Strong. Fighting. Surviving.

How do you define your future? Are you a fiscally-minded person who sees life neatly divided into quarters? Or do you pay homage to the European philosophy that life is made up of a series of mini-holidays? Are you able to look into the future and clearly see yourself with your spouse, two kids, and a golden retriever?

Truth be told, I’ve never had a clear picture of my future. There were too many possibilities and, like shopping at a discount store, nothing seemed to fit right. My future has always been more like a mirage in a desert - a blurry image of a woman surrounded by family, friends, and a barn full of horses. Now that cancer is part of my life, the mirage is even cloudier and includes countless traps.

I recently read a blog by a cancer survivor who wrote about her daily errands and almost forgot to include the news of her recent clean scan. I hope to one day reach the point where I can accidentally forget to report my results. Go grocery shopping instead of making of dozens of phone calls. I’m trapped into thinking that my life will be over if I get bad test results. Of course I know this isn’t true, but still it’s virtually impossible for me to plan anything until after I receive the results. I spend weeks saying ‘we’ll see’ or ‘I’ll let you know’ when invited out by friends. Forget about trying to plan a vacation.

I can accept the fact that my calendar is heavily influenced by my treatments, but I can’t accept the fact that my future is trapped by test results, or more accurately, the possibility of bad results.

It may be blurry, but my mirage is still out there. The question is will I ever be able to see my future if I’m trapped by my test results?

A very wise frog once sang ‘It’s not easy being green.’

We all know the song and its message. Kermit was teaching us to accept the unique physical characteristics that make each of us special. Kate has always loved that song too, but lately that particular line has a very literal meaning. Simply put, she’s having a very tough time now that she’s actually feeling green, sick that is.

As she’s written before, she never felt accepted by the chemo crowd because she didn’t look or feel the part - no nausea, no hair loss, no nothing. She’s had two rounds of her new treatment and is feeling every bit of it. The day after treatment is great - she calls it her ‘chemo buzz’ and she’s very energetic, bouncing even. But then the buzz wears off…

She told me there are two layers to the pain - the first is a general dull muscle ache that’s very similar to a bad hangover (like there’s a good kind?). It’s the second layer that gets to her. The pain is localized in what she imagines are the tumors. I’ve tried to tell her that she should try to think of this pain as a good thing - that the treatment is working, but, as you can imagine, that’s hard for her to do.

Kate asked me to write a post because she hasn’t been feeling very creative lately and I really can’t blame her. Anyone can slap together a few paragraphs when life is good, but it’s incredibly difficult when things aren’t so bright. I wish Kate would read her old posts and try to get back in touch with the girl that wrote those words. She’s still hoping for the best, but it’s much harder now since the pain has become part of her daily life.

She told me yesterday that she can’t stop thinking that the pain indicates that the tumors are growing, when in fact they’re probably just another side effect of the chemo. The logical side of her knows this, but she has a tendency to ignore that part of her. She might actually get some sleep if would just take a second to look at the timing of the chemo and the onset of the pain. I’m not the smartest frog in the pond, but even I can see that that makes sense.

In two weeks, Kate will find out whether or not this new treatment is working and I’m afraid you might be stuck with me until then. And, since I’m now the lead frog, I need your help - I’ve been trying to keep Kate distracted, but there’s only so much one frog can do. Please email her your dirtiest jokes, funniest YouTube videos, or cutest pet pictures…or just simply leave a happy comment. Every little bit helps.

With love from the lily pond,
Lucky

‘She’s mule-headed, stubborn enough to make it through this.’

Once her mind was made up, that was it, game over. She dug her heels in and wouldn’t budge. That was my mom. She was stubborn, bull-nosed, mule-headed…the list goes on and on. It served it well in life - she was rarely refused anything. It was simply easier to say yes to her because you knew you would eventually. However, I’ll never understand why, when faced with cancer, my mom decided not to fight. Her stubbornness, once an asset, became a glaring liability. I watched her accept her fate with seemingly open arms. Instead of stubbornly fighting cancer, she stubbornly refused treatment. Nothing I said would have changed her mind. I believe I inherited my stubbornness from my mom. Unfortunately, I think I also inherited a freak cancer gene from her as well.

Stubbornness has helped people in times of crisis and most would agree that it is indeed a blessing when you’re facing cancer. My mule-like attitude has given me the strength to persevere through a year filled with challenges and disappointments. While I’m very thankful to have this mule-like trait, I realized this weekend that it’s also a curse. I spent a good majority of time on Saturday raking leaves. These weren’t those wonderfully light and fluffy leaves from early fall. No, these were the limp, soggy ones that continuously clog the leaf blower. While it felt incredible to be energetic once again, I’m paying for it now. I am beyond sore.

While filling my sixth lawn bag, a thought occurred to me: I need to learn how to ask for help (Wow - that was hard to admit). I have plenty of friends and family who would be more than happy to lend a hand, but my stubbornness keeps me from accepting their help. Maybe I associate it with weakness, like I’m admitting that cancer is starting to affect my life. Or maybe doing things for myself helps me stay in control. Whatever the case, it’s blatantly obvious that I need help (ouch - still hard to say). I’m going to try to silence my inner mule and accept help when help is offered. Beginning  today, I’m going to start asking for help. So, consider this your warning. Friends, family, strangers on the street: Be sure your offer is sincere and don’t be surprised if I accept your offer by thrusting a paint brush in your face. 

PS: My platelets are really struggling these days (Mine: 11,000/Normal 150,000). I wasn’t able to have the port procedure and have also missed a few treatments because my numbers are so low. I’ve had two platelet transfusions, and, for the second transfusion, it took The Red Cross several days to find a match. Please, please, please consider donating your platelets to The Red Cross. Cancer patients around the country need your platelety goodness!