Today, or yesterday, or this week I acknowledge the year mark of the return of the dreaded C…. It is obviously not something to celebrate when my 12 cm tumor in my liver is only down to 8 cm and that is just the largest one. We have “a long road” ahead still and though positive about the successes I will feel in the form of a remission gift, I do know that I won’t be finished this year with my treatment as I had hoped and meditated, it will be “on-going” so says the doc and that I need to remain the wounded warrior looking for a clear path towards healing, looking away from the battle and into pastures of freedom. Sometimes it is difficult to do so when you don’t want to make your entire life about cancer, keep things a bit normal and my health battles somewhat private while having to feel good and have conversations about politics and the latest crappy tv show. And yet it is also difficult when we shouldn’t be whispering cancer as if it is spreadable by the meer utterance of the word. Sshhhhhhhhh…….(accompanied by eye roll). We/I should be shouting from the rooftops: “I am 38 years old and the gal next to me is 32 and we have Fucking Cancer! There is something wrong with this picture, why are we just throwing chemicals at it…solve it, for (literally) crying out loud!” I could bitch on. I began to think about the whisper of cancer because I don’t understand how Nora Ephron up and died from Leukemia and I had no idea she had it, within weeks of Donna Summer passing on, whom I was also unaware about her bout. MCA announced his diagnosis the same year that I had my welcome to the cancer club talk but that was it, there was not much update on his health from his camp, until his death. I fully understand that one’s mortality and health is a private matter and the need to keep it close and safe, yet public lives might create so much more fuel for this cancer fire that burns and dies out depending on the trends of donations/walk/tv shows. I just want to do more, help others, and yes help myself. I know how my doctor works his ass off trying to heal us, he is at work all hours, calls me on weekends, at night, he is onboard my ‘fighting the good fight’ mission yet I feel there is something within arm’s reach that we are missing, why is it that we can put men on the moon and we can’t fight illnesses that strike millions. Well, maybe putting men on the moon causes some of these illnesses. I can smell the fuel from here.
One year ago, I was admitted to the hospital with toxic levels of calcium in my blood due to my bones falling apart, I had 105.2 fever, not eating, and was literally slipping into darkness. My doctor said that a year ago the team didn’t think that I would look this good by now and had their fears, so I should and do feel extraordinarily blessed to have a bit of meat on my bones, a slight skip in my step and some eyebrows back. On Saturday, I even attended an 8pm Sounders match with my hubby and our neighbor; I was out until almost mid-night and drove us home. I was tired but felt so energized by the simple act of living life that I had tears streaming down my face when the opening cheers began. Some of us are truly persevering, fighting the good fight, and breathing the fresh air and I am one of them. As my goal of finishing treatment within a year was not obtainable, I will brush off my knees, get a new pair of jeans, and create a more practical one: my new goal is to hit remission by my 40th birthday, to celebrate with friends and family in Italy. I can do this, I have a touch less than two years to complete the project of “curing bacon”. (more on that title later…can you guess what it means 😉 So now, I continue to Live Life with gratitude and many more demanding questions, and I am still keeping the calm.