Running away
I probably did a foolish thing. I went online and typed "best blogs about metastatic breast cancer." There were quite a few. I have been feeling so alone in this lately that I wanted to read something from someone who got it. Who understood what it feels like to have your whole life turned upside down. I wondered if others got tired of hearing people tell them to keep up that good fight! Or, worse..."My Aunt Sandy had metastatic breast cancer and she fought it like a lioness! Well, no, she didn't make it. She died last year, but she sure gave it a run for the money!"
I wondered if others hated planning vacations because frankly, it is so fucking HARD. All those meds to juggle. All that wondering if you would be able to go to those activities, visit with those people. Yet, the need to escape is almost unbearable.
I wondered if others were sick of the smell of doctor's offices, labs, waiting rooms. Tired of needles. Body probing. Questions about pain.
Rate your pain. What number is your pain today?
Listen, lady....my pain is fucking off the charts. But, not wanting to admit that because if you admit that, there is talk about admitting you for further tests and please GOD, you just want to die at home.
Everyone is always sending prayers. And this is lovely, it is. And there have actually been several legitimate studies showing that prayer actually works. But, others refute that. This sort of pleases me because it levels the field. I mean, what about people who die of cancer? Did they not get enough prayers? And I don't get people who praise me for being such a brave fighter. Isn't everyone? I mean, how many people hear that they have cancer and say, "Well, okay then. I'm just going to sit down over there and let it take me. Goodbye!" I think that most normal people's first reaction to hearing that they have cancer is to scream NOOOOOOO!!!!! And then, once the dust settles....fight.
It isn't bravery that sets you in motion, dudes. It is fear. Fear of losing touch with those whom you love. Fear of dying. I mean, let's touch on that. If you are a religious person....you can comfort yourself that there is this great place to leap into after death. But, only some dick narcissist like Trump would never doubt that they would get there. Most people look in the mirror and have instant knowledge of every cruddy thing that they ever did. If you are a parent, you look at those that you created. Did you do a good job?
None of us, even true believers, really know what heaven is or the qualifications for going there.
I am not a particularly religious person. I am curious about what comes next, but I am in no hurry to find out. I can say that I am pretty happy with my life. I feel that I have done as well as I could. Failed spectacularly on many counts. But, I can honestly say that I have tried my best to have an open heart, be a good person. I don't know that religion has much to do with heaven, if there is one. I know a lot of very religious people who have rather mean spirits. I also know many non religious people who have rather good ones. I look at the people in the Westboro Baptist Church. They claim to love God and follow his ways completely. I don't believe that prejudice and hatred gets your foot in the door. I don't believe that Jesus was smiling when he saw them picketing Fred Roger's funeral. I don't believe that he was smiling when he watched babies being taken away from their immigrant parents.
None of us are that surefooted at heaven's door.
So...I was feeling isolated and lonesome and my next cancer group meeting isn't for another 24 days. Yes. Me. In a support group. Never thought I would see tha happen. Except that it did. I found that I could not bear the loneliness of this disease anymore, and I joined. It helps. And I do have a few people that I can call. But, I wasn't in the need for company either. I just wanted something to read to feel less alone.
So, I went to read these blogs. The first two I clicked on had memorials on them. The writers had recently died. I guess the good news is that one lived for nearly 3 years. The other only made it 11 months.
The next blog was written by the cancer patient's husband because she was too weak to write. No.
The next were ok, but very clinical. Plus, the women were very young. Not much in common with me. At last I hit one that seemed to fit me. An older woman who had metastatic breast cancer AND rheumatoid arthritis.
Bingo. She wrote of the frustration of going on vacation and constantly feeling as if she were flailing in her energy. She wrote of sleeping for 17 hours and then needing a nap a few hours later. She wrote of pain that seemed unbearable. About pretending to be normal.
It helped. But, it made me sad and made me feel as if I should be less of a whiner and more of a good role model. What if someone with stage 4 cancer finds this blog? Shouldn't I be more....upbeat?
No, I decided. I should just be me and know that this enough and not for everyone. We all have our stories and this is mine. Some are sadder. Some are happier.
My 60's will not be spent the way I dreamed that they would in my college days. Or even my 30's and 40's. I will not be moving to New Orleans and sitting outside on my porch swing in January. I will not be going to the Quarter to find some odd little voodoo trinkets.
I guess I could still drink mint juleps.
And I can still do what I do best. Still use my twitter and facebook to stick it to the man. I can still sip my coffee and watch those cardinals at the feeder. I can watch movies with my wife. I can wait for Game of Thrones to come back and see how Jon Snow fares.
I can...I can....I can.
Still.
I wondered if others hated planning vacations because frankly, it is so fucking HARD. All those meds to juggle. All that wondering if you would be able to go to those activities, visit with those people. Yet, the need to escape is almost unbearable.
I wondered if others were sick of the smell of doctor's offices, labs, waiting rooms. Tired of needles. Body probing. Questions about pain.
Rate your pain. What number is your pain today?
Listen, lady....my pain is fucking off the charts. But, not wanting to admit that because if you admit that, there is talk about admitting you for further tests and please GOD, you just want to die at home.
Everyone is always sending prayers. And this is lovely, it is. And there have actually been several legitimate studies showing that prayer actually works. But, others refute that. This sort of pleases me because it levels the field. I mean, what about people who die of cancer? Did they not get enough prayers? And I don't get people who praise me for being such a brave fighter. Isn't everyone? I mean, how many people hear that they have cancer and say, "Well, okay then. I'm just going to sit down over there and let it take me. Goodbye!" I think that most normal people's first reaction to hearing that they have cancer is to scream NOOOOOOO!!!!! And then, once the dust settles....fight.
It isn't bravery that sets you in motion, dudes. It is fear. Fear of losing touch with those whom you love. Fear of dying. I mean, let's touch on that. If you are a religious person....you can comfort yourself that there is this great place to leap into after death. But, only some dick narcissist like Trump would never doubt that they would get there. Most people look in the mirror and have instant knowledge of every cruddy thing that they ever did. If you are a parent, you look at those that you created. Did you do a good job?
None of us, even true believers, really know what heaven is or the qualifications for going there.
I am not a particularly religious person. I am curious about what comes next, but I am in no hurry to find out. I can say that I am pretty happy with my life. I feel that I have done as well as I could. Failed spectacularly on many counts. But, I can honestly say that I have tried my best to have an open heart, be a good person. I don't know that religion has much to do with heaven, if there is one. I know a lot of very religious people who have rather mean spirits. I also know many non religious people who have rather good ones. I look at the people in the Westboro Baptist Church. They claim to love God and follow his ways completely. I don't believe that prejudice and hatred gets your foot in the door. I don't believe that Jesus was smiling when he saw them picketing Fred Roger's funeral. I don't believe that he was smiling when he watched babies being taken away from their immigrant parents.
None of us are that surefooted at heaven's door.
So...I was feeling isolated and lonesome and my next cancer group meeting isn't for another 24 days. Yes. Me. In a support group. Never thought I would see tha happen. Except that it did. I found that I could not bear the loneliness of this disease anymore, and I joined. It helps. And I do have a few people that I can call. But, I wasn't in the need for company either. I just wanted something to read to feel less alone.
So, I went to read these blogs. The first two I clicked on had memorials on them. The writers had recently died. I guess the good news is that one lived for nearly 3 years. The other only made it 11 months.
The next blog was written by the cancer patient's husband because she was too weak to write. No.
The next were ok, but very clinical. Plus, the women were very young. Not much in common with me. At last I hit one that seemed to fit me. An older woman who had metastatic breast cancer AND rheumatoid arthritis.
Bingo. She wrote of the frustration of going on vacation and constantly feeling as if she were flailing in her energy. She wrote of sleeping for 17 hours and then needing a nap a few hours later. She wrote of pain that seemed unbearable. About pretending to be normal.
It helped. But, it made me sad and made me feel as if I should be less of a whiner and more of a good role model. What if someone with stage 4 cancer finds this blog? Shouldn't I be more....upbeat?
No, I decided. I should just be me and know that this enough and not for everyone. We all have our stories and this is mine. Some are sadder. Some are happier.
My 60's will not be spent the way I dreamed that they would in my college days. Or even my 30's and 40's. I will not be moving to New Orleans and sitting outside on my porch swing in January. I will not be going to the Quarter to find some odd little voodoo trinkets.
I guess I could still drink mint juleps.
And I can still do what I do best. Still use my twitter and facebook to stick it to the man. I can still sip my coffee and watch those cardinals at the feeder. I can watch movies with my wife. I can wait for Game of Thrones to come back and see how Jon Snow fares.
I can...I can....I can.
Still.
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