Dear Cancer,

Dear Cancer, Although you disgust me, always and forever will, on most day I am able to be thankful to you. I am thankful for what I have learned about myself while being face to face with you. I have been able to see exactly what I am capable of enduring, what I am capable of accomplishing....which is kicking your damn butt! But for today, just this one day, please allow me to rant....and by rant I mean please allow me to express my utmost hatred and anger toward you. 

Today, above most days, I HATE YOU. I hate you for what you did to me. I hate that you took away my fertility. I hate that you took away my prime years before menopause. I hate that I am now at 39 in menopause and have to suffer some side effects of hormone replacement therapy. I hate that you have scarred me inside as well as out. I hate that my children (6 and 8) look at me and ask what happened to my belly to leave such a big mark. I hate that I have to tell them there is something out there so evil that it will permanently hurt their mommy. I hate that they know that this is something that we can't control and could attack anyone, anytime. But more than hating what you did to me, I hate you for what you did to my mother and to my family 7 years ago, when you first appeared your ugly head. I hate you for the suffering you caused her. The pain she went through, only to lose her beautiful life one year later. I hate that you took away what she wanted most of all, which was to be a grand-maman to my kids. I hate that she never got to meet my beautiful Sophie that was growing inside my belly. I hate you for taking my mom away. I hate that instead of feeling the magic of Christmas this time of year and looking forward to creating beautiful memories with my mom side-by-side, and celebrate with what my family used to be, I am now feeling the emptiness of her not being here. She is so close to my heart and always will be (and that you cannot take away from me) but yet she is so far and I struggle to find happiness this time of year. It becomes harder and harder to just close my eyes and think back on all those beautiful Christmases we did get to have together. HOW DARE YOU. How dare you come into our lives and take that away. She was a good person unlike any other. Her outlook on life was always positive and full of smiles, laughter and love. She lived for her family, her kids, her husband. She loved all those in her life. She also lived to make all those around her happy and comfortable and feel accepted. There was no better person and I truly believe the world is one shade darker without her light shining in it. I could try and try each day yet could never reach the level of goodness that woman had. You should be ashamed of yourself. Dear Cancer, you truly disgust me today above all other days. 

"You are cancer free". Am I really ever?

I am coming up on my one year anniversary of being cancer-free. Reason to CELEBRATE? You bet your A$$ it is. And I will celebrate. Trust me, I will. But...

“But what? There is no ‘but’”...says someone who has thankfully never had cancer. And they are right in a way but oh so wrong in another way, sadly.

The “but” for me is what happens to you —your mind, your heart, your fears, your dreams— once the cancer is gone. It's what you go through when the “doom and gloom” days of doctor appointments are long gone. Once you're done with tests, blood work, biopsies, consultations, scans, surgeries, etc., you walk into that follow-up appointment scared. You think of everything they could say, such as, "We didn't get it all", "You'll need treatment xyz" or "The cancer spread...". But alas, you hear those words you have dreamed of hearing since you were diagnosed, "YOU ARE CANCER-FREE".  You head home feeling as though you are floating instead of walking, in a state of shock. I thought that night would be the best sleep of my life, but it ended up being the start of many sleepless nights…

I have never been someone who thinks negatively but rather, I have always focused on the positives. I never had too many anxieties or worries growing up, and never held onto stresses for too long. I would always figure out what needed to be done and then did the best I could to move on, happy and worry-free. But now, not so much. I worry about my health, along with every ache and pain. I think about all the possibilities of what could attack my body. I think about my kids, my hubby, my family. I think about cancer finding its way back into my life. Although I am a strong person and live a healthy and active lifestyle, I feel physically vulnerable all the time. What if the cancer never left?. I sometimes fear that it will never be gone. Is anyone ever truly “cancer-free?”

Why is it that when I was going through cancer, I was so positive and optimistic? I was solid and focused and even though I was still scared, I had a purpose. I was on a mission to concur this beast. "No f'ing way you will take me down". I laughed a lot. I was virtually unchanged. I was ME. I went to appointments focused with my lists of questions. I did my research, I was informed, I laughed with the medical staff. I tried to turn as many of my daily interactions into a ‘Saturday Night Live’ skit as possible. I made people around me smile. I remember most of it as a 'happy’ time. But the moment you are sent home with your “get out of jail free” card, you are alone, unsupported, and left to deal with the after effects no one really warns you about. No one tells you that you will come down from that adrenaline rush to a place where you don't know what you feel, think or how to move forward in your life.

How do you explain to your loved ones that it isn't as easy as it seems, when they say "Get over it", "Don't think that", or "It's gone, so focus on that". Yes, we try to do that, but without wanting it, we think of the negative and darker stuff and especially of all those ”what if’s.” Then we struggle with the guilt of thinking those negative thoughts, so we start to lie when asked “How are you doing?”

If you ask me how I’m doing, and I answer honestly and tell you that I’m worried, please accept my answer. You asked and I answered. It might not be all sunshine, rainbows or fluffy kittens but it is where I am at. Yes I am grateful for my life and my health but I want to be OK with this second stage of feeling scared, worried, and anxious. I can't quite explain why these thoughts are poisoning my mind but I want to be allowed to go through this part and hope I can continue to have the same support I had at the beginning. My support systems are what got me through it in the first place...I guess I just need them all a tad longer than expected. 

XOXOXO

Cancer becomes part of you even when it's gone...

Sad to read that cancer continues to affect so many of us even after we are lucky enough to be cancer-free. This blogger is very brave for what she has written....

http://www.ihadcancer.com/h3-blog/06-11-2014/Sex-After-Cancer-Going-To-Vaginal-Boot-Camp

XOXO

How I found my Zzzzs's.....or not.....

Wow, it has been a good three months since my last update. There are many a moments when I thought I had a rant to post, a positive thought or just a note to touch base with those interested or wondering what the latest was but I never got around to it, or to put it plainly, was just too damn tired....

I just read back on some of my posts and especially the last one with its title 'Reflections of a Year' and although it was appropriate with it being the year end, I almost feel like this post should hold that title also. Reason being is that today is the one year anniversary of my hearing the words "You have Cancer". Wowza. A few of my close friends have asked me when I mentioned that "Does it feel like it was just yesterday that you were diagnosed or does it feel like an eternity away"? To that I can honestly answer: BOTH.

It feels like it was just yesterday that I was sitting in the waiting room with my father, husband, sisters. There's a paragraph in a book I am currently reading that made me think of that faithful day:

    We leave the comfortable waiting room and walk through the white doors into an alternate

     universe, a sterile world where the comfortable chairs and sofas give way to plastic and metal, 

     where the warm pine yields to polymers and laminates and steel, and where the lighting subtly 

     shifts from incandescent to fluorescent... [The end of your Life Book Club by Will Schawalbe]

It did have nice calming images on the walls, comfortable chairs and sofas, soft incandescent lighting, then hearing my name be called out, and then crossing the line from the comfortable environment to that sterile hallway that brought us to that cube room with its fluorescent lighting which seems to make the healthiest of people look old, tired and drawn in. When I just think back of that little square room, sitting with my dad and hubby, waiting for the doctor to enter the room, my heartbeat raises to the same rhythm that it did one year ago, April 8th, 2013, 9:30am. I remember clearly the quiet ride home, the shock. My mind was totally blank, yet so full with thought, fear, questions...

And then it also feels like it was an eternity away. Everything that has happened since that day seems also somewhat of a fog. Perhaps this fog you place yourself in is a type of survival mechanism so you don't dwell on the shock too much. Perhaps your mind has a way of trying to push trauma (emotional and physical) to a distant place to protect you and allow you to move forward. I've had countless medical appointments since that day. I've had scans, bloodwork, tests. I've had two surgeries since that day. I've struggled back through recovery. Some days were good, some not so good. I've watched ten seasons of Friends DVD's (thanks L.V. for the bedridden entertainment). I've hit some all-time emotional lows, I've put some strain and stress onto my all too supportive family. I've seen countless doctors still, and continue to struggle through some stuff that I hope I can move past but am also trying to accept I may never.

With that year, I am forever changed. Change is not always a bad thing but it can be quite difficult and take some time. I am writing this in hopes that I will eventually believe it. I have had so much change in my life, that I was hoping for some stability. But with now having to learn this new me, this me who has been put into a sudden menopause and the shock it has placed my body in, this new me who no matter how healthy a life style I live, will always fear the return of illness and cancer, this new me with different thoughts and emotions, a body that reacts differently to things that were so familiar to me before but also this new me who is determined to be a healthy and physically fit as my body and mind will allow it to be (Spartan Race, here I come).

So in simple terms if you are wondering how I am and have been these past three months? I am OK. Not great just good. Not bad but I've seen better. Sleep? It's been worse. I think having let go of some of the anger that came with this new found insomnia has helped. I am still frequently waking, tossing and turning but am trying to let go of that anger that came with every waking. We have removed the TV from our bedroom and can no longer look at the time on the cable box and see exactly how many more hours I have to toss and turn until the morning comes. The bedroom is no longer a 'family room'. It is purely a sleeping place (and well you know....). It is becoming a more serene place and much less family action-packed. I have stopped taking any sleeping aids, other than the very natural melatonin. Prescriptions were not doing what they needed to do and then created this zombie-like Adele for the remainder of the day. I did not like having my head in a fog throughout the day. The other question I get a lot is has my iron gone up? Nope. Not one bit. Not a tad. Frustrating you say? Yup. Still working with my dr. on this front. Hormonal replacement therapy? Still working on it. First one I was given, well my body just did not want to absorb it. I seemed to be doing better with the menopause symptoms but with my young age, my hormone levels need to be kept to a certain level to help protect my bones and my heart from disease to those organs. Physical remission from surgery? Awesome, all due to a fabulous trainer I have been seeing since October. She has worked with me in a slow and progressive way that was just perfect for me. She has understood where I was, understood the place I was coming from (both emotionally and physically) and knew my vision for where I wanted to be (Go Spartan AROO)....and she has gotten me there....and more. She is sort of an angel to me. I was the one who made the call to the fitness studio looking for a trainer, but with her calling me back instead of some of the other trainers there, well the match couldn't have been any better. She rocks and I will miss her as she moves on to her new life in Toronto with her partner and soon-to-be baby girl. (I'm gonna miss you L.N. more than you will know...)

So there you have it. My update. My progress. My frustrations. My emotions. My worries. They are there. It is ongoing. It will continue to be. Life. What an adventure it is. Both fabulous and worrisome at times. All that said, I am quite happy to be where I am. I am quite lucky to be where I am.

XOXO