Well shit. I really wasn’t expecting this at all. At least now. I am certain this is a good thing, but I have to say, I was a little jarred, annoyed, and a bit “oh…no wonder I was craving chocolate and feeling a bit wonky”. This may fall into the too much information category, but this is a blog mostly about cancer, and so far you have all read about my stinky scaly fingers, digestive issues, hair loss, hair gain, etc. So why not now write about the return of aunt flo and all things unexpected on this cancer path. Really, after two years?
Ironically, this week three people asked me if we were going to have anymore kids. Now, I am pretty sure the past ten months of chemotherapy, beginning with crazy intense drugs such as chicken splat (Cysplatin) and Etoposide, switching into my Taxed, Stripped and Fucked cocktail and now rounding it out with some Navy Beans, has squashed my fertility, so the return of my period just served as some kind of poetic metaphor of life moving, plus it shows how much my body is enjoying the navy bean stew (I guess). It was also quite funny to me that people thought I even looked like a normal person to ask me about more kids. This means it didn’t occur to them that my punk rock, shaved hairdo had nothing to do with cancer, but was some kind of chic fashion statement because I like the shape of my head and enjoy some Fugazi when in the right mood. What did MCA say…”yes, yes, y’all”.
I would like to talk about the jarring feeling of this unexpected. I had emotionally worked upon dealing with several of these cancer side effects in a thoughtful process. I knew from the beginning that getting through this was going to take a meditative effort of endurance and acceptance. I had accepted that I was in “early” menopause, accepted that even if my fertility wasn’t compromised that my body simply couldn’t handle having another child. I have made concessions and opened the door to the positive sides of these issues. Rather than mourning the loss of my period and fertility, I knew my sweet son was enough for us, and how nice it would be to not have to deal with the monthly visits and headaches. I was positive about the hair loss, saying to people, well..at least I don’t have to worry about shaving my legs or spending money on waxing. Ahh, what we women choose to endure. All of it is ironic. A disease that affects millions of women takes away our bosom, and gifts us with smooth bikini lines and chins. I saw the positive. I see the positive, but the jarring part of this new stage of alternate consequence, is that the box I put those emotions into for safe keeping of my optimistic state is now empty of its effects. My friends and family get excited with a little bit of fuzz on my head and I think about that scene in “The Princess Bride” when Andre the Giant gets excited over Wesley’s paralytic state changing with a little finger move. Wesley says something like: “We have a war to win with only three people and a Holocaust cape and you want me to get excited over a little finger move? haaa?”
I love Andre the Giant, so I am reminded that he had some wise words and said something like, well…it’s a start. So, do you see where I am going with this? My encouragement of well this is a start, a return of the old me is present, yet the problem is that I feel the old me isn’t likely to return, and that is okay as long as there is a me. A little finger move, or growth of the hair is not an indication that I am cured or that this is soon over. I think it has become a false positive for my family and friends. They see me looking well, having more energy, and that is a good thing, amazing in fact. I am blessed, I am embracing feeling well and enjoying each day that I am able to play with Milo and go out on a spring evening with my husband. I am blessed because I have a box to fill with positivity, encouragement, hopes, faith, and a finish line. A little hair growth doesn’t have me jumping at the gate but it’s a start. Maybe it’s good to be jarred out of the expected, keep the fight moving; I still have Stage IV metastasized breast and neuro-endrocrin cancer and need to face it head on. I know I am a warrior calming the battle into retreat, punk this shit into remission, ya know what I’m talkin about? yes, yes, y’all.
keepthecalm 