Naming this Blog

I'm having trouble with this blog as of late. I started it talking about working with Hospice because it was such a profound experience. Now it seems to be a place to talk about my horrible doctor visits and being treated for Cancer that I may or may not have.

I decided several months ago that I couldn't hold it in anymore, because it was eating me alive. I had only told a few friends, and hadn't even told my best friends that it had possibly come back. My parents, sisters, and boyfriend were the only ones that knew anything about it. So I spilled my guts, and I feel better.

I don't want to talk about it so much any more. I mean, I will definitely keep people updated, but I certainly don't want to feed the ghouls so to speak. So what do I talk about then? The people that I massage? Professionalism and HIPPA prevent me from doing that. Things that are unimportant, like the hundreds of fake band names I come up with? People seem to like my writing, from what I gather (which is sometimes difficult to do).

So, I'm just going to say what I want. Right? Yes. Right. I'm in charge here. ;)

Speaking of Updates:
I have not heard word one from Doc. It's been nearly 3 weeks. What does this mean?
According to my sister, who is a newspaper reporter, my Doc is at a conference this week. I don't know how she knows this, but small towns can be creepy sometimes.

Maybe I'll Rename this blog The Rub Down.

I'm tired of worrying

I am still waiting for the updated prognosis. However, I am tired of worrying about it. So I decided I'm not going to. I could waste my time, pre-worrying about something that I don't know the outcome of and make myself miserable, or I can enjoy each day I have. I think I'm going to vote for enjoyment.

Recluse

I haven't been good myself. I have shut myself away from the world and anything that makes me have to answer questions or have conversations.

I am not dying, but I do not want to explain. My friends and family know better, however. They know that I am struggling with two many worries in my basket. They want to know why I haven't read their blogs, or updated them on my health. What exactly do those cryptic status statements on facebook mean, anyway?

Whether you have an abnormal pap smear, or cervical cancer, or just a regular check up... Pelvic exams are not fun. Up until this last year, they rated higher than rectal exams and enemas on my list of fun things to do, but that has quickly diminished. Since June, I have had 8 pelvic invasions of the medical variety. They have varied in complexity and pain, from the merely uncomfortable to the horrendously awful. Last week I experienced the most horrible of all procedures I have had to endure. It defied any strength of character that I possessed and sent me into hiding ever since.

Since my last pap came back with severe dysplasia (that's one step before cancer, as I understand it) after I had surgery to remove all hooglie googlie cells, the docs were not happy. They did another LEEP procedure, a difficult and uncomfortable procedure involving an electrified scalpel and local anesthesia. A procedure which I was doing okay with until they removed tissue from an area that had not been numbed. The results from that biopsy was... good. It was normal, with no abnormal cells and no cancer! Whoo hoo! *shaking head no* Not so says the doc, because the other test showed abnormal, so they have to be coming from somewhere. Somewhere deeper. Where we can't see. Enter in the Endocervical Extraction. I was warned that it would be uncomfortable but comforted by the fact that it would be quick. It only takes a second to feel the pain as the doctor blindly inserts, prods, and pulls out pieces of you, with out the benefit of painkillers.

I started crying. It took all I had not to throw up. When the nurse and doctor left the room, I just sat and stared at my feet. What am I doing? What I have I done? Why do I have to go through this?

Earlier in the summer, I breezed through these procedures with hardly a thought. I was still numb I guess. In shock over it all. I felt guilty that I had not suffered. Now each visit is excruciating, filled with nothing concrete and soul wrenching pain. Now I wait. Wait for news that i don't know what do with, how to feel about, or wish for. I wish for no cancer, but that will not preclude me from further surgery if there are abnormal cells.

This is what has been keeping me up nights, and avoiding my phone during the days. Today is a good day and I grow weary of hiding myself. Perhaps it is the warmer temperatures, finally above 10 degrees, and the sunshine. Maybe it is love and concern of my friends. Maybe I'm just weary of myself.

More waiting...

I have mentioned a couple times in this blog that my mother has always advised against getting too attached to your plans. I am reminded of this advice on a constant basis lately.

In September, I underwent surgery to remove pieces of myself. Pieces of my physical body and my spiritual self. I tried to explain to my sister what it was like. The 'procedures' leading up to the surgery were worse than the surgery itself. I was awake for the procedures as they prodded around inside my cervix. My sister has two children, so I hoped that she would understand the profound connection that woman have to their reproductive abilities. My entire biological imperative; my purpose as a woman was being violated. I could feel pieces of my identity being pulled away from me bit by bit. I felt it in my very core, as if I was removing part of my soul.

I know intellectually that it had to be done. My life and my future chance at fulfilling my purpose depended on it. After the surgery, and the confidence of the surgeon left me feeling relieved. I had done the right thing for myself, my future, and I only need to take care of my health. Report for 3 month check ups for 2 years and avoid alcohol, cigarettes, and stress.

I had my first 3 month check up in December. My doctor called after the beginning of the year. I had resolved to let 2008 cast a pallor on my future. It had been a tough year, but I'm made of sterner stuff than that. Plus I had a new year in town, and it showed the shiny new gleam of promise. That gleam was tarnished after talking to my doctor about the pap results. Not only was there more dysplasia, it was severe... after less than 3 months. The doctor, surgeon, and I are still stunned.

I remind myself that this is what 3 month check ups are for. That this isn't as yet, a life or death situation. I am still crushed. I thought I it was over. I didn't know if my soul could handle another LEEP procedure. The electrified scalpel, the numbing injections, the florescent lights in my eyes, and that god awful green paint on the walls. Once again, it was awful, but I survived it. Now I just wait. Wait to see if more cancer was found within. Wait to see if my purpose is put further at risk. Wait to see the ultimate boundaries of my strength.

Taking it all in

It has been since months since I was diagnosed with cancer. I have since been tested and prodded and surgically treated. I have had one follow up visit (still awaiting results)... but it is only now that I feel like I can talk, or even think about what happened. I don't have cancer anymore, I'm not sure I even did in the first place. It happened so fast and was so unexpected that it never registered that I had a life threatening illness.

I feel strange with my brush with cancer, it doesn't seem like it happened at all. It raises all sorts of questions of the 'why' variety. If there is a God, why scare the bejubus out of me, then make it seem like it never happened? I remember a lot of fear and denial and guilt. Isn't that interesting. Guilt over not have as bad of cancer as everybody else. "Please don't call me a survivor... I just had a wart removed, that's all." That's how it felt to me.

It started me thinking about hospice patients that are given a diagnosis of 6 months or less when they didn't know they were sick in the first place. When I worked with them, they seemed calm or sometimes in daze, not exactly sure of what to make of the situation. Shock I guess you would call it. Now I have experienced it first hand... if my diagnosis had been worse, and it took me 6 months to realize what was happening to me in the first place... where would I be?

Diagnosis

It has been over a year since I've left hospice, but the affect on my life has not diminished.
*****

This summer I was diagnosed with cancer. I sat in silence and looked to my mother as the doctor said words that I knew I understood but did not make any sense. I could feel the oxygen burn in my nostrils as I inhaled. I felt the mental clicks of defense mechanisms. Stoic demeanor will surpass emotion. I stopped listening and nodded my head to make my exit that much sooner. There would be appointments. There would be MRI's, consultations, and discussions of risks and outcomes in the future, but at that moment I wanted to dissolve into oblivion.

*****

The experience of working with bodies both strong and frail have opened my eyes to miracle of life. As a species we are a grand experiment that seems on the verge of failing, yet pulls through at the very end. Our very fear of death has lead to a richness of life that can not compare to any other species, yet our lives are not complete without death. Is our fear the death itself, or the lack of knowing whether we'll be able to gloat to our friend that we did it! We got to the finish line with all goals accomplished.

I fear the darkness. I fear the silence. I fear the cold of the earth and loss of inner burning of my soul.

Another Cycle

I found out recently that two of my hospice clients that were released from hospice, had returned and subsequently passed away. I talked about these two quite often, and if not in my blog, in my mind and heart.

I saw E. for almost two years, before they decided to release her from hospice. She is the one that scared me the most. It seems funny to be scared of a 90 year old woman confined to her bed, and her own head. She didn't talk, she couldn't move herself, and she barely acknowledged your existence, but when she did, it got right to my core, right to my fears.

The fear that I would be alone dying, with no family to take care of me. I don't know if that was E.'s case, but situation always seemed to allude to that. In scary movies, you don't have to actually see the scary part to be scared. You infer things, you guess, and you imagine. A lot of the time, your imagination is a lot worse than what actually happened, and I think this could be true of many of our fears. To be well taken care of in a good nursing home, such as the one that E. lived in, is nothing to fear... but we do none the less.

The second person, D. was returned back home when her family was again able to take care of her after a family set back, and she died at home with her son there. She was also slipping into her own mind, slowly and would have soon needed much of the care that E. needed... but D. gave me hope. She was in a nursing home for several months, but she always seemed to have a smile on her face no matter where she was. I did not fear going to help her, and I was glad to hear she died at home.

I also hear that they have finally found a replacement for me 6 months after I left. I hope she is ready for what she is about to experience, I know I wasn't. I am happy for the clients to finally have the benefit of massage therapy once again at their disposal. I know that it made a huge impact on many of the clients I worked with.

I somehow feel that it is finally coming to an end, my experience with this particular hospice. I felt a little guilty leaving, when I knew that they would have trouble finding a replacement in this small community. I don't regret leaving, my business is doing very well and my stress level is much less. However, it's hard to give up touching peoples lives in such a profound way.

Good luck to the next in this cycle.