Cancer Poster Child

I am just not the poster child for cancer victims. I am not the strong woman everyone sees. Or I don't want to be. How the fuck am I supposed to cheer someone else up? My mother wants to send some woman to talk to me b/c she's got cancer and hasn't got the will to fight it. And I'm so fucking strong that I'm supposed to be her cheerleader? No, I'm not. I told her to find a professional. I am not happy and I am not strong and I want this over. Over damn it and I want to go back to moving forward before this stupid stumbling block got in my way. I don't want to spend the rest of my life fighting it or waiting for it to happen again. I want my bubbly happy go lucky take life as it comes attitude back and I want this day to be over. Today I want to just go home and lay in bed and cry. I want this gone and I want my hair and I want to never deal with this again. And I want someone else to cheer me up and be strong and know how bad this really sucks for me and not expect me to be a role model and not be impressed by my "strength" and just shut up and let me complain.

I just got a call from the hospital, my bloodwork came back with low platelets so the doctor decided I should wait a week before the next chemo. I just called his office and told the nurse it's now or never. I either finish up tomorrow or I'm not coming back for the 6th (which was a lower dosage anyway on a "just in case" procedure, so what's the fucking point!)

I should hear my phone ringing any minute now.

I'm so fucking sick and tired of this bullshit! Put me through the fucking ringer tomorrow, check me in if you have to, give me more transfusions, but with G-d as my witness, this fucking chemo bullshit is done tomorrow!

I nodded my head the whole time I was reading the story of her hair falling out. It was so close to the play by play I experienced. I had full wavy hair halfway down my back, I had great hair. Men loved my hair, that sexy touseled look.

I knew it was going to fall out when the chemo started, yet everyone liked to boost me up with an "it doesn't happen to everybody" speech that included one exception or another. But I knew it was only a matter of time.

The doctor told me it wouldn't start until after the second treatment, but it started about a week before. My mom had asked me to go wig shopping a week earlier, and I yelled at her to leave me alone until I actually needed it. It wasn't a fun girls day out for me. One week later, I called her. "It's time" I told her through tears.

Two weeks after my first chemo, I ran my hands through my hair and more than a few strands came out. I quickly called a friend, terrified. The next morning, I woke up with the back of my hair matted, and went to brush it. The entire knot came out in my brush. I cried so hard. I thought I had some more time. Not that it would've been any different.

The gentleman at the wig salon was the one that let me know it would all be gone within a couple of days. I thought it would just thin out, I didn't realize it happens so quickly. My "stylist" advised me to just buzz it all off. I couldn't. I had some offers for help, but that meant whoever did it would see me bald. I was determined that no one would see me bald.

Two days later, after the hair was everywhere in the house, in the bed, in the laundry, on the floors, in the sink, I looked into the mirror and grabbed the scissors. I had never had short hair in my life. I went to town and cut the whole head of fuzz down to about an inch. I tried to take my wet/dry razor to it but it got jammed, guess it's not meant for the head. After that, I would not buzz or shave the rest. I had thin sideburns and a patch at the back of my neck. The double sided wig tape cleaned off a section at the top, like a waxing treatment. If I was going to go completely bald, it had to happen on it's own. I wouldn't enable it.

I have a collection of wigs. People joke that I'm addicted. The truth is that none of them look real to me. None of them ARE me. I keep buying the next one hoping that one's going to look or feel better. They never are.

Around the house, I wear bandanas. My daughter accidentally wallked in on me in the shower and I was mortified. She was fine, but I wasn't. I'm okay wearing my "do-rag" in front of friends or family, but despite the multitude of requests, I refuse to show anyone.

Next Thursday is my sixth and last treatment (G-d willing). The doctor told me the hair would start growing back after my fifth, so daily I've been inspecting. I could swear I'm starting to see that blonde peach fuzz developing - which is interesting since I've normally got dark brown hair.

I came onto the web, trying to find out how long it would take to grow back, but there's no consistency. All I can do is wait it out. And I hate that.

Goals -

1) Work 3 hours every weekend on 2shop4stuff.com until ready - get it up and complete by 11/15

2) Give up sugar and white flour (no beating up for exceptions), eat less processed food after chemo is complete

3) Get finances under control -

• Create budget by 10/18, readjust with new salary in January
• Open Pre-paid tuition for Rachel by January
• Look into refinancing by 10/31

4) Sign Rachel up for an activity (capoeira, hip hop, gymnastics???) by 11/1

5) Get key to gym and set a schedule to work out by 11/12

6) Spend more weekends with Rachel

• Set up calendar with Jorge by 10/15
• find activities that are free or low cost by 11/1

7) Work on regular mountain biking schedule by 11/12

8) Start dating locally - quality only, must be ready for long term relationship, no "just for fun" by 11/26

9) Set new goals for the office, create a schedule of duties for myself by 10/25

10) Develop new idea for next screenplay by 12/1

It's amazing that I've been going crazy, yet I can't get myself to sit down and put my thoughts together into sentences. Maybe it's just like my lack of sharing with people. I'm not even expressing my thoughts on paper (or on the computer), let alone out loud. They just sit in my head, spin around and tear me up.

I don't know what it is or why I'm losing it, but I'm definitely feeling the emotion. I've been bitching since the beginning, but have generally kept a good disposition. Not this week. I'm feeling a big "fuck you" attitude for this crap. I don't want to go anymore and I don't want to put on my happy face. I want my hair back. It's not fun. I can own every wig they make, but it's not me, it's not comfortable and it's not good enough.

I have completely avoided worrying about my future, as far as my health is concerned. My focus is on the here and now, but this week that changed too. Will I have to go through this all over again? How often, how many times, how come?

I will try to get my good attitude back. I will try to choose happiness. But I need to forgive myself for these slips. I don't want to self pity, but I think it's fair to be frustrated. Am I a victim? Hopefully I don't present myself that way. I hate that quality in others so I need to be careful not to fall into that.

Oh well, going to end this post for now. I'm sure there's a lot more floating in my head, but I've got to work it out.

I danced today at the market
while singing the words of the song
My daughter was completely mortified
as I had brought her along

"Baby," I said, "don't you worry"
"no one really cares what I do"
"Listen, carefully" I say to her
"there's someone else singing too"

"But Mommy," she moans, so embarrassed
while I continue to dance
Laughing, I encourage her to join me
to just give the moment a chance

Unfortunately, the song ends,
and she gives me one of her grins
Then starts belting out the words,
to the new song that now begins

What's in your heart today?

My heart was filled with my daughter, for most of the day. I had been so angry, last night, at her father. Today, I woke up with excitement to have her with me for the day. Despite my getting her back due to her needing to see a doctor, I still planned our day together.

Karla kept asking me "why are you looking at her like that?" while we were at lunch. "What are you looking at?" she asked again. "My daughter is beautiful," I told her. My heart was filled with love today, and pleasure.

When I have her during the week, there's no time to enjoy her. There's rushing her around in the morning, getting her ready for school. There's work and dinner and homework and before you know it, bedtime. Her dad gets the relaxation and playtime on the weekend. He gets to forget the rules and just enjoy her. Today was my turn.

Something just clicked in my brain this morning. I see the quizzical look on my face, in the reflection of the microwave.

Maybe this is it. Maybe this is my time. Maybe this is what I asked for, back then. It's kind of a coincidence that I'm going through this 10 years later, almost exactly to the month. What were the last 10 years about? I bought 10 years to have my two most
awesome dreams come true.

If you asked me 10 years ago what I would want to experience before I die, it would be motherhood and being thin. Okay, so I was thin all of 15 minutes, but still, I got that. And from the day I recovered from the first round of cancer, I was set on becoming a mom. I got that.

I suddenly look around and see my world as something from an M. Night Shyamalan movie. I flash back through the past 10 years as though they were nothing but two major moments. It's very surreal to me.

Maybe this was my gift; 10 more years. G-d gave me what I wished for, over the course of these 10 years. I can't ask for more, but I want it. There's no internal dialogue of "oh, no that's not what I meant." G-d knows. He knows what I want but it's for Him to
decide. The outlook from the doctors is good. But I know my risks and I know it could take one moment on that operating table. My only last wish is not for more time, but to be gentle with me, whichever direction it goes.

I'm just so tired. I'd like to think that I just have not gotten enough sleep since the trip, but I'm afraid that's not it. I could blame it on emotional exhaustion. I felt fine until the biopsy. I had not one cough before then. If not for the wheeze, you'd never know anything was wrong. But not now. I'm coughing and I'm tired. I feel self-conscious at work when I cough, like everyone's thinking "poor thing" because they know. Most probably do know at this point, I really haven't hidden it. I feel it in my chest. I feel like I went out to a smoky bar with the girls last night and had too many cigarettes for the first time in a long time and now I'm suffering the consequences of that day after cough and tickle. I want this over with. I want to know when they're taking it out and I want to get through my recovery period and get back to work. I hate being in limbo. I hate not being able to do anything about it but wait. I hate being so tired.

Today I looked at you and cried. I watched the clown paint the dolphin on your face and cried. You are so incredibly beautiful and so full of life. I don't know if you realize how amazing you are. How you are changing every day! You have grown into a good kid. You were demanding as far back as I remember and you challenged everything I asked of you. But, although you have your moments, you have evolved. You are such a ray of light in my life.

I want to be here. I want to be here when you finally have real boobs. I want to cringe when you're bitchy with PMS. I want to eavesdrop on your phonecalls with boys to make sure you're acting like a girl and not a woman. I want to go shopping and do lunch with you and get our nails done. I want to be here when that first boy breaks your heart and eat ice cream with you and badmouth him.

I want you to have your mommy, always, when you need me.

I'm Sorry, G-d

"Believe in G-d," the receptionist tells me. She looks at my chart
and says my name, "Helene." She tells me she's going to remember my
name and pray for me tonight. I decide that it's very sweet but if
she mentions Jesus I'm going to punch her in the face. I never
would, but I think it.

"I'm sorry," I say to nobody, out loud. "I'm sorry." I keep hearing
it in my head and in turn repeat it over and over. "I'm sorry, I'm
sorry, I'm sorry."

I'm sorry G-d. I'm sorry for whatever I did. I don't know what I
did, but I'm sorry. I'll be good. I'll eat good from now on. I
won't make fun of people. Please.

"I love her so much," is my next rant. "I love her." Please, G-d,
my baby needs me. I love her so much and I can't leave her. It's
never been better. She's growing up and she's listening and she's
fun and she's my world and she makes me smile.

"Bullshit!" I decide that's it. I don't have to take it. This
just won't work. I don't have time. I'm busy at work, I have two
vacations planned and I have men that I don't want to know, who call
me every day. I'm going to Cancun. I don't care. This will just
have to wait.

"I'll eat the damn berries and nuts." I plan to call a nutritionist
tomorrow. There's those people who have fought this with nuts and
berries and herbs and vitamins and I'll do it if I have to. I won't
take this lying down.

"I'm sorry," I've returned to chanting. "Bullshit!" There's
nothing to be sorry about, why would he say that. We won't know
anything until Monday. Dr. C didn't say "I'm sorry." Dr. C said to
take the tests, and this is very uncommon and it's unlikely to
happen again after being in remission for 10 years.

I analyze and compromise with the nobody sitting beside me in the
car. Well if it hasn't changed in a month, it probably won't for
awhile. I can wait 2 months. I can take my vacations, run the big
project at work and get my promotion, then slowly end the
relationships with the men and then take care of what needs to be
done. I do this as if I know better than them and it's up to me.

Nothing to do. Again, like that horrible unknowing weekend, 10
years ago, I can do nothing but wait. 3 days until the test. 2
days after that for results. That's it.

Life must go on. I still had to come home and clean up dog poop off
the carpet. I still had to put Rachel in the shower and give a
practice spelling test and plan for the weekend and for Survivor
night. I still need to hang the laundry and do the dishes. I still
need to get the online seminar handled. I still have to live. I'm
still alive.

If you were folowing my life and times, you're SOL. I've saved it for posterity somewhere that only I can get to it.

Every now and then I have something profound and deep to say, so why not say it here!

Here's today's statement.

Just because I know I shouldn't be with him, doesn't mean I don't want to.