love is health
How a little tooth merits a 9-1-1 call11/5/2013 Hey, if you ever go through chemotherapy, be sure your oral hygiene is impeccable.
Oh, and did you know you actually have to, like, rest when you're on chemo? Especially 7-10 days after your last treatment? Yeah, I knew that too. But I was too much of a jackass not to believe it, and I ended up in the E.R. Stupid Chemo. For days I could tell my body was fighting an infection, but I was surprised to find that it was in the form of a tooth. On day 9 after chemo, I thought it would be a brilliant idea to help Luke out with yard work. YARD WORK. Because that's exactly what you should be doing when your immune system is the weakest! After about an hour, I was done for the day - energy completely depleted. Having spent an otherwise lovely Sunday brunch pushing myself through fatigue, I made the ever so wise decision to schlep myself through 3 hours of (much needed) errands with my bestie. Under the ever so intelligent guise of "I need to condition myself to be able to work through fatigue since I am starting a new job soon", I dragged my bones through the afternoon, until we were both noticeably exhausted and done for the day. By the time I got home, I crawled into bed knowing that my brunch time restlessness had billowed into something more ominous. I took my temperature, just to be sure I wasn't running a fever. 100.5. Damn. My care manager (AKA Oncology nurses) once told me if I ever got above 100.4, I would need to call them immediately, and likely go to the E.R. Remembering this, I called the on-call care manager, and she asked me a series of questions more or less equivalent to "you aren't dying right now, are you?" "When was your last treatment?" "Thursday of last week... no, the week before. 10 days ago." "Are you experiencing any pain?" Was I? I had to stop and think about it. I mean, I knew I was hella tired, but did I feel pain anywhere? Ow. My gums. "My lower back jaw is slightly sore, and my gums are tender to the touch. " "And you are currently running a fever?" "Um, yeah, but it's pretty mild, and frankly, I have been running errands all day, so this isn't likely a big deal." "Ok, well, you need to get to an emergency room as soon as possible. Can you do that?" Emergency room? Seriously? For a fever that is .2 above the normal range for an adult? Ain'tnobodygottimeforthat. "Can I go to urgent care instead? Or better yet - can I wait until tomorrow and go to the clinic and see my oncologist?" "Ma'am, fever in a cancer patient receiving chemotherapy is usually grounds for a 9-1-1 call." GULP. "Um, yeah I can get to Saint Joe's. I live about 5 minutes away." "Great. Get there as soon as you can. I will be sure they have your medical history asap. I don't want to downplay the seriousness of this situation. You need to be seen immediately." DOUBLE GULP. What I thought was just some mild fatigue from "overdoing it" suddenly transformed into a threatening situation. It is incredibly surreal to feel generally healthy and have someone passively indicate to you that your health is significantly compromised. Upon entering the ER and informing the admissions staff of my situation, they promptly had me take a germ mask, then a seat. Having heard "chemotherapy" and "fever", the hospital registrar didn't even blink before she called a nurse to take me back to an isolation room. Having waited no more than 10 minutes, my room was filled with 1 doctor and 3 nurses, getting vitals, sticking electrode thingies on me, examining me, and asking the same "are you dying?" questions the on-call care manager asked me earlier. My temperature at this point had gone up to 100.8. In my mind, there was still nothing to call home about. (Literally. I hadn't actually called my mom at this point). 1 pee test, 2 x-rays, 4 hot sauce bottles and 7 viles of blood later, I was hooked up to 2 different broad spectrum antibiotics, delivered via I.V. for over 2 hours. Much like chemotherapy, I was stuck to my plastic leash for a few hours, forced to watch football and Sponge Bob while eating subpar pizza. As the night went on, despite the antibiotics being delivered, my body got weaker, hotter, and weirder. I was shivering uncontrollably. Though running a fever, all I wanted was my TCT blankey, and I wanted to bury myself in cozy things. Luke, being ever awesome as always, joined me on the hospital bed, allowing me to mooch his heat and rub my face on his arm. Meanwhile, my teammates and I texted from great distance after their second victory for the weekend in San Diego. I wished I could have been with them, but was glad that I wasn't. Emotionally, it was sinking in that I didn't have control of my body. Tethered to my hospital bed by way of I.V., I had nowhere to hide from the fact that I was a Sick Cancer Patient. The gravity of the situation hadn't hit me before because I still felt healthy. However, after allowing a moderate fever to set in, given the shivers, the crying, the chills, and a racing heart - coupled with the I.V., electrodes & wires, and other monitoring devices, The Ish got Rill. All Clockwork Orange style, I was forced to see that my body had been, and still was weak. That maybe doing yard work was a bad idea. That maybe I should have been home resting Sunday morning/ afternoon instead of brunch and errands. That maybe I wasn't as strong as I think I am or want to be. Ahem. Ouch. There I was curled up fetally on a hospital bed shaking like a rattle, eyes leaking in halfhearted privacy as Luke gently pet my back. All I wanted was to be strong - to be healthy. To be driving home from a victorious weekend with my team. To be NOT in the E.R. Having been brought to my emotional knees, all I could squeak out through the tears, like a giant, bald toddler was "I wanna go home. I don't want to be in the hospital." My fever was peaking at 102 at this point. (If you haven't caught on, I have a really hard time with defeat, failure, weakness, or any indicator that is the opposite of strength. I'm beginning to realize it's why I am always busy, my time filled with one commitment after another. I am still untangling this life-long trend. When I figure it out, I will let you know. But more on the health front.) Fast forward through more football, checking out, going home, and getting through the night. I woke up the next day expecting the antibiotics to have taken effect, yet still running a fever and feeling like hell. After a few phone conversations, my oncologist recommended that I go to the dentist to get my tender gums checked out. A short, simple x-ray figured out what the ER staff could not confirm - I have an abscessed tooth. Turns out that my dentist has been eyeing this sucker for more than a year now. It wasn't an issue until my immune system crashed, allowing a delicate but well controlled tooth to get out of control and infected. By Monday morning I couldn't open my jaw entirely. After more phone conversations and doctors' consultations, I got the green light from my oncologist to have an emergency root canal. I've never been happier to have dental work done, and I probably never will be again. So, long story short: chemo = weak immune system. Weak Immune System + chores/ errands in days 7-10 after chemo = fever + e.r. + root canal + antibiotics. Moral of the story: Stay at home and in bed 7-10 days after chemo. The. End.
3 Comments
Living fast while going slow.10/20/2013 Life is too short. The ephemeral nature of living has never been so obvious. One minute, you are a healthy, active 30 year old athlete. The next minute, you are a cancer patient. This persistent thought is working its way into everything I do. In a time when I should be slowing down and doing less, I find myself needing to do more, and feeling kind of crazy for it.
I clearly love roller derby, to the point that I would risk putting myself in a mentally and physically precarious situation just to stay involved. I feel so healthy it's deceptive. I don't feel delicate or sick, but the swift departure of my energy after a full day is a reminder that my body - every organ, lymph node, blood cell, and system - is working overtime to keep me feeling like this. I am surprised at how much recovery I need from just a night of reffing, or dilly dallying on my skates. Meanwhile, the simple act of being in the practice facility gives me great guilt and worry - concerned about the risk of infection in my immuno-compromised state, worried that I am pushing my body too hard after a full day of work, then a full practice. I am fighting the desire to do every exercise off skates with my friends, minding my heart rate, controlling my breathing, cautious not to increase my cardio. My body says "normal", but my mind knows better. That leads me to this nagging need to justify every absence for every practice, game, and event I cannot attend. For a healthy person it borders on too much to ask for, let alone someone in my situation. Sometimes, I just need someone else to say "you have permission to not be here. Go take care of yourself." All the while, I am struggling to be a good partner to my most amazing spouse. He's had to take on so much throughout this process that I feel indebted to him. I want to give back something in return, and I struggle to give him something, anything. I try and show my appreciate and love in chores and tasks - a means of lightening his load so he doesn't feel like he has to manage our life alone. You can imagine the guilt that comes with choosing to be with my team in San Diego for a weekend, while a myriad of home projects await my participation. This is a struggle for "healthy" Maria. It has intensified during treatment. Meanwhile, I am compelled to be better participant in my family, and have offered my home to my 16 year old niece who is going through a hard time right now. Crazy timing? Perhaps, but Luke and I know it's the right thing to do. And that business that I always wanted to start? Apparently right now is the time to start planning it. Because I clearly am not managing enough - I need to (re)start a business at the same time. Looking at all this made me wonder why I hate having free time. However, this isn't about avoiding luxury. This is about realizing the precious and absurd nature of being alive, and squeezing every bit of juice out of it. Ch ch ch ch CHANGES10/14/2013 I shaved my head 2 weekends ago, but beforehand celebrated my hair with a lovely hair dragon I named Samara. It was a lovely reminder of the temporary nature of everything. We constantly construct and deconstruct, and resurrect, and dilapidate. Such a remind forces me to have to stay present, unpermitted to look back at what was, and prevented from looking forward to what will be. Shaving my head was a lovely exercise in unattachment. It was a way of saying "whether or not I have this hair 3 weeks from now does not matter. I do not need it. It does not need me." That said, I was rather annoyed by any commentary that I "should have waited until it started falling out." That misses the point. For the women in my family who have gone through cancer, its a ritual of sorts. Shave your head before you lose your hair. This isn't about vanity - this is about understanding that everything is temporary. That is never more obvious than right now. Looking at my body - how much it has changed, feeling my tight, hot, dry skin, curling my swollen tongue - all serve to remind me of this. I'm surprisingly calm about it. I have been desperately needing a wake up call to be more present and focused on the moment. I tend to live in constant distraction and fantasy - always planning something, chasing a new idea. Now I am forced to be present in my body as it reminds me that it is managing a lot. Frankly, the side effects of chemo have been, so far, very manageable. I expected feeling worse, having read horror stories of throwing up constantly, overwhelming nausea, and incapacitating bodyaches. I have been lucky that I have only missed 1 day of work, and it was due to excessive fatigue. I think the worst that I felt was 4 days after chemo, in the evening, when I felt like I had the flu. And while I do have other bizarre side effects (I am pretty sure I am turning into a lizard), they have all been tolerable. As I am only at the beginning of this process, I am sure other ephemeral symptoms will come and go. However, until then, in the present, I am extremely grateful that I feel about 95% myself, only a little more "here", now. ... pay no mind to the fact that I get cleared for full contact and return to activity in 17 more days. Not that I am counting, or anything... Going to war10/3/2013 As many of you know, I elected to proceed with chemotherapy. This decision was tough, involving a lot of research, consultation, and introspection before arriving to this conclusion. Recognizing all the risks, and taking in as much information as possible, I see nothing is going to guarantee I will not have a recurrence or metastasis. However, there is a lot that I can do to prevent it. Prevention comes through acute and long term care. I have been reading a fantastic book that provided me insight to help me make this decision. The author, while visiting Tibet, asks the Tibetans he encounters if they would seek out Western or Eastern medicine. "I wondered what I would have done if I had been Tibetan and had fallen ill. Given the two parallel health systems, which one would I choose? While in Dharamsala, I put this question to everyone I worked with or had occasion to meet. I asked the minister of health, who had invited me there, and the Dalai Lama's brother, at whose home I stayed, and I asked the great lama physicians I was introduced to. I talked about it with ordinary people I encountered as I moved around the city on foot. I thought I was confronting them with a dilemma: Would they choose Western medicine - modern and effective - or their own ancient medicine, out of fondness for their tradition? Faced with the reality that I am addressing both an acute and chronic condition, I opted for chemotherapy to address the critical window of high recurrence likelihood. At the same time, Luke and I have made significant dietary changes to ensure I am addressing my "terrain" - my symbolic soil in which I allow cancer to cultivate or die. Little by little I am changing out my cosmetics, household chemicals, servingware. I am also giving deep consideration to the centrifugal forces that seem to keep me in perpetual motion, always chasing after something like my happiness depends on it. A lifestyle shift is needed.
So there you have it. I hope you never find yourself in similar shoes. However, should that time come, I'd be more than happy to provide you with information and resources to help you make the most informed decision you can. Our lives and livelihood are not to be taken lightly. Rather, they are to be taken into our own hands. To Chemo, or not to chemo?9/25/2013 I've been reading a lot of information about natural approaches to fighting cancer. My first round of therapy is scheduled for next Thursday. That leaves me enough time to seriously consider the merits of it. Consider the following:
Reasons to avoid it 1) Nothing, not even chemotherapy, can eliminate the risk of recurrence. There is no guarantee. My friend went through chemo, only to have a stage IV metastatic recurrence. My cousin had the same experience. If you visit a breast cancer message board, you will see the stories of hundreds of women who have experienced recurrence after chemo, radiation, and surgery. Chemo is known to reduce risk, but it does not eliminate it. Nothing does. This is a chronic illness. 2) Our bodies are built to kill cancerous cells. We generate millions of cancerous cells throughout our lifetime, and successfully eradicate them. Cancer cells get out of control only when we compromise our body's ability to fight. We do this by eating the wrong foods, using the wrong cosmetics, and by living stressful lives. I am most certainly guilty of having made some very poor food choices in the past (2-3 servings of red meat in 1 meal, ice cream every day, not reading labels, carrying my stress). If I give my body the proper tools to fight this, it will do its job. 3) If our immune system is largely responsible for eradicating cancerous cells, it doesn't make sense to me that crashing my immune system will help me. I get that the logic here is to destroy all rapidly developing cells, but that includes my white blood cells (more specifically, my NK cells). NK cells are cancer destroyers. I feel like chemo is the equivalent of dropping an A-bomb over a combat area where you know you have troops fighting the enemy. How about I just better arm my troops instead. 4) Inflammation and angiogenesis are hugely responsible for the growth and proliferation of cancer cells. Chemo promotes both of these responses. Inflammation (the simple act of swelling) leads to angiogenesis - the generation of new blood vessels. Think about it: You get hurt, the area inflames, and your cells send signals for more blood (thereby more blood vessels) to bring coagulates and nutrients to the area to promote healing. New cells are generated in the area to replace the damages ones. The area heals: voila. However, with cancer, inflammation functions like a wound that never heals. The inflammatory response, as it relates to cancer, tricks your body into allowing cancer to keep regenerating without ever stopping. So swelling/ inflammation is the breeding ground for cancer. Therefore, if I inflame my body with chemo, how does it make sense that I will heal it? 5) There are things I can do (specifically dietary and environmental changes) to prevent recurrence. I won't tell you how much my most recent grocery bill was, but I will tell you it was pricey. But you know what's more expensive? Medical bills to treat a recurrent tumor or metastasis. I'd say 80% of our purchases are organic. I also shop specifically for cancer-fighting foods. I no longer use tupperware for transporting food, and opt for glassware instead. I microwave food sparingly. I just swapped out my antiperspirant for naturally derived deodorant. My makeup drawer is next on the list for an overhaul. It's amazing how much shit we are surrounded by that is slowly killing us, or making it harder for us to stay healthy. I have become vigilant. My eyes are opening. Along with this vigilance comes the ability to monitor my breasts as well. I will likely get MRI's every 6 months to ensure I don't have any recurrences. If for whatever reason I do (knock on wood), I will catch them early. 6) The standard of care was not created with me in mind. It's too generic. The All-knowing Standard of Care used to prescribe a treatment plan for patients is based on clinical trials of thousands of women, mostly over 40, and mostly on a (SAD) Standard American Diet. They are not representative of me, and therefore neither is their treatment plan. When researchers come up with a treatment plan for female contact sport athletes under 35 who are ER+, PR+, Her2-, who already have a relatively clean diet, then the standard of care will be more compelling for me. Reasons to do it. 1) The alternative path is not black/ white. That's scary. The appealing thing about chemo is that I'd go through 4 treatments, and be on tamoxifen for 4 years. It's a cut out, clear plan. Not doing chemo means having to formulate a plan on my own, just relying on my own research and grit to stick to whatever plan I create. But what if I am horribly wrong? What if I didn't do enough research? I am neither an oncologist, nor nutritionist. However, I have yet to meet one who says "yeah, forgoing chemo is a GREAT idea". 2) It's just 4 treatments. 4 ephemeral treatments. It will be over before I know it, and I will be done before Christmas. 3) My doctor told me to, and I trust him. I realize how stupid this sounds. But I have to put it out there. I am an incredibly trusting person, perhaps to a fault. So when someone who has taken a pledge not to harm me (or anyone else) says that this is the *best* option, I want to believe them. I have no reason not to. They have been treating thousands of patients for decades now. I am only dealing with my first - me. Defying this recommendation is a fundamental "F*ck you" to the very people trying to help me - those who I have entrusted with my health to this point. I take that gesture very seriously. 4) Without knowing the exact cause for getting breast cancer, it's hard to calculate an exact solution on my own. We still cannot explain why, despite all odds, I got it to begin with. I am pretty damn healthy. I work out regularly. I eat pretty cleanly (better than ever in the last 1.5 year). I am pretty positive and not easily depressed. I am only 30 (just barely 30 when I felt my lump). In any patient, finding a precise solution is impossible. Therefore, chemo is the most versatile solution to eradicating and rogue cells. 5) I have to do something, like, NOW. In reading a ton, I have learned that tumors are kind of like the Hydra. (Not the good Hydra - I mean the O.G. Hydra). Primary tumors send out a chemical signal that says, "Hey rogue cells! Don't set up fight clubs anywhere else". So when the primary tumor is removed, that signal ceases, meaning the rogues are able to set up franchises (e.g. tumors) anywhere. Per the Almighty Standard of Care, there is a very narrow window of time in which chemotherapy needs to begin after surgery to prevent rogues from establishing their new tumor sites - within 6 weeks from surgery. Guess what week I am in. That's right. Something has to be done NOW. (BTW: I really wish I would have know this before I ate all that ice cream and churros post-surgery. Mistakes were made.) Food for thought There is not enough information available that accurately compares or even evaluates a variety of treatments. The scientific standard to determine if a treatment is effective is the randomized, controlled, double blind study. But how do you even begin to evaluate a lifestyle change using this narrowly defined standard? How do you measure the anecdotal experiences of hundreds of thousands of people who were successfully treated through unconventional means? This standard for evidence is so narrow that it makes proving the effectiveness of some things nearly impossible. That said... Cancer research is in its infancy. Only after becoming a patient did I realize just how much we don't know about cancer. We're still pretty much in the dark. As a result, our methods of treatment are pretty barbaric, because we don't have enough information (yet) to know what's actually best to do. Unfortunately, nutrition and environmental factors seem to be at the bottom of the research pile. Most of the focus has been on genetics and chemical treatment. Can you imagine if, 50 years from now, we discovered (and by discovered, I mean took seriously the notion) that dietary/ lifestyle changes were effective cancer treatments? What if there is another cure that we just haven't realized yet? The prevalence of cancer has increased exponentially since WWII. The end of that war was a significant industrialization marker. We changed how we raise, process, package, and distribute food and other products. Since then, our food changed. Our chemical exposure changed. Our stress levels changed. I can guarantee that anyone reading this has numerous toxic chemicals pulsing through their body that far exceed EPA or FDA standards for toxicity. The way our food is raised and processed has changed so significantly, making health dangers simultaneously ubiquitous and clandestine. Your milk, assuming it is not organic, is dangerous. Your non-organic produce is toxic. Even your grass-fed, organic, free to roam meats can be dangerous if packaged incorrectly. Bottled water, especially in AZ where it is constantly exposed to heat, is poisoned. I don't say these things to be alarmist. I say them to point out how pervasive these pitfalls are. They are everywhere, are we are ill equipped and ill-educated to navigate these landmines. Of course cancer rates have gone up. We haven't done much to stop it. All this said (and much left unsaid), I have a heavy decision to make, and the clock is ticking. After the exchange surgery9/20/2013 Everything went really well yesterday during the exchange surgery. The whole process took less than 2 hours, and I was back at home that night. They had to take some fat from my tummy to fill in some indentations on my chest that developed post-mastectomy. <-- I wish I could say that's what I look like right now, but the truth is, I don't know. I am back in the suicide bomber vest (this time without grenades), and in a tummy girdle - burritoed for 4-5 days. Feeling sexy. I am also back to no cardio for 4-6 weeks, and no lifting anything over 5 lbs. What am I going to do with myself? Lots of visualization, I guess. On the flip side, I am glad the turtle shell is gone. What is the turtle shell, you ask? It's the tissue expander/ temporary implant under my chest muscle for the last 5 weeks that was hard as a rock and uncomfortable as all heck. I now have something a little softer, a bit smoother, and more like the real deal. That's progress. I just wanted to pass along that I am doing well, and focused on healing as quickly and efficiently as possible. Thanks for the love and support. You all know how to make a lady feel good :) "A Setback is a setup for a comeback".9/18/2013 Today, I read that on the cafe walls of the Cancer Center where I get treatment. It also happened to be on the wall next to the quotation "Chemo sucks. But if it sucks the cancer from you, then yay chemo!" I read it unempathetically, unable to relate to the nastiness associated with chemo. However, experience or not, you'd have a hard time getting me to say "yay chemo".
Sorry. I'm not buying it. Today was supposed to be a regular appointment with my reconstructive surgeon to discuss my "replacement" options for my surgery tomorrow. So you can imagine my surprise when I got a visit from my oncologist (who I was scheduled to see tomorrow for routine follow up). He wanted to see me asap. I didn't understand the urgency then, but it makes sense now. Long story short, I will have to go through the one thing I have been happy to avoid until now. Something inside me, on a molecular level, wants to create cancer cells. It is insistant. It is aggressive, and the likelihood of it creating another cancer in me is too high for the standard of care to allow me to continue without chemotherapy. I have to go through EFFING CHEMO. There, I said it. I feel so mixed. Part of me feels duped or betrayed by the feeling of security that came with rapid healing and great forward progress. It says something when even the doctors were surprised to see how aggressive my tumor cells were reported to be. It caught us all off guard, and left me scrambling emotionally to wrap my mind around it. He announced this to me with such urgency that they wanted to postpone my surgery tomorrow to begin treatment immediately. I still haven't entirely digested that. And even still, another part of me recognizes that this too is temporary. 12 of weeks of treatment will pass by quickly, and be but a distant memory. And so, I keep my eyes on my prize. Return to good health. Get back to the track. Just. Keep. Skating. I project it will be about 5 weeks before I am on skates again, still no contact. You bet your ass that I will try and skate through chemo, if my body allows it. And if not then, when I am done. It can take my breast away. It can take my hair away. But I will be damned if it takes my skates away from me forever. Not a chance in hell. Holy cannoli! Has it been a month since surgery already? Frankly, I have been so overwhelmed in thought that I haven’t settled on what to post about. As you can imagine, going through a mastectomy and healing process forces you to self reflect, so I have been in "existential thinking mode" since. I wanted to share with you all some things that I’ve learned from all this, in hopes you find this helpful. You are not immune, no matter how healthy you are. Vigilance is critical. I am a young, healthy, fit, woman who eats cleanly, doesn’t smoke, drinks somewhat rarely, and not genetically predisposed to breast cancer. Yet here I am. The odds of a woman getting cancer in her lifetime are 1 in 8. Mathematically speaking, that means 2 people on your 16 person roster will have it at some point. In a league of 100 women, that’s roughly 12 women who will battle it in their lifetime. I nonetheless consider myself lucky. I was fortunate enough to feel something, see my doctor, get an early diagnosis, and get treated before the bad cells spread outside the breast. I was diagnosed at stage 1a, thanks to my “vigilance” (e.g. nightly self soothing). I got to know my girls well enough to know when something didn’t feel right. If you don’t self examine regularly, I very strongly encourage you to get in the habit. It saved my life, and saved me from a much scarier path to recovery. Your body will take care of you if you take care of it. My recovery from surgery has been swift and effortless. While I am not about to guarantee that yours would be too (should you ever have to), I will attribute my fast recovery to my fitness and my love of roller derby. Pre-derby, I ate pretty poorly, was a little overweight, and didn’t workout. By joining derby I had the incentive to workout regularly, clean up my diet, and get in shape. My estimated 3 day hospital stay was only overnight. My chest muscles well tolerated under-pec expansion due to their fitness, which expedited a 3 month process to 6 weeks. I was back in skates just 2.5 weeks after surgery. I am now cleared for cardio 4 weeks after surgery. None of this would have been possible if I was in poor shape. Health and wellness are more than just prevention - they can also be a jump start to recovery when life surprises you. Shit happens that you can’t control. Dwell on it at your peril. I had a pastor at the hospital ask me “so what do you make of all this?”, to which I replied, “sorry to be crass, but I file this in the ‘shit happens’ category.” Cancer treatment is nothing like what you see on TV. It would be so relieving if it was as simple as going to a doctor, getting a test, finding out immediately and knowing your treatment plan. Actually, it’s the complete opposite of that. I didn’t know my entire diagnosis until after my breast was removed. Each appointment, each test, each conversation with a doctor only provided me a morsel of information than what I had before. This left me hungry for more control, often lost in a tunnel of speculation, online research, and message boards. I grasped at anything I could to try and equip myself with knowledge, thinking I could predict what’s next before the doctor could. While I was often on target, I realized it was all an effort to gain control when I had almost none. The more I tried to manage the situation, the more stressful it became. The closer I got to my mastectomy date, the more I came to accept all the research in the world would not change my diagnosis. I could be consumed by it, or learn from it. Since dwelling on my lack of control wasn’t doing me much good, I chose instead to see what I could learn from letting go of control. It’s a struggle. I am still striving to accept the concept of letting go. While it is uncomfortable, depression would be worse. You get what you give, though what you get may still surprise you. You reap what you sow. The effort you put into your skating skill, your body, your relationships, and your community, will manifest sooner or later. Use your time wisely. Like many women in this sport, I wear many hats. Teammate, captain, committee member, mentor, wife, employee, sister, friend, daughter, aunt… it’s a long list. However, my maintanence of these roles has played a critical part in receiving support when I needed it. I was often left speechless at the flood of support that engulfed me when I came out of the cancer closet. While I knew my community would help me when needed, I was truly shocked at how deep and rich the support is. I put a lot of time into being a good captain, teammate, wife, etc. This has been an opportunity to reap the rewards of those efforts. Love comes from unexpected places... Like that girl from high school who you thought hated you, but gave you $100 to help with your medical treatments. Or the woman on the east coast you met over the internet who is going through a much tougher cancer battle. Or your godmother who is dying, whom you haven’t seen in almost 10 years, who sends you a card. Or your anesthesiologist ex who is giving you pre-surgery advice. Or your derby friends in Seattle whom you skated with once, 2 years ago, who sent a care package. The list goes on. Nothing draws love from the woodworks like having your life threatened. I won’t deny how good it feels to be loved, and to know people care. Life isn't a contest, so comparison is futile. This experience taught me how much I measure myself by using others as a ruler. Am I more or less healthy? Successful? Lovable? Deserving? Worthy? After my original diagnosis, I felt uncomfortable identifying as a "cancer patient", knowing there are women losing their hair, throwing up, feeling weak, and having the snot beat out of them by chemo & radiation. That has not, and will not be my journey. Nevertheless, that does not trivialize my path. Our life experiences are incomparable given our varied tolerances for the unexpected. What is earth-shattering to one is a walk in the park to another. I need to stop measuring my health and worth by looking externally. Same goes for my development as a skater. It’s not a sisterhood. It’s a family. The larger derbisphere can sometimes be dismissive of men, children, and fans of the sport when we go on about our “sisterhood”. I have been guilty of this more than anyone I know. My focus has been pretty narrowly sighted on my team and league. So when a member of the men’s league unexpectedly asked if they could organize a fundraiser on my behalf, I was stunned. I felt like I didn’t deserve it, but couldn’t turn down the help I sorely needed. My guilt was automatic; I felt indebted to them. However, when support began pouring in from past teammates/ leaguemates, derby businesses, skaters from other leagues, junior skaters and their parents, fans - I began to understand we function more like a family and less like a business. The transaction between the men’s league and me wasn’t a transaction at all. They just wanted to do something nice for me, the way family does. They didn’t ask for anything in return, nor did anyone who expressed their support through donations, time, food, or other commodities. I hope some day I have the opportunity to reciprocate the support so graciously gifted to me. *Photo by Paul Daniels Garcia. Too many things to say8/23/2013 There's so much that I want to say right now, and not enough web space in the interwebs to say it all, so I will do my best to be brief. Let me start with:
THANK YOU. Family & Friends: You have been so kind to me. From thoughtful gifts to not judging me as I lost my liquid lunch, thank you for being so wonderful & supportive. I wish I could return the favor some day. There are just so many people who have shown their support in 1 way or another. It's overwhelming, in a good way. My wonderful Luke has been exceptional (no surprise there). He's been nothing short of consistent, comfortable, safe, reliable - exactly all the things I need in my partner for a speedy, emotionally safe recovery. He's on the front lines with me, my partner in crime, my go-to-guy. I am lucky to have such an awesome partner. Roller Derby Community: I love you. For those of you not in the know, Arizona Men's Derby has organized a fundraiser to help out with my medical expenses. Skaters & Refs from all over AZ have signed up to participate. Local restaurants and national roller derby businesses have pitched in for sponsorship. Special thanks to:
My body: You are a lovely machine. Thank you for pwning cancer - LIKE A BOSS. I am healing freakishly fast, with not much pain, and an alarming amount of energy. I won't need radiation. I am cancer-free right now (knock on wood). I will be back to work next week. I will be back to the track in 3 weeks (although not about to play full contact). I almost feel like myself again, but with a bionic boobie. AboutSnapshots in time across a span of years managing breast cancer Archives
June 2020
Categories
All
|