 2005
Sunday - and tomorrow's another day off!
Eric and I left the house at 7:30 AM, went out for breakfast, and then BARTed over to San Francisco for the Carnival celebration. The parade went on for hooooours. It was nice -- beautiful children & colorful costumes. Even though it was big event, it it felt homemade.
There we are! This is before the parade route became very, very, crowded.
There we are! This is before the parade route became very, very, crowded.
Saturday, May 28, 2005
Today
Eric and Janis set up the volleyball net on the football field of Eric's highschool. There's a 24 hour tag-team race there this weekend to raise money for the booster club. We also set up the croquet course.
Eric and I had classic Oakland BBQ for lunch, at Everett & Jones.
I like this statue at Jack London Square.
Date Night & Saturday Morning
Last night Eric and I went to go see "Crash". It was a wonderful, deeply disturbing, movie. Maybe it's just my current humour, but boy-oh-boy was it depressing and beautiful.
This morning I went to the Berkeley Zen Center with Janis. Our monthly activity for May was to go to the Saturday morning orientation & to (briefly) sit zazen. That's what we did.
Now we're off to go volunteer at Eric's school.
Weekends are better than weekdays.
This morning I went to the Berkeley Zen Center with Janis. Our monthly activity for May was to go to the Saturday morning orientation & to (briefly) sit zazen. That's what we did.
Now we're off to go volunteer at Eric's school.
Weekends are better than weekdays.
Friday, May 27, 2005
Thursday, May 26, 2005
Just the facts.
There were no big surprises during my appointment with the oncologist today. The worst of it was that in addition to the mets to my sternum, there are four small spots on my lungs.
I was very unhappy to hear this, although in truth it doesn't change my treatment. It just goes to my earlier statement that I can only receive bad or worse news. Jane tells me that my frame of reference for what constitutes good news will change (although she said it much more eloquently than that).
Here's the deal:
I was very unhappy to hear this, although in truth it doesn't change my treatment. It just goes to my earlier statement that I can only receive bad or worse news. Jane tells me that my frame of reference for what constitutes good news will change (although she said it much more eloquently than that).
Here's the deal:
- I have what is presumed to be breast cancer in my sternum, lungs, and the lymph nodes under my arm.
- My first occurence of breast cancer was weakly estrogen receptor positive. ER+ means that the cancer likes estrogen. Even with people who have weakly ER+ breast cancer, the first line of treatment is hormonal -- essentially cutting off estrogen production, and also the body's ability to use estrogen. I have already started hormonal treatment.
- In early August, I will have another CT scan. If at that time the cancer is stabilized or smaller, hormonal therapy will be said to be successful, and I will continue with it until it ceases to be effective.
- If the cancer has grown, the hormonal therapy will be discontinued. At that point there would be decisions to make regarding chemotherapy treatment. Chemotherapy would be an option for me if hormonal therapy failed, but "quality of life" comes into play. I could decide to do chemotherapy immediately, later, or not at all.
- On June 8th I will see a surgeon, who will get a sample of the enlarged lymph nodes. This is no-big-deal outpatient stuff.
- A pathology report will be done on the sample. If the pathology shows that the cancer has become estrogen receptor negative (ER-), the hormonal therapy would be discontinued and I will be in the situation described in #4.
- If the pathology report confirmed ER+ status, I would continue with the hormonal therapy at least until August, when the effectiveness would be assessed.
That's all the news fit to blog.
Eric, and Kaiser, and Marriage, and Ray Mckay.
Eric had been wanting to talk to the folks at Kaiser for days, but he wouldn't do it until I told him it was okay. He agreed that the Oncology department was dropping the ball, but felt that there was probably some sort of miscommunication between us, my case manager, and the onocologist.
Yesterday I told Eric he could call my case manager. Boy, did they change their tune. So, today we're going in to see the doctor -- Eric, Jane, and I -- who gave us a lunchtime appointment because he says he wants to be able to spend more time with me and my family.
Now, of course, I have as bad a feeling about going to see him as I had about not going to see him. I've developed a complete system of thought that hinges around the idea that the only news he can give me is worse than the news that I've already received.
No one has ever asked me for general marital advice, but folks have made comments to me about how nice it is to see such a happily married couple. I often end up giving them the only marital advice I've ever had, which is this: If you want to be happily married, marry Eric.
There are a surprising number of people who have told me that they admire the "spaces" in my relationship with Eric. They admire that we'll do things independently of each other -- like Eric's summer trips, for instance. I've always thought, "nuts to that". I think that kinda misses the point. The truth is that anything one of us does that the other wants to do, is better with the other person there. We've never felt a need to build in private time, or to carve out space for ourselves.
Life creates enough space between us. We don't need to be adding any more.
That's my story this Thursday morning. Except this, which only a small subset of the (already small) group of people who read this blog will understand. I finally figured out who my oncologist reminds me of. It came to me a flash. My oncologist totally makes me think of Ray McKay.
Wish me luck today.
Yesterday I told Eric he could call my case manager. Boy, did they change their tune. So, today we're going in to see the doctor -- Eric, Jane, and I -- who gave us a lunchtime appointment because he says he wants to be able to spend more time with me and my family.
Now, of course, I have as bad a feeling about going to see him as I had about not going to see him. I've developed a complete system of thought that hinges around the idea that the only news he can give me is worse than the news that I've already received.
No one has ever asked me for general marital advice, but folks have made comments to me about how nice it is to see such a happily married couple. I often end up giving them the only marital advice I've ever had, which is this: If you want to be happily married, marry Eric.
There are a surprising number of people who have told me that they admire the "spaces" in my relationship with Eric. They admire that we'll do things independently of each other -- like Eric's summer trips, for instance. I've always thought, "nuts to that". I think that kinda misses the point. The truth is that anything one of us does that the other wants to do, is better with the other person there. We've never felt a need to build in private time, or to carve out space for ourselves.
Life creates enough space between us. We don't need to be adding any more.
That's my story this Thursday morning. Except this, which only a small subset of the (already small) group of people who read this blog will understand. I finally figured out who my oncologist reminds me of. It came to me a flash. My oncologist totally makes me think of Ray McKay.
Wish me luck today.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Hump Day
Eric and I went to go see the Star Wars movie last night. We had to see it, even though I haven't really liked a Star Wars movie since the first. It was a fine distraction.
We came home and watched American Idol, and then I watched a Frontline report on the trade deficit with China. Also a fine distraction.
This morning I'm struggling with the thought of going to work. I won't be driving in with Eric today, and that changes things significantly in terms of motivation to get dressed and out of here. Depression is nipping at my heels. A little situational depression seems appropriate, I think.
On the other hand, if this is as healthy as I'm going to feel, I don't want to waste my days with sadness.
I'm having issues with my oncologist at Kaiser, and his nurse (who said she would call me back about something and did not).
It feels like they have no sense of urgency. It feels that way because the do not have a sense of urgency. This is not an emergency. This is a slow slide down, and the best case scenario is a slower slide.
So, ultimately, does it matter if the only treatment I'm being given is an endocrine therapy that probably will not be effective? I think I'm supposed to "hope" that it will be. I'm pretty sure that's what my oncologist would tell me, if my onocologist would talk to me.
And why not at least try a hormonal therapy, when chemotherapies have such an impact on quality of life?
"Quality of life" is a phrase that I hate.
People tell me to have hope -- hope for miracles, for new treatments, and (the most informed folks add) hope for better days. The tell me to get angry at cancer and to channel all of that anger into "fighting" it. They tell me to live each moment to the fullest. They tell me to just march right into my doctor's office and give him what for. They tell me, still, how lucky I am -- how lucky I am to have Eric.
I've known all along how lucky I am to have Eric.
Oh, well. I guess I'd better get ready to go to work. I'd better just do it, and not stay here & work myself into fits.
I'll be a few minutes late, and that will be okay. It'll all be okay.
We came home and watched American Idol, and then I watched a Frontline report on the trade deficit with China. Also a fine distraction.
This morning I'm struggling with the thought of going to work. I won't be driving in with Eric today, and that changes things significantly in terms of motivation to get dressed and out of here. Depression is nipping at my heels. A little situational depression seems appropriate, I think.
On the other hand, if this is as healthy as I'm going to feel, I don't want to waste my days with sadness.
I'm having issues with my oncologist at Kaiser, and his nurse (who said she would call me back about something and did not).
It feels like they have no sense of urgency. It feels that way because the do not have a sense of urgency. This is not an emergency. This is a slow slide down, and the best case scenario is a slower slide.
So, ultimately, does it matter if the only treatment I'm being given is an endocrine therapy that probably will not be effective? I think I'm supposed to "hope" that it will be. I'm pretty sure that's what my oncologist would tell me, if my onocologist would talk to me.
And why not at least try a hormonal therapy, when chemotherapies have such an impact on quality of life?
"Quality of life" is a phrase that I hate.
People tell me to have hope -- hope for miracles, for new treatments, and (the most informed folks add) hope for better days. The tell me to get angry at cancer and to channel all of that anger into "fighting" it. They tell me to live each moment to the fullest. They tell me to just march right into my doctor's office and give him what for. They tell me, still, how lucky I am -- how lucky I am to have Eric.
I've known all along how lucky I am to have Eric.
Oh, well. I guess I'd better get ready to go to work. I'd better just do it, and not stay here & work myself into fits.
I'll be a few minutes late, and that will be okay. It'll all be okay.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Aches and Pains
Some folks have asked how I feel -- in my body, since everyone knows how messed up my head is. Well, the worst of it is that my shoulders have been hanging out around my ears for three weeks, but that's nothing that time and relaxation won't cure. (I'm assuming I have time, and I'm hoping for relaxation.)
I have a dull ache in the center of my chest. It's not bad.... certainly not debilitating. Back in my days of cancer-innocence, when I thought it was some sort of slow-healing injury, it was a minor annoyance, only made truly bad when my perpetually perky personal trainer, Cindy, made me work out with "bands". I thought: Oh, look at those cute little bands!
My chest was insanely painful for four days. Sneezing made me cry. And that's saying something, because my pain threshold is known to be high, high, high.
So that's it. A dull ache, made 1000% times creepier by the knowledge of what's causing it.
Until this diagnosis, I felt pretty healthy. Is it possible to be healthy, and to have cancer, at the same time?
(Probably not, huh?)
I have a dull ache in the center of my chest. It's not bad.... certainly not debilitating. Back in my days of cancer-innocence, when I thought it was some sort of slow-healing injury, it was a minor annoyance, only made truly bad when my perpetually perky personal trainer, Cindy, made me work out with "bands". I thought: Oh, look at those cute little bands!
My chest was insanely painful for four days. Sneezing made me cry. And that's saying something, because my pain threshold is known to be high, high, high.
So that's it. A dull ache, made 1000% times creepier by the knowledge of what's causing it.
Until this diagnosis, I felt pretty healthy. Is it possible to be healthy, and to have cancer, at the same time?
(Probably not, huh?)
Monday, May 23, 2005
Sunday, May 22, 2005
If only we could just stop at Sunday.
The Berkeley Marina was beautiful today...
...until the giant squid were upon us.
Today felt like a holiday from ickiness. First, a nice picnic at the Berkeley Marina, and an unexpected concert from a reggae band (with constumed dancers) that was practicing for the Carnival festival in SF next weekend.
Then we went to the movies. We saw "Monster In Law", which was mindlessly funny.
Tomorrow it's back to work (with CN pulling a solo-shift, without the balancing influence of NM), and probably a conversation with my onocologist, who should be back from vacation hisownself.
I don't like Monday already, but I'll try to use up all the goodness of this day before I start worrying about tomorrow.
Saturday, May 21, 2005
Busy, busy.
Eric and I went for a walk at Lafayette Reservoir this morning. It was nice... bright, sunny, mostly breezy. The loop around the reservoir is just under three miles, but it's not as flat (or smelly) as Lake Merritt. And no ducks!
We had a picnic lunch. I had an orzo feta salad and an apple. It was nice.
Tonight we went to Kaboom!, the annual firework show in San Francisco that's synchronized to rock music. They're always the best fireworks of the year. We drove over in the convertible, which was nice. Looking straight up as we were driving over the bridge was a different perspective for sure. (Eric drove.)
We did fun things today, and that was way better than staying home and being glum. It wasn't big, big, fun, though. We were sad. Still... there were nice moments and what a relief that is.
Weekends are still good things.
It looks like it's going to be a pretty, pretty, day.
Eric has already gone to Peet's and the grocery store, and has unpacked groceries. Me, I'm just sleepy.
Hopefully this day will be quiet, calm, and happy.
Eric has already gone to Peet's and the grocery store, and has unpacked groceries. Me, I'm just sleepy.
Hopefully this day will be quiet, calm, and happy.
Friday, May 20, 2005
Wane already.
I'm tired of being upset. It's been one week of ickiness, following two weeks of anxious waiting and worrying. Is it the tip of the iceberg? I'm told, and believe, that it will wax and wane. I'm tired of writing turmoil-ridden blog entries. I'm sure you're tired of reading of them.
This will be the second weekend with activities re-written by cancer. Last Friday we were supposed to run off to the Phil & Friends concert in the city. We wanted to dance & dance & celebrate the good, good, news that the hot spots on my bone scan were arthritis or fractures or something. What joy there would have been in hearing that I had arthritis!
Tonight we were supposed to head off to Yosemite -- camping with Eric's co-workers -- which is an annual event for us. We have lots of annual events. But I don't feel like we can go, even though I know it will be beautiful and sometimes distracting.
I can't trust myself not to sink into some kind of morose fog. And while I've known these nice teachers for years, I don't know if they'll be inclined to give me big, sad, eyes. Big, sad, eyes aren't the worst of it, though. They'll probably sit around the campfire and make a hundred and one comments about and predictions for a future that I will not see.
So ixnay on the camping.
Eric, who is the most wonderful person to lean into in the whole, wide, world, has said that he wants to have a happy weekend. I'd deliver it to him on a silver platter if I could.
But it's just Friday morning, and I have to work today. I guess I've chosen to work today. Either way, it's one foot in front of the other, again, and I'm hoping for the best. CN took the day off, at least. Can't beat that with a stick.
This will be the second weekend with activities re-written by cancer. Last Friday we were supposed to run off to the Phil & Friends concert in the city. We wanted to dance & dance & celebrate the good, good, news that the hot spots on my bone scan were arthritis or fractures or something. What joy there would have been in hearing that I had arthritis!
Tonight we were supposed to head off to Yosemite -- camping with Eric's co-workers -- which is an annual event for us. We have lots of annual events. But I don't feel like we can go, even though I know it will be beautiful and sometimes distracting.
I can't trust myself not to sink into some kind of morose fog. And while I've known these nice teachers for years, I don't know if they'll be inclined to give me big, sad, eyes. Big, sad, eyes aren't the worst of it, though. They'll probably sit around the campfire and make a hundred and one comments about and predictions for a future that I will not see.
So ixnay on the camping.
Eric, who is the most wonderful person to lean into in the whole, wide, world, has said that he wants to have a happy weekend. I'd deliver it to him on a silver platter if I could.
But it's just Friday morning, and I have to work today. I guess I've chosen to work today. Either way, it's one foot in front of the other, again, and I'm hoping for the best. CN took the day off, at least. Can't beat that with a stick.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
On a lighter note...
I love this picture of me and Eric in Yosemite in 2003. Eric looks so Eric-ish.
Please don't tell me what an inspiration I am.
I'm six days into a diagnosis of Stage IV breast cancer. There's no Stage V. I don't know if I should even buy green bananas. I can't look at a calendar, and the birthday cards on my piano make me ill but I'm afraid to put them away. The thought of Christmas makes my blood run cold. If I'm not 100% perky and happy, CN hovers behind me and asks me how to run reports that she thinks I'm won't be able to run for very long.
I don't have a complete diagnosis. I don't know what my treatments will be like, or if I'll respond to them. My stomach aches and I wake up fifteen minutes earlier every day. I've had conversations with Eric that are haunting and horrible, and while I know that death and dying are universal experiences, I'm six days into a diagnosis of Stage IV breast cancer, and sometimes it feels too big.
I don't have a complete diagnosis. I don't know what my treatments will be like, or if I'll respond to them. My stomach aches and I wake up fifteen minutes earlier every day. I've had conversations with Eric that are haunting and horrible, and while I know that death and dying are universal experiences, I'm six days into a diagnosis of Stage IV breast cancer, and sometimes it feels too big.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
It's just weird.
I had my first "treatment" today.
The nurse who stepped through the door of the Chemotherapy Suite (where there are no mints on the pillows) and called my name, was Lisa. Lisa is the nurse who administered each of my chemo treatments three years ago. She smiled, happy to see me, and said "How ya doing?".
I said... "Well...."
Then she asked me how long it'd been since I'd been there, and I told her it hadn't been long enough, and that I meant no offense but that I'd hoped to never see her again.
She said, "I know you did."
But... there I was with Lisa.
I was given an injection that completely shuts down ovarian function. I'm scheduled to receive one of these shots every three months. Whatever it is, it must be pretty powerful to have that kind of effect for so long.
In addition to the every-three-month shot, I'll be taking one tiny white pill a day. This is endocrine (hormonal) therapy.
It seems like a quiet treatment, given my screaming fear.
But, anyway, who knows... everything could change as we figure out more about my specific diagnosis. And an infrequent, low-side-effect treatment is preferable, if it works.
That's all I have to report tonight 'cept that Eric, upon reading the previous post, laughed outloud twice.
I don't know why he thinks it's so funny, but I'm glad he does.
The nurse who stepped through the door of the Chemotherapy Suite (where there are no mints on the pillows) and called my name, was Lisa. Lisa is the nurse who administered each of my chemo treatments three years ago. She smiled, happy to see me, and said "How ya doing?".
I said... "Well...."
Then she asked me how long it'd been since I'd been there, and I told her it hadn't been long enough, and that I meant no offense but that I'd hoped to never see her again.
She said, "I know you did."
But... there I was with Lisa.
I was given an injection that completely shuts down ovarian function. I'm scheduled to receive one of these shots every three months. Whatever it is, it must be pretty powerful to have that kind of effect for so long.
In addition to the every-three-month shot, I'll be taking one tiny white pill a day. This is endocrine (hormonal) therapy.
It seems like a quiet treatment, given my screaming fear.
But, anyway, who knows... everything could change as we figure out more about my specific diagnosis. And an infrequent, low-side-effect treatment is preferable, if it works.
That's all I have to report tonight 'cept that Eric, upon reading the previous post, laughed outloud twice.
I don't know why he thinks it's so funny, but I'm glad he does.
Morning Blather
I looked at old pictures yesterday... briefly, because it could have gotten very maudlin very quickly. Here's what I have to say: Eric and I used to look younger. Even Eric, who has a timeless quality about him, has gotten older.
This morning he was sitting at the dining room table, wearing his reading glasses, looking so cute that I could hardly stand it. His glasses are really adorable. It makes me smile to see him in them. And I helped him choose them! He called me from the optometrist's office to help him pick them out. I walked down to Piedmont Avenue and shared my vast eyewear knowledge with him.
When you're married to Eric, it's nice to occasionally stumble across something that you're better at than he!
Eric has always disliked the idea of aging, but I never cared that much just as long as I was with him. I wanted very much to be one of those old couples eating the early-bird special in restaurants. I even wanted matching walkers with matching tennis balls on the front legs.
I would never, ever, leave Eric if I had a choice.
This morning he was sitting at the dining room table, wearing his reading glasses, looking so cute that I could hardly stand it. His glasses are really adorable. It makes me smile to see him in them. And I helped him choose them! He called me from the optometrist's office to help him pick them out. I walked down to Piedmont Avenue and shared my vast eyewear knowledge with him.
When you're married to Eric, it's nice to occasionally stumble across something that you're better at than he!
Eric has always disliked the idea of aging, but I never cared that much just as long as I was with him. I wanted very much to be one of those old couples eating the early-bird special in restaurants. I even wanted matching walkers with matching tennis balls on the front legs.
I would never, ever, leave Eric if I had a choice.
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Monday, May 16, 2005
Sleepy
When I was a very little girl, I only wanted my sister Mary to butter my bread. Now that I'm a forty year old woman, I only want my husband Eric to cut my apples. If you've never had Eric cut up a fuji apple for you, you've never truly enjoyed a fuji apple.
This was a hard day, but I still had an Eric-sliced apple to eat. I still had nice folks staying close and checking in.
There's plenty of room for improvement tomorrow, but today was just a hard day, not a horrible one.
That's all I can think to say.
This was a hard day, but I still had an Eric-sliced apple to eat. I still had nice folks staying close and checking in.
There's plenty of room for improvement tomorrow, but today was just a hard day, not a horrible one.
That's all I can think to say.
I wish it were Sunday (a month or two ago).
I'm at work, sitting here, poised at the corner of freaking out and being numb. I'm afraid I'll take a step in the wrong direction.
As soon as CN came in this morning I told her that I had mets to my bones, and that I hoped and expected to keep working. I told her that I knew she was concerned, and that she would be flexible if I needed flexibility, and that what I really wanted was for work to be "business as usual". I didn't want to talk about it positively, or negatively, or at all.
She seemed to understand.
And while she hasn't stopped talking for more than half a minute since then, she hasn't mentioned cancer.
My darling Eric, who is just a few blocks from me (and what a good feeling that is), is responsible for teaching and supervising and encouraging dozens of teenagers today. That's a hard job under the best of circumstances, and today he's distracted & sad & and generally off his game. I'm sending him all of the strength and love that I can muster.
It's a strange and sad Monday, indeed.
As soon as CN came in this morning I told her that I had mets to my bones, and that I hoped and expected to keep working. I told her that I knew she was concerned, and that she would be flexible if I needed flexibility, and that what I really wanted was for work to be "business as usual". I didn't want to talk about it positively, or negatively, or at all.
She seemed to understand.
And while she hasn't stopped talking for more than half a minute since then, she hasn't mentioned cancer.
My darling Eric, who is just a few blocks from me (and what a good feeling that is), is responsible for teaching and supervising and encouraging dozens of teenagers today. That's a hard job under the best of circumstances, and today he's distracted & sad & and generally off his game. I'm sending him all of the strength and love that I can muster.
It's a strange and sad Monday, indeed.
Sunday, May 15, 2005
When this weekend's over, what will I have left?
I'm going to work tomorrow. I don't know if it's a good idea. I'm so foggy and sad.
But I'll try to put one foot in front of the other. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe I'll sleep tonight. Maybe the morning will be quiet, calm, and normal.
I wish I had been aware of the super-lux wonder, and the joy, and the ease, and the simple lightness of feeling (however foolishly) that I had endless summers and endless days.
But I'll try to put one foot in front of the other. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe I'll sleep tonight. Maybe the morning will be quiet, calm, and normal.
I wish I had been aware of the super-lux wonder, and the joy, and the ease, and the simple lightness of feeling (however foolishly) that I had endless summers and endless days.
Mourning
I just cry and cry. People talk about retirement and golden years and 70th birthdays, and I don't get to have any of those things. I don't get to be old and don't get to live out many long days and years and I say that "it's never enough" but the truth is that sometimes it is. Some people live until they're tired and they're done with living, and that's not me.
And the doctor makes his predictions, preceded by "hopefully". Hopefully this, but really he doesn't know. He doesn't know if I have mets to my liver and mets to my brain. He doesn't know if my body is riddled with cancer, because we haven't look yet.
I know it's not true, but it feels like everyone else in the whole world gets to make plans and live their lives... maybe everyone in the whole world will live to be 100. And half of them won't even enjoy it. And another third will throw every obstacle they can in the way of their own happiness. And most of the rest will spend their days blissfully bitching about some neighbor, or co-worker, or minor inconvenience...
And I have come so far. I've come so far from where I started. I've felt so lucky. And I've loved my life with Eric so much. And I don't get nearly enough time, and I hate it.
I'm afraid of this unknown and I'm terrified of this waiting, and I'm heartbroken at the loss of the life I had envisioned, and I'm distraught and beside myself to bring so much pain to my husband.
I know that incrementally it will get better. I'll feel bad, but I won't feel like this... But for right now, while people who love me watch (and I know you are watching), it feels like I'm in mourning.
And the doctor makes his predictions, preceded by "hopefully". Hopefully this, but really he doesn't know. He doesn't know if I have mets to my liver and mets to my brain. He doesn't know if my body is riddled with cancer, because we haven't look yet.
I know it's not true, but it feels like everyone else in the whole world gets to make plans and live their lives... maybe everyone in the whole world will live to be 100. And half of them won't even enjoy it. And another third will throw every obstacle they can in the way of their own happiness. And most of the rest will spend their days blissfully bitching about some neighbor, or co-worker, or minor inconvenience...
And I have come so far. I've come so far from where I started. I've felt so lucky. And I've loved my life with Eric so much. And I don't get nearly enough time, and I hate it.
I'm afraid of this unknown and I'm terrified of this waiting, and I'm heartbroken at the loss of the life I had envisioned, and I'm distraught and beside myself to bring so much pain to my husband.
I know that incrementally it will get better. I'll feel bad, but I won't feel like this... But for right now, while people who love me watch (and I know you are watching), it feels like I'm in mourning.
Saturday, May 14, 2005
Bad news is still news.
A diagnosis of a malignancy in my sternum is scary, scary news for me. I'm terrified and angry and I don't know if I'm strong enough to do this... but at least now I know. I know something. Boy oh boy was it not what I wanted to hear.
On my fortieth birthday I woke up to coffee with Eric and a wonderful present: this laptop computer. It was such a great gift and I was happy, happy.
I tried to start it up but there was some technical problem -- not sure what it was -- and I didn't get that immediate satisfaction of "Oooooooooh, look at that!"
I fussed with it for a bit, but then I had to get to the DMV. I needed to renew my license in person, and I needed to do it it early, as Eric and I were heading off to (a really, really, nice) weekend in Reno that morning.
I was in a line at the DMV when Eric surprised me. He'd found me there to tell me that he'd called tech support, and that my computer was running. I would have been home in 15 minutes, but my Eric couldn't stand the thought of me spending that extra amount of time not knowing that my computer was up & running.
Eric fixed it.
Eric fixes things for me. He fixes my stuff, and he fixes my situations, and he fixes my head and my heart. I don't know how I got so lucky, but I know that it's what Eric wants. And here we are... the same two people we've been for all these years, and Eric can help but he can't fix it.
We're both so scared right now. Please keep both of us in your thoughts as we try to negotiate the first days of this new and unwanted adventure.
On my fortieth birthday I woke up to coffee with Eric and a wonderful present: this laptop computer. It was such a great gift and I was happy, happy.
I tried to start it up but there was some technical problem -- not sure what it was -- and I didn't get that immediate satisfaction of "Oooooooooh, look at that!"
I fussed with it for a bit, but then I had to get to the DMV. I needed to renew my license in person, and I needed to do it it early, as Eric and I were heading off to (a really, really, nice) weekend in Reno that morning.
I was in a line at the DMV when Eric surprised me. He'd found me there to tell me that he'd called tech support, and that my computer was running. I would have been home in 15 minutes, but my Eric couldn't stand the thought of me spending that extra amount of time not knowing that my computer was up & running.
Eric fixed it.
Eric fixes things for me. He fixes my stuff, and he fixes my situations, and he fixes my head and my heart. I don't know how I got so lucky, but I know that it's what Eric wants. And here we are... the same two people we've been for all these years, and Eric can help but he can't fix it.
We're both so scared right now. Please keep both of us in your thoughts as we try to negotiate the first days of this new and unwanted adventure.
Friday, May 13, 2005
Yak Yak Yak
We're up and at it -- I want to stay out of Eric's hair while he reads the paper and drinks his coffee. It makes such a difference to him to be able to do those things. I, of course, just want to sit and look at him. But I won't!
I've talked about blogs with folks before. We've discussed how they're self-serving and generally boring, and I believe those adjectives can be applied to my blog, as well. But last night, while reading the previous entry, Eric laughed & laughed. He laughed because it was so true, and it was by far the lightest moment of our day. So from where I'm sitting, this blog is a great success.
This is just an intermittently uncomfortable and scary place to be. I'm so grateful for the people who have been willing and able to hang out with me here.
CN (who I do like, very much) told me yesterday that she didn't want to make me sad, but she thought that this might be a test for me. She thinks, perhaps, I am being tested to see if I appreciate living.
Because I was riding a wave of fear and dread when she said that to me, I responded a bit forcefully that I thought it was all about BIOLOGY, and as an RN was she really suggesting that my attitude was going to effect the outcome of a ct scan?
That was too much for her, and she retreated into embarrassed mumbling. She's quite a character but she's well intentioned, and I felt bad for snapping at her.
For sure there are choices to make. You can choose to look for meaning in the things that happen, or you can feel picked on and pathetic, or some combo-pak of the two.
This morning I feel jumpy and nervous.
I think I'm just yak yak yakking today, on accounta nervous energy.
That's all for now!
I've talked about blogs with folks before. We've discussed how they're self-serving and generally boring, and I believe those adjectives can be applied to my blog, as well. But last night, while reading the previous entry, Eric laughed & laughed. He laughed because it was so true, and it was by far the lightest moment of our day. So from where I'm sitting, this blog is a great success.
This is just an intermittently uncomfortable and scary place to be. I'm so grateful for the people who have been willing and able to hang out with me here.
CN (who I do like, very much) told me yesterday that she didn't want to make me sad, but she thought that this might be a test for me. She thinks, perhaps, I am being tested to see if I appreciate living.
Because I was riding a wave of fear and dread when she said that to me, I responded a bit forcefully that I thought it was all about BIOLOGY, and as an RN was she really suggesting that my attitude was going to effect the outcome of a ct scan?
That was too much for her, and she retreated into embarrassed mumbling. She's quite a character but she's well intentioned, and I felt bad for snapping at her.
For sure there are choices to make. You can choose to look for meaning in the things that happen, or you can feel picked on and pathetic, or some combo-pak of the two.
This morning I feel jumpy and nervous.
I think I'm just yak yak yakking today, on accounta nervous energy.
That's all for now!
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Radio
This Sunday I will have known Eric for 17 years. It seems like a heartbeat to me.
I don't know how many times -- most often in the car, and particularly on longer road trips -- I've asked Eric to explain how radio works.
He always explains it, and I always find it interesting, and then I promptly forget. So (from my end, anyway) the "how does radio work?" conversation is always fascinating.
There's something about the difference between the FM waves and the AM waves. And there's something about tunnels and something about clouds. There's a gesture he does with his hand (leaving one hand on the steering wheel) that simulates the motions of either the FM waves or the AM waves (I can't remember which).
While I can't remember how radio works, I can picture driving across many valleys, with crops on either side of the road, while Eric explains it to me.
This morning, driving to work, I asked Eric about a funny looking bump on the top of a car. He explained that it was a satellite radio antennae, and that satellite radio will be standard equipment on new cars five years from now.
I thought, "Five years from now? Will I be alive five years from now?"
(But I know that no one knows the answer to that question -- for me, or anybody else.)
I don't know how many times -- most often in the car, and particularly on longer road trips -- I've asked Eric to explain how radio works.
He always explains it, and I always find it interesting, and then I promptly forget. So (from my end, anyway) the "how does radio work?" conversation is always fascinating.
There's something about the difference between the FM waves and the AM waves. And there's something about tunnels and something about clouds. There's a gesture he does with his hand (leaving one hand on the steering wheel) that simulates the motions of either the FM waves or the AM waves (I can't remember which).
While I can't remember how radio works, I can picture driving across many valleys, with crops on either side of the road, while Eric explains it to me.
This morning, driving to work, I asked Eric about a funny looking bump on the top of a car. He explained that it was a satellite radio antennae, and that satellite radio will be standard equipment on new cars five years from now.
I thought, "Five years from now? Will I be alive five years from now?"
(But I know that no one knows the answer to that question -- for me, or anybody else.)
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
CT Scan
After several calls to the nice ct scan receptionist, I've rescheduled my scan for this Friday. I think it's much better to just get it over with. Waiting's hard.
I emailed by oncologist (ain't modern technology grand?) and he says that he'll be able to get me the results on Friday.
What Eric and I very much want is a happy and celebratory weekend.
That's all I can think to say tonight.
I emailed by oncologist (ain't modern technology grand?) and he says that he'll be able to get me the results on Friday.
What Eric and I very much want is a happy and celebratory weekend.
That's all I can think to say tonight.
Maps and Calendars and Stuff.
I'm so tired. I woke up at around 5 AM, as did Eric. I want so much to let go of this stress -- to rise above it, or go beyond it, and to exude calm and appreciation of my days.
I'm aware now of how much I've been happily anticipating this summer. I like my job, and what a relief that is! I like my job, and have had no problems coming to work and managing my day. I've enjoyed my evenings at home, my trips to the gym, my outtings with friends... I've enjoyed my monthly activities with Janis, my American Idol phone calls with Tom, and always, always, my life with Eric... it's all been good.
But really, really, I've been planning and anticipating this summer.
We have road maps hanging on the wall of the office. I have calendar pages out on my desk, in the dining room, in our bedroom. I have a file of information about our various destinations. I've had a constant hum in the back of my brain for weeks ... summmmmmmmmmmmmmmmer.
I even have plans for NEXT summer.
And now, stuck as Eric and I are in this limbo of wait & worry, it's so hard to look at it all. It's hard to look at those maps and calendars, but it's too scarey and awful and symbolic to put them away.
I have a map of June on my desk here at work. I haven't put it in a drawer, but I've turned it face down. Sometimes I get the urge to kiss it.
We shall see.
I'm aware now of how much I've been happily anticipating this summer. I like my job, and what a relief that is! I like my job, and have had no problems coming to work and managing my day. I've enjoyed my evenings at home, my trips to the gym, my outtings with friends... I've enjoyed my monthly activities with Janis, my American Idol phone calls with Tom, and always, always, my life with Eric... it's all been good.
But really, really, I've been planning and anticipating this summer.
We have road maps hanging on the wall of the office. I have calendar pages out on my desk, in the dining room, in our bedroom. I have a file of information about our various destinations. I've had a constant hum in the back of my brain for weeks ... summmmmmmmmmmmmmmmer.
I even have plans for NEXT summer.
And now, stuck as Eric and I are in this limbo of wait & worry, it's so hard to look at it all. It's hard to look at those maps and calendars, but it's too scarey and awful and symbolic to put them away.
I have a map of June on my desk here at work. I haven't put it in a drawer, but I've turned it face down. Sometimes I get the urge to kiss it.
We shall see.
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
The best email sent to the health office today:
From a school secretary:
student has been eating paper on a regular basis in class - please advise
student has been eating paper on a regular basis in class - please advise
Work. Sigh.
Well... I'm back at work today. I woke up this morning feeling as worried and sick as I'd been on the weekend, waiting for those inconclusive xray results. But I think it's better to go to work and try to stay as busy as possible. Boy, there are times when I wish I had a busier job!
I had to let CN know what was going on today, on accounta I couldn't stand her searching looks and sad eyes anymore. So I took her for a walk, and told her what was what. She asked for the location of the "hot spots", and when I answered, her face fell and she said, "oh no!". And then she told me that she "wouldn't wish metastatic breast cancer on anyone".
She followed that up with, "but you have a positive attitude, and don't you think a positive attitude can change things?"
So I told her that what I REALLY needed was to not talk about it anymore!
She just walked up behind me and asked where to find some information. I told her, and she said, "I have to start re-learning these things again, I've gotten too dependent on you. What will I do with out you?"
Seems like she thinks I'm going somewhere, and I don't think she's thinking "Disneyland".
Oh, how I wish I could spend my day here like I used to.... doing exhaustive internet research on the idiocy of the Christian right and sending controversial messages to the AOL News Message Boards.
I had to let CN know what was going on today, on accounta I couldn't stand her searching looks and sad eyes anymore. So I took her for a walk, and told her what was what. She asked for the location of the "hot spots", and when I answered, her face fell and she said, "oh no!". And then she told me that she "wouldn't wish metastatic breast cancer on anyone".
She followed that up with, "but you have a positive attitude, and don't you think a positive attitude can change things?"
So I told her that what I REALLY needed was to not talk about it anymore!
She just walked up behind me and asked where to find some information. I told her, and she said, "I have to start re-learning these things again, I've gotten too dependent on you. What will I do with out you?"
Seems like she thinks I'm going somewhere, and I don't think she's thinking "Disneyland".
Oh, how I wish I could spend my day here like I used to.... doing exhaustive internet research on the idiocy of the Christian right and sending controversial messages to the AOL News Message Boards.
Monday, May 09, 2005
Test Results
The results are in and they are exactly what I hoped for: inconclusive. I don't know what kind of lame test can only show bad outcome or be inconclusive, but that's what I had, and I received the best-case-scenario answer.
I had about thirty minutes of marked relief. I took a shower, and it was such a nice shower. I haven't wanted to be out of Eric's presense long enough to even shower since this started. I've done it, but I haven't been rinsing AND repeating.
But shortly thereafter it occured to me that I am -- I think? -- in the same position I was before. Dr. Simons still says that there's a 50/50 chance that I have bone mets, and even that is probably an optimistic assessment. I am creeping back into AnxietyLand, and I've just learned that they can't get me in for a ct scan until May 18th. Figure two days for results, and I'm looking at 11 days before I know if I'm dying.
Everyone is dying, of course. Let there be no rush to remind me that everyone is dying. I know it. The thing is... THEY don't know it. Not most of the time. Not in a conscious way.
I'm going to try sooooo hard to not let this make me completely insane for 11 days. I'm really going to try. I'm going to go to work and try to stay busy. I'm going to love Eric up and work at staying positive, and look for those small moments of grace and contentment.
Sometime soon I want to be filling this blog with politics and links and rants about Christians, like it oughta be.
I heard what I wanted to hear this morning, and for that I am grateful.
I had about thirty minutes of marked relief. I took a shower, and it was such a nice shower. I haven't wanted to be out of Eric's presense long enough to even shower since this started. I've done it, but I haven't been rinsing AND repeating.
But shortly thereafter it occured to me that I am -- I think? -- in the same position I was before. Dr. Simons still says that there's a 50/50 chance that I have bone mets, and even that is probably an optimistic assessment. I am creeping back into AnxietyLand, and I've just learned that they can't get me in for a ct scan until May 18th. Figure two days for results, and I'm looking at 11 days before I know if I'm dying.
Everyone is dying, of course. Let there be no rush to remind me that everyone is dying. I know it. The thing is... THEY don't know it. Not most of the time. Not in a conscious way.
I'm going to try sooooo hard to not let this make me completely insane for 11 days. I'm really going to try. I'm going to go to work and try to stay busy. I'm going to love Eric up and work at staying positive, and look for those small moments of grace and contentment.
Sometime soon I want to be filling this blog with politics and links and rants about Christians, like it oughta be.
I heard what I wanted to hear this morning, and for that I am grateful.
Morning
I woke at around five this morning, but didn't wake up Eric until around 6:30. Somehow, amazingly, we were able to lie there, laughing and joking, for a bit and a while.
Now we're up and doing morning things -- coffee, paper, email. I'm jumpy and nervous and anxious to talk to Dr. Simons this morning. Also, I'm afraid to talk to Dr. Simons this morning.
I'm remembering that my parent's 40th wedding anniversary occured while my mother was sick and dying from cancer. My father bought her 40 red roses, which my mother -- who loved flowers -- barely noticed.
With great sorrow, my father told me that he should have given her red roses for their 39th anniversary. (He wasn't much of a flower-giving kinda guy.)
I don't think that 40 years of marriage seemed like nearly enough to him.
Thirteen years of marriage aren't nearly enough for me. Would it ever be enough? But I do believe, with all of my heart, that Eric and I have given each other roses all along.
This is so maudlin... I know, I know. Just nerves and exhaustion. Please, please, let the results be "inconclusive".
Now we're up and doing morning things -- coffee, paper, email. I'm jumpy and nervous and anxious to talk to Dr. Simons this morning. Also, I'm afraid to talk to Dr. Simons this morning.
I'm remembering that my parent's 40th wedding anniversary occured while my mother was sick and dying from cancer. My father bought her 40 red roses, which my mother -- who loved flowers -- barely noticed.
With great sorrow, my father told me that he should have given her red roses for their 39th anniversary. (He wasn't much of a flower-giving kinda guy.)
I don't think that 40 years of marriage seemed like nearly enough to him.
Thirteen years of marriage aren't nearly enough for me. Would it ever be enough? But I do believe, with all of my heart, that Eric and I have given each other roses all along.
This is so maudlin... I know, I know. Just nerves and exhaustion. Please, please, let the results be "inconclusive".
Sunday, May 08, 2005
I guess I'm a blogger now.
I woke up a bit after seven this morning, and asked Eric to get up with me. There was comfort in doing our normal Sunday morning routines.... drinking coffee, checking email (me), reading the paper (Eric), watching the tape of Saturday Night Live that we're too old and tired to stay up to watch on Saturday night (us).
When SNL was over I started to feel the beginnings of worry and panic and dread (oh my)... so I asked Eric if he would please take me to a beach -- never mind the cold and the potential rain. So we got all bundled up and off we went.
It was nice. We drove to Pacifica and got out to watch the waves in a light drizzle. Beautiful, and the ocean is so large that it often makes me (and my problems) seem smaller. Then we headed further south, and stopped at a small cove about 20 miles before Santa Cruz. It was sooooo beautiful... and we were smiling and climbing on rocks and looking for critters in the tidepools. I drew a heart in the sand, and Eric screamed "I love Martha!" as loud as he could... because you can do that on the beach, in the wind & rain.
We talked about the past, because just for right now, talking about the future seems impossibly hard. I do not like this waiting. We do not like this waiting.
It was a happy few hours. Eric is the person who taught me to look for and appreciate happy hours... and we've been doing that for many years now. I don't know if ya'll know it, but Eric saved my life. He made my life, and he saved my life, and I do so love my husband. There is nothing so horrible that Eric's presense doesn't make it better for me.
A part of me wanted to keep heading south. I had the feeling that we could keep going and run away and not have to deal with this ugly fear and waiting and anxiety.
It's possible that the news on Monday will be okay -- that the tests will be inconclusive. And if that's the case, it's possible that the subsequent MRI will show that I don't have metastatic breast cancer at all! I want to hold and hang out with that hope... but the fear for me this time is so real and deep.
If everything turns out to be okay, I won't feel foolish for any of this. I'll just be happy... I'll just be happy, happy, happy.
When SNL was over I started to feel the beginnings of worry and panic and dread (oh my)... so I asked Eric if he would please take me to a beach -- never mind the cold and the potential rain. So we got all bundled up and off we went.
It was nice. We drove to Pacifica and got out to watch the waves in a light drizzle. Beautiful, and the ocean is so large that it often makes me (and my problems) seem smaller. Then we headed further south, and stopped at a small cove about 20 miles before Santa Cruz. It was sooooo beautiful... and we were smiling and climbing on rocks and looking for critters in the tidepools. I drew a heart in the sand, and Eric screamed "I love Martha!" as loud as he could... because you can do that on the beach, in the wind & rain.
We talked about the past, because just for right now, talking about the future seems impossibly hard. I do not like this waiting. We do not like this waiting.
It was a happy few hours. Eric is the person who taught me to look for and appreciate happy hours... and we've been doing that for many years now. I don't know if ya'll know it, but Eric saved my life. He made my life, and he saved my life, and I do so love my husband. There is nothing so horrible that Eric's presense doesn't make it better for me.
A part of me wanted to keep heading south. I had the feeling that we could keep going and run away and not have to deal with this ugly fear and waiting and anxiety.
It's possible that the news on Monday will be okay -- that the tests will be inconclusive. And if that's the case, it's possible that the subsequent MRI will show that I don't have metastatic breast cancer at all! I want to hold and hang out with that hope... but the fear for me this time is so real and deep.
If everything turns out to be okay, I won't feel foolish for any of this. I'll just be happy... I'll just be happy, happy, happy.
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