Well hello again, everyone. I know it has been awhile. A long while. I guess I took a break from all things "cancer" for a bit. I was done with treatment and needed to just spend some time getting back to normal. I was hoping that once I got the chemo out of my body, that once I was stabilized and done with the rigors of everything treatment entails, I would be able to just pick up where my life abruptly stopped on November 26, 2013. I was wrong, it hasn't been that easy.
In May, we moved back into our house which was like a shrine to my pre-cancer life. It looked like we just dropped everything and left....and essentially we had. There were maternity clothes in the laundry. New work clothes I had purchased for my job I had spent just four days at, sat in the bags with tags on them. The baby's room was full of clothes that he grew out of without ever having a chance to wear them. I saw the couch where I spent most of my days last Fall because I was so tired. In our bedroom pain pill bottles were strewn about along with a heating pad, all remnants of my attempts to make the pain go away before I knew what was really going on with me.
My cousin, Elizabeth, did a wonderful thing. Knowing that my house was going to trigger some bad thoughts, she came over and repainted the living room. She decorated it and brightened the room so that I could have a clean slate and not be too threatened by the thoughts of the past. I don't know that I could have come back to the same house. So much had changed in six short months and the fears and anxiety did come back when I walked through the doors of my house. It was overwhelming. My world had been turned upside down and inside out. I had had the safety and comfort of my parent's house, of them being there, to cushion me and now we were on our own. I knew it had to be done. If I stayed at my parents', the cancer would be winning. I was determined to show the rest of the world that I could get on with my life and begin healing.
In true Jodie fashion, I took on too much. I have always been a lot like my father in terms of doing everything at once. I can't just start things slowly and easily. I have to take them on full bore and push the limits. For instance, I'm not going to go to the gym and do five minutes on the elliptical and build up from there. No, no no. I am going to go for at least 30 minutes. What happens then? Well, you end up in bed for two days afterward. I found that out quickly. My body had been through the ringer. Chemo, again, is essentially poison that just debilitates you to no end and you have to be conscious of what your body has been through. Muscles are weak and atrophied, bones are achy, joints are stiff. In my case, I had the added bonus of pregnancy changes to my body to deal with. I essentially had not worked out for at least the last 18 months. But I wanted to show everyone, including myself, that I was coming out ahead of the game. That I had the stamina and resilience to do anything I wanted. So I tore out the backsplash in our kitchen. Paid for it by having to sleep hours upon hours. I then decided to redo my whole front garden. Ended up with a sore back and neck. Didn't learn my lesson. Bought a bike, figuring that was low-impact. Ended up with runner's knee. The straw that broke the camel's back? Rolling over in bed after a few days of working out and lifting a 25lb baby only to have excrutiating neck spasms. I was toast. Couldn't lift my head off the pillow. My father had to carry me out of bed. This was it. I realized right then and there, cancer had ruined me physically. It was an incredibly frustrating realization. I know, as you get older, things get tougher. But this was different. I look at my body in the mirror and I just don't look like the same person I was six months ago. I have varicose veins and cellulite. I used to just accept that parts of my body were never going to be what I wanted, but there were areas that I could appreciate. Now, I don't see anything I like anymore. No more flat stomach. My arms make me cringe. They are covered with bruises from low platelets and my shoulders round over from poor posture. I hate not having my hair. Hate it. I'm missing my favorite accessory. In the past, whenever I fluctuated in weight, at least I had good hair that I could use to detract from my hips or my butt. But that's gone now, and in it's place is an overgrown brush cut. Everyone tells me that I look "beautiful" with short hair, but I don't feel it. I pull on the hair every time I am trying to style it, in hopes that this makes it grow longer quicker. I just don't feel like me anymore physically or mentally. I can't explain it without sounding like an ungrateful bitch. I'm so lucky to be alive and that my cancer responded to treatment. God and I talk every night about how blessed I am to be here. But, if you all want the truth, and I vowed with this blog to give the truth, I feel that every day I am walking a tightrope between grateful feelings and overwhelming depression and anxiety.
I am not the same person I was for the past 35 years. I am now a person living with cancer and its effects. But I am alive, and I feel that each day I have to show my appreciation for that. If I sleep in, I feel guilt. Guilt that I am not making the most of each moment. If I send my baby to daycare, I feel guilt. Guilt that I am not enjoying what time I have with him because who knows when things could change. If I go shopping and spend money, there is guilt. Why? Because cancer was supposed to show me it wasn't about material things. Not to mention that going shopping for clothes is beyond depressing now. I am in the "pretty plus" section and even buying things that fit right, I feel ugly. There, I said it. I feel like I look like a giant blob whenever I catch my reflection in the windows when I am out and about. And to top it all off? Yeah, my skin decided to erupt (another medication side effect) so I looked like Cyclops for a while there.
Some of you are probably thinking that I am going off the deep end here. I'm not. I take an anti-depressant and for the most part, I stay on the even-keel throughout my days. I have just learned to accept that this is my new normal. Hair grows back and weight can be lost. But, to a person who goes all-in and expects instant gratification, the wait for long hair and a skinnier body is going to be trying and getting these things won't be as easy as it was in the past. My new treatment plan involves taking Tamoxifen and getting a Lupron shot once a month. Easy, right? Not exactly. The side effects of these two things reads like a list of every girl's nightmares. Weight gain, hair thinning, mood swings, joint pain, insomnia, hot flashes. But, the drugs are working, so I should shut my mouth and quit my complaining. That is the battle I have in my head day-in and day-out. You're alive, you brat. But I want my old life back. In this moment, I feel like throwing my body on the floor and having an old-fashioned tantrum. I want to scream "GIVE IT BACK!"
But here I sit, typing and trying to control my anger and frustration. The hardest part of this whole recuperation and treatment has become my mood swings. My doctor warned me back in April that I would have pretty severe ones. I assured him that I could handle it and he said that these mood swings were more like "put down your weapons" kinds of craziness. I just laughed it off. In the few months that I have been on the pills, I have become aware of my shift in personality. What also doesn't help is being on a different anti-depressant. I had been on my old one for over 10 years and liked who I was on it. Now I just feel like a bitch. (Sorry I keep swearing, but bitch is the best way to describe it!) I can be totally fine for most of the day and then every little thing will irritate me. The way my husband chews, the way Sam is crying, the way the cat is looking at me! Seriously, I become irate! I literally have a dialogue in my head to calm myself down. I have to count and breathe to get myself through it. I find myself yelling and screaming about things and I see the way that Bill looks at me, and hate myself for being like this. But I honestly feel that I can't help it anymore than I already am. But I hate it. He doesn't deserve it, the baby doesn't either. Anyone that knows me also knows that I just adore my cats. Now I find myself screaming at them and pushing them aside more than petting them. I feel as if I have been rewired into this new person that is a complete stranger to me.
I just feel awful when it affects how I deal with Sam. He's a baby who can't communicate and needs a mommy who understands. Today I found myself losing my cool when he wouldn't nap. Bill finally came and took him from me because I needed a break. As he walked away from me with that sweet little boy in his arms, I burst into tears. What have I become? I feel like a monster. I feel like a failure as a mother in these moments, but I feel so helpless to my mood swings. Am I cheating Sammy out of a true mother experience? I already feel like he looks to Bill for love and affection more than me. I feel like I've done that to myself by not being there for him all the time. By sending him to daycare so I could sleep. Am I just a lazy lump? I don't know.
I guess it is time to go back to the therapist. I know I need to talk some of this stuff out. I still have fears. Just today I was reading about a woman who had breast cancer diagnosed in 1997 at age 29 and she died in 2009, I believe. It set me over the edge and reeling. I'm good right now, but when is the cancer coming back and will I beat it the next time? I mean, 12 years is a long time to live with it, but have you ever thought about what it's like to put an expiration date on your life? I find myself thinking about myself in 12 years and where will we be and what if I have to let go then?
I went shopping and as I was trying on sunglasses, I looked at my face. The acne, the swelling, the short hair. The stranger. And I saw the necklaces and jewelry dangling behind me and thought of previous summers where I would be buying jewelry to match a dress that I had to have because it made me feel beautiful. My heart sunk. I don't feel pretty anymore. And then, as I drove home, "If I die young" by The Band Perry came on the radio. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I sang the words aloud and thought about death and how I have faced it this past year on more than one occasion. And I thought about how it is always there. On the paperwork I have to fill out for benefits. Do you know what it is like to have to check a yes box on a paper next to the question "is this expected to result in death?" Do you?
Last year at this time, I was full of life in anticipation of welcoming my little boy. Now, I fight. Some days are better than others. Today was the first day in a long time that I felt sorrow. Maybe I needed a good cry, and I needed to vent. I don't know. I feel somewhat better after the tears have subsided. And I'm still in fight mode, that part of me never left. I guess I have to adjust to the person I have become and recognize all that I have been through. We all know that we are our own harshest critic. Bill told me I need to ease up on myself and while I was crying he set Sammy down. That little buggie crawled over to my feet, pulled himself up to my knees and touched my hands and smiled at me. It was like he knew I needed him in that moment. And he needed me. Sammy reminded me that I am still the person he grew inside of and gave him life. I'm the person who held him in the hospital for hours and rocked him to soothe his cries. I am and always will be his mother and cancer cannot and will not take that from me. I scooped him up and told myself, "We STILL got this!"
