Okay to not to be okay

This morning, as I was busy doing some heavy duty cleaning in my bedroom, I found a tangled cluster of watches. I'd tucked this tangle of Fossil, Timex, Armitron, and Lorus,watches away after my life was forever changed by breast cancer. Although time was pretty much the only thing on my mind, I didn't want to spend a single moment focused on how much time I had left or how much time I'd already lost. I stopped wearing watches. After giving up on these time keepers, I found a new freedom. The 1440 minutes of each day seemed longer and more precious. I didn't want a single one to slip away.

The frozen faces of these watches stare up at me, their hands fixed. I gather the mess of metal and leather and hold it tightly feeling the weight of them pressed against my skin. It is then I realize not only has time stopped, but I've stopped. I've stopped living my life. I've stopped being me.

I look in the mirror and wonder who's looking back at me. I don't know this person. This woman, the one with the flat chest, the one who doesn't even look like a woman, standing in front of me. She looks sad and depressed. She looks lonely. She has low self esteem. Where did she come from? Where did the old me go? I used to be so vibrant and full of life. I used to be self confident and outgoing. I loved being around others and now, I prefer to spend my time alone. I know this is unhealthy. But how do I fix it?

There are days when living post cancer is difficult. There are so many unspoken expectations placed upon survivors by family and friends. Somehow we're expected to just figure it out and make things work and most of the time we do a pretty good job at hiding behind a mask of "okay-ness." But sometimes, isn't it okay not to be okay?

Some days are more difficult that others. Most of the time, I have good days. Although I'm in constant pain, I push through. I'm determined to make the best of a bad situation. Truthfully, I'm very blessed so I try to live that way. But there are days when I'm just not feeling good and those are the hard days. I try not to complain because I'm sure my husband and my children are tired of hearing it. Although they sympathize with me on the days I mention I'm hurting, I know they wish things were the way they used to be and so do I.

The weight of the watches has grown heavy in my palm. Why do I keep holding on to these non-working time keepers? I should just throw them away. They serve no purpose other than to remind me of the day time stopped for me. Maybe one day, I'll be strong enough to throw them away but for now, I'll just slip them back into the drawer. I've used too much time thinking about the past today.

It's a good thing I don't wear a watch any longer. I don't want to know how much time I just wasted but I'm sure it's more than I should have. You'd think I would have pretty much put all this cancer mess behind me by now, wouldn't you? But some days, it just overwhelms me.

How did it get so late so soon? Its night before its afternoon. December is here before its June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon? Dr. Seuss

Sometimes I just want to pull my hair out

Sometimes I just want to pull my hair out, especially when I read a friend's blog post and I just can't wrap my head around it. This morning, I was reading a post from a fellow breast cancer survivor. She said her cancer has returned and is growing in her spine. As soon as I read the words, I burst into tears. I just didn't understand! We'd been diagnosed with the same type of cancer in the same year. How could it be that her cancer had returned and mine had not? And what made it even more difficult to understand and accept was the fact that she'd chosen to go the traditional treatment route. I'd opted not to do that. She'd endured chemotherapy, radiation, and the anti-hormone therapy afterward. I'd refused chemo, had done 28 rounds of radiation, and had only taken the anti-hormone drugs for a couple of months. It just didn't compute and it certainly didn't seem fair. But that's what sucks about cancer. It doesn't follow the rules.

Cancer the gift that keeps on giving - the high cost of cancer

There's a basket of bills sitting in the corner of my bedroom. I try not to look at it as I enter the room but I know it's there. Its contents spill out onto the floor whenever my husband stuffs another bill into the basket. Usually, when the mail comes, he gets it first so he can filter what I see and what I don't see. Since he's the only one working, he takes care of our financial responsibilities and while I'm thankful for that, I'm not ignorant about our mounting bills. Cancer is expensive. Even if you've reached maintenance phase, it's costly. There are always tests to be run, blood to be taken, doctors to see. It never ends. Just knowing this will be a continual process for the rest of my life frustrates me and the alternative, death, will be my only way out. It would be nice to know that cancer could be a once and done kind of thing but that's only wishful thinking. Everyone knows cancer is a long and very involved illness. I had no id

Annual checkup yields good news!

Yesterday I went to the Cancer Treatment Centers of America for my annual check up. For those unfamiliar with the cancer treatment center, it's an integrative facility that provides services for the body, mind, and spirit. My day began in the survivorship department. While there, I met with the doctor and was asked about how I'd been feeling both physically and emotionally. We talked for about half an hour. The doctor and I had a few laughs and it was probably the most pleasant visit I've ever had. Instead of making me feel that she was the doctor and I was the patient, I felt like we were old friends just having a good chat. It was refreshing and I left her office feeling very optimistic. Next was the port lab where I have my blood drawn. It's always a challenge there because I always have to explain about my lymphedema and why it's necessary to have blood drawn from my hand instead of my arm. You'd think, after 4 years of being a patient there, they'

Journey Out of Pink

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