Thanksgiving pics

Our house has nearly recovered from Thanksgiving, and after a relaxing weekend, I have too. I went to the gym yesterday and took my first proper yoga class in a couple of years, and it was relaxing and wonderful (despite my inability to do everything due to range of motion yada yada yada).

My lovely sister-in-law Kerri celebrated five years since her diagnosis at Thanksgiving. I am particularly thankful for that. I really enjoy Kerri's company and we have much better things to bond over than breast cancer treatment, though we share that experience. It amazes me to think that there were three cancer survivors at our table(s): Kerri, myself, and Josiah (nine and a half years out from diagnosis). I hate stupid cancer, but I am grateful that our family has - so far - survived it.

Here are a few pics from the day. Thanks to Scott & Susan for sharing them with us.

The vision fulfilled

Yesterday was crazy - all of the usual busy-ness of hosting a big event at home. All that food - dishes galore, cleaning galore, etc. It was a bit tiring (ha!) and I'm glad it's behind me.

However, it was utterly and completely worth it.

There were a few moments prior to the meal being served when I was working in the kitchen, with many hands helping me, and I could hear laughter from just about every room in the house, and I couldn't help but smile. Everyone was helping, and everyone seemed to be having a good time.

And then, it was time for the meal. We stood in a circle, holding hands, to say grace, and I was overcome with the loveliness of it all. Twenty relatives, all in one room, enjoying one another. Three big tables filled to overflowing with food and drink. The "adult" table was sparkling with gold and white china; the "kid" (the oldest kids are legally able to drink...!) table was decked out in my blue and white dishes. There were candles lit, and classical music playing in the background. I am grateful to have been able to create this experience, and I'm proud of my part in it.

Some families don't enjoy one another. That is not the case in the Surface clan. I believe that everyone had a good time, and I think that the sound of laughter was good testimony of that.

The Weitz's (Ryan's sister and family) are still visiting with us, though they're off visiting Lynn's sister this afternoon. Tonight, we dine on leftovers.

Tomorrow, Michele & I are off to the gym together - that treadmill has my name on it, and there's a yoga class I've been wanting to take. I'm afraid to step on a scale for a couple of days, but I know what I need to do, and I'm looking forward to doing it.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

And now...bring on Christmas! I brought down the Christmas CDs, put up our wreath, and put out a few Christmas decorations today. Hurrah! Next weekend, we'll put up the tree....

Almost Thanksgiving

The butternut squash soup is done now; the bathrooms are scrubbed; the sheets are changed; the towels are folded and ready; the refrigerator is full; more cranberry nut loaf is being made; the lawn is mowed and raked (thanks, Ryan!)....it's almost time.

I have decided that tomorrow is a no-counting day for Weight Watchers. Nobody ever got fat in a day, and I'm going to enjoy the tastiness of the day...especially after I've put so much effort into it. On Friday I can "behave" again without feeling deprived. I've lost another .6, I think, and I'd like to keep it off...but tomorrow I will not stress.

(I could get fat on appetizers alone tomorrow. Blue cheese ball, summer sausage, salmon dip, artichoke dip, brie, crackers, cashews, cinnamon nuts.....)

Tonight there's still work to do. I'm behind on folding laundry, and I want to make more cranberry bread and get the mashed potatoes done. I'll do the stuffing tomorrow morning, and I'll do the green beans and salad tomorrow, too. Just setting up all the tables will take some work, but that's okay! It'll all work out somehow. :-)

Linda, Lynn, and their three kids will be here tonight, so I bet I'll be pretty busy. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Preparing for Thanksgiving

I have been busy readying myself for Thanksgiving - every day is packed with things to do. Of course I'd like the house to be spotless for all of our guests, but at this point I may settle for "reasonably clean" because it's a never-ending game of catch-up on that account.

(Note to prospective owners of black labs: Black labs are, in my limited experience, wonderful pets. Shep is sweet, loving, playful, gentle, silly, friendly, great with kids, good with the cat, and a pleasure to be around. HOWEVER - you have never seen so much dog hair on a floor in your life. I sweep and vacuum all the time, but to no avail. You'd think the poor dog would be bald with all that shedding, but instead, he simply has a never-ending supply of dog hair which follows behind him, leaving a trail. He's worth it, and yet....!)

We purchased an organic turkey at the Farmer's Market this weekend, and it's defrosting in the downstairs fridge. We also picked up potatoes (Yukon Gold, my favorite) for mashing, and butternut squash that I will roast and turn into soup tomorrow (to be served as a starting course, with spiced pecans as a garnish - delicious). Today I went to Trader Joe's, and picked up all kinds of things, pretty much filling the cart to overflowing. I'm serving honey baked ham, in addition to the turkey, to round things out.

This afternoon I made the cranberry sauce, and a couple of loaves of cranberry nut bread. I'll make more cranberry nut loaf later today, as it will be great for snacking on for breakfast or anytime.

I settled on a simple green bean dish with shallots and butter -sounds good to me, and easy enough to prepare at the last minute. I'm going to do a stuffing (some say dressing) with roasted chestnuts, sage, and sausage...yumm. (I may actually do two kinds of stuffing: one type for the bird, one type for the pan. I like an apple-celery-walnut stuffing, too....) I haven't decided yet if I'm going to make the stuffing a day in advance (don't worry, I wouldn't put it in the bird until the last minute) or make it the morning of...but I have all of the ingredients now, so I'm set there.

But despite all of my food talk - and I do love food - it's not about the food. It's about making people feel welcome in our home, ensuring that Tessa feels the traditions that come with these foods, and enjoying the companionship of family. It's a rare treat to have 20 people together in the Surface clan, and one that I intend to enjoy thoroughly. Tessa will love being with all of her cousins, and sharing her life with them and vice versa, and I will enjoy watching that.

I am incredibly grateful that life allows me this opportunity. Not only am I in good enough health to be able to throw this kind of party, but I (we) have a lovely home that will (somehow!) accomodate this large crowd. I'm grateful that we live in a part of the world that is filled with good things to eat that are available to us; as I think about that I think about the situation in Darfur and how grateful I am that I am given the luxury of choosing from so many dishes to share with my family, when it could be otherwise. I am grateful that I married into such a loving and large family, where people are kind, fun, loving, and good to one another.

I am, most of all, grateful for Ryan and Tessa. Words can not say how much.

I am also grateful to come from a large and loving family - my birth family (Dahls, Goddards, Gribbles, Smalls, Ochoas, Lyons) - will not be with me this holiday, but I will feel their love and support, because we are close. I am grateful for that. (I am also grateful that I will not be hosting all those other people this time....20 is enough, thank you!)

I am grateful that though I've been through the pit of hell, I'm coming out. Not unscathed, but coming out. Physically, mentally, emotionally, I've been through the ringer, and I'm working it out. I'm coming to terms with it. I still see my therapist (this morning, as a matter of fact), and I like the Lexapro so far (I actually think I can feel it kicking in), and I'm dealing. Some days are easier than others, but I'm not in the throes of despair now - thank God.

And now, off to get the cranberry loaves out of the oven, then off to preschool to pick up Tessa. We're going to Lincoln Park (with Shep, for those of you who have seen the news....he LOOKS intimidating, even though he's not, and he's a good sidekick) so Tessa can burn off energy, then I'll come home to keep on cooking and cleaning.

I am thankful. In case I don't get to post here again before the holiday, Happy Thanksgiving. I hope that you have much to be thankful for, as well.

PS Monday is my weigh-in day for Weight Watchers (I do it at home; we have a digital scale). I lost 2.4 pounds my first week - wahoo! I'd like to lose 8.4 additional pounds, but I can feel the difference already and I'm very happy with that. I'm being very careful to watch what I eat this week, because on Thanksgiving I will splurge somewhat (stuffing + gravy + cranberry sauce = delicious), remembering that it's what I do in the long run that matters most, and one day will not ruin a week's efforts. I'm also trying to remember that Thanksgiving and Christmas are days, not months, so I will treat myself to decadent food on those days, but not the entire month in between.

Sharing poetry

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of th rain
Are moving across the landscapes,
Over prairies and the deep trees,
The mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
Are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
The world offers itself to your imagination,
Calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
Over and over announcing your place
In the family of things.

Wednesday

My head is filled with thoughts of my online friend. I will not post of her here every day, and I may not talk about her, but I think of her all the time. My thoughts and prayers are flying out into the universe on her behalf.

And yet, my life is here, going on.

I'm getting ready for Thanksgiving, and realizing of course that I'm behind before I even get started! There will be 20 at our table....that's a crowd under any circumstances! It'll be a zoo but I can't wait. The entire Surface family - except David, away at college - will be in attendance. The "kid" table will have cousins ranging from age 4 to age 22 if I remember the top age correctly...I think I'd better call it "the cousins table" instead of "the kid table" or they'll gang up on me! LOL

I am delighted to host the holiday; it's a treat to have the extended family together and with it spread through Seattle, Kirkland, Portland, Gladstone, and Spokane, and with such busy lives for all, it's not easy to get everyone together. I don't know how families spread across the country do it - we're only in two states and that is difficult enough. Our house is not at all designed for such a large group but nobody seems to mind - it will be a happy chaos.

I love traditional Thanksgiving food. This year I'm doing a stuffed turkey (slightly smaller than usual because I'm buying an organic bird, and they don't grow as large as the non-organic ones), a honey baked ham, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, salad (with pomegranate seeds, my new favorite salad), fresh cranberry sauce, and some kind of TBD veggie dish (I have a stack of magazines to go through for recipes). Since the Surface7 are vegetarian, they're also bringing tofurkey, and everyone is bringing something like pies or rolls or salads etc. We won't run out of food, that's certain.

Okay, off to get organized. Now where to begin....?

I have to pace myself. My energy levels are NOT even close to normal, so I have to figure out how to do this stuff without crashing.

Hungry

Day one on WW and I'm hungry! I've eaten healthy snacks. I've discovered that two small satsuma oranges are only a half point, and I've eaten four of them today. I've eaten light string cheese and cashews in the hope that the protein would fill me up. Still, I'm hungry!

I'm trying to remember something I heard once: that hungry feeling is the feeling you get when you're losing weight.

I remember from before that the first week is the hardest, as the body adjusts to the new regimine, but after that it gets much easier.

Mondays are always new starts

This morning I am re-beginning my Weight Watchers journey. I signed up for the online program, instead of attending meetings this time. I am certain that I will have success - WW has worked so well for me in the past, and the reason that I have gained a few pesky pounds is that I have utterly ignored all of the good habits that I learned and practiced while on WW before. I plan to wear a sassy dress at New Year's...it shouldn't be too hard to be back to my favorite weight by then.

I am reminding myself that my risk of recurrence may be cut by 60-70% by keeping lean and fit. I am reminding myself that I am at higher than average risk for heart disease (family history and medications that I currently take), and that there is diabetes in my family, and that healthy choices will reduce those risks. I remind myself that my mind goes to dark places, and it can't help but to feel better about myself. I remind myself that at my healthiest weight, I feel more energetic, and I could really stand to feel some extra energy these days.

And here is the post that I have hesitated to write.

Last week, I learned that one of my favorite YSC members, who has the same stage breast cancer as myself, was just diagnosed with mets. Her doctors, while hesitant to put numbers on it, said that without treatment, she would have weeks left; with treatment, she has months. Two weeks ago, she was just like me. Now, she's suffering facial paralysis, liver mets, and possible mets to brain, bone, and lung. She's coming to terms with "putting her affairs in order" even as she hopes for the best.

This woman is sassy, spunky, and smart. She's a mother - her daughter is younger than Tessa. She's got energy and zest, she's incredibly sassy, and her intelligence shines through. Even though we've never met, I feel a connection to her.

The news hits me very, very hard. On the heels of Melinda's death, it hits even harder.

Many people tell me how lucky I am that I am cured. Many people tell me how fortunate it is that I was diagnosed at an early stage. Many people tell me that I am just fine. But here is the thing: I'm not cured. And early stage doesn't always mean anything.

I may live a long time. I may not. The uncertainty can feel crippling. It is baffling.

So, please remember this. I am no longer in chemo, or radiation, and I look healthy and normal and strong, but the word "cured" is not used in breast cancer. Please remember that I live with that knowledge, and that while I wish to be optimistic, and while I am hopeful, I am also fearful. The fear isn't foolish, and it can not be dismissed. Indeed, it should not be dismissed, because it is part of my reality. My fear is as real as my hope; they walk hand in hand.

Please put in a good thought, prayer, wish, or whatever you call it for my online friend. And if you have some thoughts, prayers, or wishes to spare for me as I struggle with these ideas, I would appreciate that, too.

My friend Adrienne loaned me a copy of "Eat, Pray, Love" and I'm two thirds of the way through. This book speaks to me as if it was written just for me, and the author's humor and wit in the face of her spiritual journey are refreshing and intelligent. As I struggle with my own life's questions, I'm looking for wisdom in all kinds of places, and it is helpful to hear of others' journeys.

I'm trying to eat healthfully, mindfully, consciously. I'm praying for myself and my friend. And I'm trying to love in the middle of it all. So simple, and so complicated.

Happy Monday, everyone. In Seattle it's wet and rainy, and I don't mind. I'm going to force myself to put on rainboots and take Tessa for a walk - she will jump in the puddles and Shep will strain at the leash out of the joy of being out, and it will remind me why I'm fighting so hard.

Foggy

Today was a misty day; the fog is both inside my head and out. I feel like the weather looks - I'm there, but it's hard to make out the details and everything has a surreal feeling. In moments of clarity I see myself so clearly, with a bright and optimistic future ahead of me, but in the moments of fog I can't find my way.

Anyway.

This evening Scott, Karen, and Fiona, along with their dog Sitka, will arrive for the weekend. I'm very much looking forward to visiting, and "the homies" are coming over for dinner Friday night (I'm trying out a crockpot recipe - pork tenderloin with granny smith apples and fresh cranberries) at our house, which will be great, as that crowd isn't often together. I'm worried that by 5pm I'll be my antisocial self, though, and that I will be too tired to enjoy myself. I'm going to pace myself, and just cross my fingers and hope for the best. (The best being clarity, and not fog. Where IS my energetic self? Who is this new, whiny, tired self?)

Thinking

This morning I met my new shrink (I use this term affectionately...!). She seems quite nice. I didn't get any revelations, as mostly we reviewed my history, but we made progress there so I hope that next time we can work on resolving my issues and getting some tools for moving forward.

The whole thing is hard work - ugh. I'd rather take a nap.

Manual labor

Usually, my manual labor is limited to washing dishes, mopping floors, and carrying large baskets of laundry up and down stairs. Today, however, after a leisurely morning, church, and lunch at the Alki Cafe, the whole family pitched in to do yard work. We did weeding, bulb planting, and lots of leaf raking and disposal, and all I can say is "MAN am I going to be sore tomorrow!" I am really, truly out of shape.

Still, the work is its own reward, and I'm glad to have a yard that looks a bit better, with the promise of spring flowers. I think we're going to buy more bulbs, because we only had one bag of crocuses, and now we're inspired to plant much more than that. I love tulips, and last year it looked like our tulip crop was smaller than usual (maybe squirrels got to the bulbs); I'd also like to plant irises because they were Melinda's favorite flower and she requested that the YSC girls plant them in her memory. (We already have some in our yard, but I imagine them in profusion on one corner, like a Van Gogh painting.)

Shep ran around the back yard with Ryan, filled with joy; Tessa discovered different kinds of worms and caterpillars and gleefully showed them all off to us. (I am learning not to cringe, even for millipedes - ack!)

A quiet family day. I'm glad that we joined WSUU, and I'm glad that we worked together. Tessa can say "I planted those bulbs!" when the crocuses come up, and I think she'll love that.

And now I'm so, so, so tired. Old news, but still surprising to me.

Sunday

(Happy daylight savings - don't forget, "fall back.")

Yesterday I had a lovely day. In the morning we went to C&P, and ran into the Wards, as well as Elena & Jim, and some other coffee shop regulars, and had a great time. Tessa, Elena and I hung out at our house for a while, and Ryan went for a bike ride, and then I took off for the afternoon and evening. I met up with Bryona and Lori at SAM, and we spent the afternoon at the museum, shopping, and dining....with lots of chatting thrown in.

Lovely.

Ryan and Tessa went to Paul & Libby's for dinner, and though I was genuinely sad to miss an opportunity to hang out with them, I am determined not to spend my time rushing, and since I'd already made plans with Bryona and Lori I didn't want to rush off. This was right for me; I'm tired of doing too much. I will look forward to visiting with Paul & Libby properly next time, with no commitments except them.

In a couple of hours we'll go to church, and I'm looking forward to it. It has become a highlight in my week, and I'm glad to make it official.

Love,
Kristina

Ahhh-chooooo! and Joining WSUU

Tessa is at home with a cold. She alternates between full energy and lethargy, and it's "just a cold" but it's a hassle for her and I! I kept her out of preschool yesterday and today, and we've been laying low. Today we might go to a park (less chance of her spreading the cold outdoors, while at preschool it's an enclosed area with lots of shared toys) or run an errand or two, but we're laying low once again.

I'm grateful that the cold didn't come on before Halloween, and that we got to enjoy ourselves for the holiday, but I am sad that Tessa is missing preschool. She missed a couple days at the beginning of the month due to a cold as well - arghhh! Hopefully we're just getting all the winter colds over with early.

I'm fighting a bit of the cold myself, which makes my fatigue worse. Everything makes my fatigue worse, so this isn't surprising.

In other news...
We are officially joining WSUU this weekend. Ryan and I talked about it quite a bit, and I feel very good about the decision. I feel like I'm learning a lot there, and that I find myself reflecting on the ideas from the service throughout the week and beyond. It's very calming and peaceful to me, and I am certainly seeking that in my life. I am a little concerned about creating too many commitments in my life, and there are circle suppers, meditation groups, bookclubs, and many other groups to join as a part of this church, should I choose to, but we're going slowly at first while we make room for this big commitment. I feel in my deepest heart that this is good for me, and that we will be a part of this fellowship community for a long time to come. I have always considered myself spirtual, but not religious, and this is the first place where I have found like-minded individuals; it's the first religious environment that fits my spirituality. Ryan feels as I do about it, and I think that it's good for us as a couple as well as indivudually.

We are glad to have a spiritual background for Tessa, and think that it will help to shape her in positive ways. We like the children's program as much as the adult program, and like the idea that Tessa will have another positive influence in her life to help her to make decisions and guide the person that she is becoming.

Here is some background on the UU faith for those who are wondering what it's all about:
http://www.uua.org/visitors/index.shtml

And here is a link to 100 FAQs that non-members ask about UUism:
http://www.uunashua.org/100quest.shtml

There are seven principles which Unitarian Universalist congregations affirm and promote:
The inherent worth and dignity of every person;
Justice, equity and compassion in human relations;
Acceptance of one another and encouragement to spiritual growth in our congregations;
A free and responsible search for truth and meaning;
The right of conscience and the use of the democratic process within our congregations and in society at large;
The goal of world community with peace, liberty, and justice for all;
Respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part.

Unitarian Universalism emerged from two different religions: Unitarianism and Universalism. Both Unitarianism and Universalism started in Europe hundreds of years ago. The Universalist Church of America was founded by 1793, and the American Unitarian Association by 1825. In 1961, these denominations consolidated to form the new religion of Unitarian Universalism.

Our local fellowship's website is http://www.wsuu.org/ .

Halloween pics

The camera is pretty much kaput - ARGHHHH! Anyway, I was able to get 5 pics before the battery died. Tessa and Elena - enjoy!

Pre-Halloween Pictures

Today at preschool there was a little Halloween party (since her class doesn't meet on Wednesdays) and I was able to take a couple of pictures before my camera died (there's a vent for another time - five year old digital cameras are dinosaurs).

The pictures aren't great and I couldn't zoom and they don't show any details...more to come after Halloween, I promise!

The preschool show was melt-a-mother's-heart-adorable. The children lined up on a stage in their costumes, and sang three different Halloween songs with hand motions. The children were so proud of themselves, and it was delightful. It was also Tessa's first public performance. I can't believe I didn't video it - ack! Next time.

Watching a mind open up

Tessa is in a growth spurt. In addition to growing two inches between April and September (she's 42 inches now), her mind is just blossoming before my eyes. I'm watching it in her peers, too: as they approach five years old, they seem to just take off, absorbing so much more than before, with so many things just clicking.

Sometimes, this means that I'm awestruck by her creativity, awareness, and knowledge; sometimes it means unwieldy meltdowns that leave me more dumbfounded than awestruck. I truly believe that the poor kid can't keep up with herself right now, and she just melts down as a result.

Right now, she's upstairs, transcribing the names of her friends, which I've written on a piece of paper. I wrote perhaps a dozen names down in upper and lower case, and she is actually able to read them. Now, she knows that it's a list of names of people she knows, so she has that very good clue, but she's able to differentiate between Elena and Emma or Lexi and Liam, and this surprises me. Needless to say, it also delights me. Ryan and I love to read, and try to read every day, and watching our daughter develop a love of reading as well fills me with happiness.

(In addition to loving that she loves something near and dear to me, it eases my heart to think that she'll have a bit more ease at school if she considers herself a reader....it just paves the way for so much. I don't care if she's a straight A student, but I do hope that she'll enjoy school and enjoy learning, and reading is such an important part of that.)

Speaking of reading, I need to read my bookclub book by Thursday. It's short, but it's a murder mystery, so I've been holding off....my all too active imagination can't handle murder stories very well and with the darkness of my mood and thoughts I haven't looked forward to this. It's a local author, though, and I'm enjoying the prospect of bookclub in general.

Working out

I finally made it to the gym today, for perhaps the first time in two months. Yes, months. Leading up to my surgery I felt like "what's the point" (a truly irrational approach, and I knew that even at the time, but I couldn't get past the feeling) and then afterwards I wasn't to sweat or move too much. I was given clearance to work out last Thursday, but it took me a few days to get it together.

I didn't do much - mostly walking on the treadmill. I was tempted to run, but I knew that I'd burn out too quickly, and since I've been such a couch potato I wanted to re-enter slowly. I also did some stretching exercises on my upper body; I am so stiff.

Anna is over, and she and Tessa are playing contentedly. Their friendship has really grown recently, and I love to see how much they enjoy one another.

I'm still struggling, but I'm trying to accept my baby steps.

Worth it

At about 6:30pm, I found myself sitting on the couch at the party wishing I could take a nap. Fabulous friends, fabulous food, good times for all, I just get so tired.

But at 8pm, the prizes were awarded, and Tessa won "Best Child's Costume" for her bat princess ("Baterella"). It's such a small thing, such a simple thing, such a meaningless thing.... and such a lovely thing. She's over the moon.

And I'm pretty proud of the fact that I made the darn thing. With a needle and thread, of all things! Me!

Would you believe I forgot to take a single picture? I know, I know. But Halloween is still coming and she'll wear it again, and I'll get pictures this time. I promise!

Saturday

A trip to the coffee shop; a trip to Costco (where, I am pleased to report, we did not buy a single impulse item, despite the zillion distractions that Costco offers), and now we're home for a while before heading to the Halloween party.

Last night I was awake most of the time between 2am and 6am. Ouch. What's with that?

I'm looking forward to the Halloween festivities. Our whole family is dressing up - it's a costume party - and we're looking forward to spending time with our PEPS friends and relaxing. Tessa had a hard time falling asleep last night because she was so excited for the party - she's been anticipating this day for at least six weeks. I love these simple pleasures, and how, in Tessa's eyes, there is nothing more perfect than a costume party with friends, and I love how she brings out our joy in it as well.

We decided to bail on trick-or-treating in the Junction (sponsored by the Junction businesses) because the day is jam packed already, and in the past week Tessa's been having more meltdowns than usual, so we didn't want to push our luck. (Not sure what's up with that, but she's been learning at ten times her usual speed in the past few weeks so I wonder if her brain is just fried. I'm sure it's just a phase but I miss her easygoing self! Yesterday at the "best teddy bears picnic" with Zoe and Jessie she was just a disaster, despite how much she'd looked forward to it, and little things set her off. Sigh.)

My boob (one looks okay, the other, um, not) is really bumming me out. It pulls on my clothes. I know it needs another surgery to correct it, because this is not simple swelling, it's a relatively big problem. I've seen it enough to know. I don't know what to do yet. For now, nothing. But doing nothing makes me feel powerless and angry; I deserved better than this, and I don't just want to "take it." I feel really frustrated about it.

But today I must let it go, and enjoy the joys of the season.

Baterella

Though I'm so tired all the time, sometimes it's worth pushing through.

This afternoon, it would have been very nice to take a nap. No dice - Tessa isn't a napper, and there is no sense in forcing it.

Plus, tomorrow is a Halloween party that we go to each year, and (egads) I hadn't even begun making Tessa's costume yet.

Making. Yes, me. Usually I buy Tessa's costumes, but this year she said that she wanted to be a Bat Princess. You may have noticed that this is not a commonly found costume, as most little girls are not bat obsessed as is Tessa! In any case, I loved the idea of a non-commercial, creative, inventive costume that married Tessa's princess-phase with her bat-phase, so I committed.

When I was a few days out of surgery, my mom took me shopping at the fabric store....foreign territory to me, but I took the plunge. We bought yards and yards of tulle, some black polarfleece fabric, and some funky sheer purple fabric with sparkly black velveteen bats on it, as well as some notions. Those objects have sat in a bag until today, when I realized that I had 24 hours before the party.

So, I got out my sewing box and went to work. This is not an elaborate costume, but we made Tessa a funky tutu style skirt, and some wings. I have to say, I'm pretty proud of myself, and Tessa is really pleased with the results.

I'll post pictures after tomorrow's party so that everyone can see. There are two Halloween parties this weekend, plus Halloween proper, so it'll get lots of wear. And I'm more tired than when I started, but I'm very proud of my small accomplishment. Tessa still thinks I'm WonderWoman, even when I know it's not true. She thinks that I can make anything, and that I'm an amazing seamstress. It doesn't matter that this is laughable and somewhat comic, because I love that in her eyes I'm so capable.

So tonight I'll fall into bed feeling like I've accomplished something, and hoping that maybe tomorrow I just won't feel so tired.

Friday

Yesterday was a busy day.

I went to the doctor, and we discussed my breast results....uneven. I expressed my disappointment. The doctor is a good, kind woman, and she said she was "devastated" and was praying for better results.

I am to wear the hated strap at night, I am to rub warmed castor oil into the breast, and I am to do daily massages for 5-10 minutes twice a day. I am to exercise the area as much as possible to loosen up the scar tissue. I will hit the pool next week, Tegaderm over my wounds, to try to make that work.

I really wish, at some point along the way, that things would get easier.

Today I'm cleaning the house while Tessa's in school, and making a lunch for Katie, Jenny, and the girls. Tessa wants to have a "best teddy bear picnic" in her room with Zoe & Jessie, and I'm making a butternut squash soup for the ladies. It's a good way to get my butt in gear to get some things done around here, because my energy is zip and without a reason I think I'd let it all fall apart.

Grateful that it's a new day

I am so glad that yesterday is done.

Today while Tessa is at preschool, I'm going to the plastic surgeon again. She'll remove the nasty bits from my breasts, revealing whatever is underneath. Hopefully she'll also lift all restrictions.

Confession: I've already lifted most restrictions. 5 pounds? C'mon. Yesterday I went grocery shopping. I hauled my bag through airports. And on my trip I stopped wearing the **** bra and strap. I can't see any change from making that change....I just couldn't take it for another minute.

I'm usually 100% compliant with doctor's orders. Maybe the new me isn't so compliant.

When I was at the PS last time, she actually seemed shocked that I *had* worn the straightjacket 100% of the time, despite the fact that those were her orders.

Another day. I will try to make the most of it. I will try to set aside fear, and fatigue, and simply live.

Tired

I am really, really tired.

I have typed that sentence how many times on this blog? Countless. I'm tired of hearing myself say it.

The news of Melinda's passing hits me really hard. It wearies my soul. She did EVERYTHING. She was still praying for miracles. She was still seeking just one more treatment, still taking tests to find new avenues, still filled with hope. She had a fabulous attitude. She was still reaching out to others to help them through times of despair.

And now she's gone. It is not fair.

The trip tired me, and a day of errands and chores tired me, and I'm still not back to my regular self. I've heard some women say that the recovery time on each successive surgery is harder, and I don't doubt that at this point. I "should" be better, but I'm wiped out. My mind is tired, my body is tired.

another thought

My last post sounded braver than I feel.

A week ago, I was sending and receiving messages from this brave woman. And now she's gone, forever. It hurts. And it frightens me.

Another warrior lost

This morning I ran to the computer to check the YSC boards, hoping for a miracle.

The miracle did not arrive. Instead, I read that Melinda was gone.

Melinda was known as Dr. Melinda on the boards; in one of those strange twists of fate, she was actually studying oncology when she was diagnosed, and she took her board exams while she was in chemo, becoming an oncologist. She was patient, wise, funny, empathetic, and kind, and she touched everyone she spoke to. She last posted to the boards just days ago, and even her last words had optimism and humor. The world is the worse for not having her in it.

She leaves behind a loving husband; I pray he can find peace and comfort.

Whenever I think that do not have the strength to keep fighting breast cancer publicly, when I think about taking my life back to it's normal course (maybe doing environmental work, instead of breast cancer work), I am reminded why this is my cause. I will fight for Melinda, to honor her. I will fight for myself. I will not back away.

Rest in peace, Melinda. You are already missed.

Home from Greensboro

I can't tell you a thing about Greensboro, because I barely stepped outside of my hotel, which was located somewhere that was not downtown Greensboro. However, the weather was nice (upper 70s), and the hotel was nice (the O. Henry).

The trip was a whirlwind; my flights were delayed both coming and going, and so I spent as much time at airports and in the air as on the ground. It was not in the least bit relaxing, but I'm still glad that I went. The Genentech and Snow reps seemed to like my presentation a lot, and hinted that there were more opportunities to come. I appreciate the opportunity to make a little money for my family, but just as much, I appreciate the opportunity to channel some of my negative breast cancer feelings into something so positive.

I am home alone, as Tessa is still with my mom & dad, and Ryan's still at work. Time to catch my breath, and even possibly take a nap. (I never take naps, but I got up at 2:30am Seattle time, and given my fatigue in general that's a little over the top.)

On the second leg of the trip, there were several soldiers in chamoflage uniforms. I was surprised to notice that the chamo was in shades of tan and light gray, not the shades of green I expected...until my brain engaged, and I realized that these soldiers aren't fighting in green jungles, but on brown sand. My connection to the war in Iraq is a very distant one: I don't know anyone fighting there, I'm politically opposed to the war, and as a mother I just grieve for the loss of life of so many mother's children on all sides of the conflict. War is incomprehensible to me. I turn off the TV when visions of war - imaginings of Hollywood, or the news - come on, because I can not tolerate the images; they seep into my soul and sear my eyes and make me ache.

Maybe it was just a fanciful imagination, but it seemed like the soldiers on my flight were particularly handsome. They were also very quiet. They averted their eyes. As we disembarked, I asked one next to me, "Are you returning from overseas?" and he softly said, "Yes, ma'am." All I could think to say was, "Welcome home." No political agenda here. These are boys returning to their mothers, and the mother in me wishes nothing more than for all of the soldiers to be reunited with their families.

(And I will just mention briefly how old that "ma'am" made me feel. Ancient, actually. Grandmotherly, without the benefit of grandchildren.)

My problems are small in the face of the world's problems, and yet, they are my problems.

I am grateful that I am not a soldier. I am grateful that my husband, father, and brother are not soldiers. My heart goes out to every soldier and their families.

getting ready for Greensboro

Tomorrow morning I fly to Greensboro to do a speaking engagement for Genentech. I'm a bit nervous about it - I'm giving an inspirational speech to breast cancer survivors, and I have to deal with baggage etc. when I'm still bandaged and sore - but it's a good thing, none the less. I'm proud to be contributing a little bit of money to my family to help with expenses, and I'm proud of my work in the breast cancer field, and I enjoy working with the Genentech reps and being an adult outside of MommyLand. I'm gone for two days: my flight is at 11am tomorrow, and I return at noon on Tuesday. Tessa will go to my mom & dad's on Sunday night and Monday night so that Ryan can work.

I continue to be tired but I am healing in lots of ways. There is a lot of work to be done, but I'm doing that work.

My breasts are a disappointment to me so far. They are asymmetrical. I'm told there is swelling. We will see.

Today we'll have a good family day, and I might get a pedicure with a gift certificate I received before my surgery.

I'm actually sad that I am goign to miss the church service tomorrow; I couldn't schedule my flights around it without arriving at midnight (no way). Tomorrow's service is on forgiveness; I look forward to reading it. Ryan and Tessa will go without me, and it makes me happy to think of them there.

Off to the coffee shop with the family, including the dog. Have a good few days, everyone. (My body is too sore to carry around the laptop, so I'll be off email while in Greensboro.)

bandages

I am still bandaged.

Yesterday I went to the doctor, and she removed more sutures, cleaned the wounds, and re-bandaged me. One of the nipples is still "moist" and neither is healed; there's still fresh blood and it's a bit gross. I'm still wearing a gross medical bra and the strap that is designed to hold my left boob in place. I still have activity restrictions. I was allowed to take a brief shower yesterday, but not to let the water hit my chest directly, and then I had to dry my chest with a hair dryer on low.

It's progress, but painfully slow progress.

Today Tessa and I are going to visit the South 47 Pumpkin Patch in Woodinville, so we'll have lunch with Grammy & Grandpa, and then after the pumpkin patch we'll have dinner with G.G. Ryan will catch the bus in to join us, and it will be nice....although I'm a bit exhausted just thinking about it.

One thing at a time. One minute at a time. I'm okay, but this is how I'm living right now.

a better day

Today seems easier for some reason. I'll take it - I'll take what I can get.

I woke up to freshly brewed coffee again - thank you so much, Ryan. The little things mean the world to me.

Today I go to the doctor and hopefully get all sutures removed and get the bandages removed, which hopefully means no more straightjacket and a return to taking showers. That would improve my mood immensely.

And the therapist called me, and I'm getting in on Nov. 6.

Dare I say it?

I think...I'm afraid to say this out loud in case I curse myself...but I think that my joint pain is almost gone.

Oh. My. God.

I have been suffering so much from the stupid joint pain, really dreading movement, struggling to use my hands, dropping things, unable to open things, and wincing from the pain most of the time....and I think it's pretty much gone!

If this is true, and Aromasin works, then it's my new favorite thing.

So that is something to be happy about.

I have a lot of things to be happy about, including the fact that Ryan has been making me coffee and delivering it to me each morning in bed for the past few days. I really do understand how fortunate I am in so many ways, and I feel a lot of gratitude.

I just don't understand how to translate that gratitude into feeling so positive and upbeat. I don't understand why I feel like everything is harder than it should be, and why I'm so tired by even simple things.

The therapist left me voicemail; her first opening is in late November, but sometimes there is an opening earlier than that. Yikes.

Scans, retail therapy

I went shopping this morning - obviously I haven't committed to "buy nothing." (More to come on that, I am not done with the idea, just can't deal right now.) I got a couple of cute sweaters on sale - very practical, everyday kinds of things, which I was short on, and I also got a pair of practical boots for wearing when the weather is rainy and cool...and they're cute in addition to being comfortable.

And then I laid in a machine, got another IV, etc.

First, the DEXA, for bone density. I dropped another 4%, for a total drop of 14% in my bone density, making me osteopenic (precurser to osteoporosis).

Then, the MUGA, for my heart. It stayed stable at about 63%, so Herceptin hasn't left a mark.

So hard to go to the building, to be poked, to be nice to the nurses and technicians. I just feel so tired from it all.

Still wrapped in a straightjacket bra - I can not tell you how glad I will be to get it done with. Thursday.

The piano tuner - our neighbor, Curt - came by today, and we made an appointment to tune the piano on Thursday. I'm looking forward to having that done.

Everything just feels like hard work. Harder than it should be.

tired

Today I attempted to be normal. Playdates. Small chores. Talking with Tessa (who painted her best piece of art ever - a ladder leading to a rainbow and a girl next to it, whom she says is herself; the ladder is so that the girl can climb to the top of the rainbow to see how bright the colors are), setting up art projects, cleaning them up.

Beth made a lovely dinner for us, totally unexpected, and we enjoyed that tonight. Ryan is cleaning up right now.

Such small tasks. And I'm sooooo tired.

Tomorrow Katie is watching Tessa so that I can go to get two scans: DEXA for bone density (checking osteoporosis) and MUGA for my heart (to see if Herceptin left any damage - hoping this is my last MUGA). I hate medical-land. I'm tired just thinking about it.

On Thursday I have an appointment to remove bandages/final sutures on my breasts. I hope to take a 30 minute shower afterwards.

I'm playing phone tag with the cancer-shrink. I hope I get to talk to her soon.

Keeping it together

Okay, so far so good. I've read to my child. I've had another child over for a playdate. We walked with Katie & Jessie to the coffee shop, and so Shep got (a tiny bit of) exercise. I've swept the floors. I've made lunch and put it away. I sorted through the junk mail. I called the Seattle Times to change our subscription (weekends only, please).

These things feel like a success.

A normal day

I am hoping for a normal day. Ryan is off to work (he wanted to stay home to take care of me but I was certain that I would be okay today, and also certain that his work responsibilities are important, too), and Tessa and I are home. There are no activities scheduled (preschool is T-Th-F), Tessa has the last of her cold but is feeling much better, and so we're having a quiet day.

I'm sick of chaos. My emotions are still in a turmoil as I deal with all this stuff, but I can get my day-to-day back under control, at least.

trying to see

I'm still trying to figure out what my new world looks like. I'm not the me I was before. Of course I'm still me, but I'm not. See? Confusing.

I woke up with a whopping headache and grabbed an Oxycodone. The headache is a bit of a dull thing behind my eyes now, and I've been able to listen to Tessa play the piano without wincing, despite its loudness.

(The piano was a recent gift from my grandma, "G.G.," who has moved to a smaller home and didn't want to take it with her. I LOVE IT. I love it's place in my home, and I love that my daughter will grow up playing it. I love the way it looks, I love the way it sounds, and I love the way it draws children. I love that it reminds me that one day when I have a little extra time and money, I will take piano lessons for myself. And I love that when I see it, I think of my grandma, and how we understand each other, and how much I love her.)

I made a big breakfast - we used to go out for breakfast a lot but part of calorie watching and money watching means not doing that so much, so this time I made it. Bacon and eggs...not light on the calories, but still better than a resturant because no hash browns, 100% whole wheat toast, cage free eggs, hormone free meat. And sides of fruit (gifts from Katie, who did a grocery store run for us), including perfectly ripe pears. Ryan helped prep, and did the clean-up. Tessa poured the milk. It's a family morning.

And we've been listening to music (not just the piano, but CDs) and reading the paper. Tessa's been happily playing, having fun.

We didn't go to church because Tessa is too sniffly and coughing to be in a room with lots of kids; I don't appreciate it when other kids give her colds, so we're trying not to do that to others. We are going to go to the coffee shop, though, where we will keep a close eye on her.

Taking it slow.

Not PollyAnna, not wallowing

It's time to get moving.

Not to take over the world, not to solve everyone's problems, but to stop wallowing. To let feelings in, but not allow them to overtake me as much as they have. To allow myself to feel, but not allow the darkness to swallow up the light. To look for the light switch(es) or the way out of the tunnel.

I soaked in the tub - waist down only, no water allowed near my breasts - this morning and read "Martha Stewart Living," a gift magazine that I don't usually read but enjoyed as a departure from my normal fare. I'm dressed, and wearing warm clothes, prepared to go to Lincoln Park.

Ryan is packing a backpack with snacks and a thermos of peppermint tea, and we're going to Lincoln Park to let Shep run around and give all of us some outdoor time. Tessa will collect nature samples - beautiful leaves, acorns, pinecones - of the season. I will breathe deeply in the misty air and look for joy in the gorgeous views, my scampering pup, my playful daughter, and my strong husband (who is back to himself and prepared to make amends and take care of me).

I saw my breasts fully exposed for the first time today, and looked in the mirror for the first time. They are two different sizes. There is swelling but I suspect that I needed that smaller implant, the one that we didn't have, the one that wasn't ordered. Maybe this means that I made a mistake moving forward with the surgery, but I refuse to see it that way. The mistake was the doctor's, not mine. I suspect that my breakdown would have been worse if I didn't have the surgery behind me. Maybe in a few years I'll go back for another surgery. Maybe in 10 years when it's time to replace the implants (they have a finite lifetime) I'll do it. I just hope that I don't get further encapsulation and need to do a surgery this year or next year, because I think I'd rather live with it than face that again.

making up

I got my chance to make it up to Tessa.

Fifteen minutes later, she came to me, crying. "Mama, my ear hurts...please pick me up, pick me up, Mama...." with tears running down her face.

I can't pick up anything over 5 pounds. Crap.

But I held her in my arms, stroked her hair, got her Children's Motrin, made a warm compress, and snuggled in bed with her and read her books (she lost interest in the pony movie because she wanted to be in her own bed - no TV in her room).

We looked at "The Human Body" book and learned about how ears work. We read "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Bad Day" and we compared notes from our day to Alexander's and we laughed together.

It felt good to make it up to her, to be there when she needed me, to give her comfort.

And Ryan is up and feeling himself again and he's making me coffee and wants to take care of me.

I'm exhausted. All of this is exhausting. I couldn't sleep from about 1-4am last night...I just lay there. I hope that's not a side effect of Lexapro.

GIANT dose of guilt

So I hit "publish post" and I go upstairs to watch the dumb pony movie with my beloved daughter.

She has put herself to bed. She's under the covers, sound asleep. I didn't watch the movie with her like I promised because I was too late.

This gives me a break which is what I thought I wanted but then my heart breaks for her and I think "why couldn't I have just put off my pity party for ten more minutes so that my sick daughter could fall asleep in her mama's arms"? I put my needs over hers and it didn't pan out. ARGHHHHHHHHH.

Crap. I feel like the worst mom in the world, even though it's not true. (I played with the village with her today, putting the kids to bed in their little plastic beds, taking them to the little plastic pool, tracking down the lost little plastic kittens. I made us a nice lunch, which I didn't eat but sat with her for. I'm not the worst but really not not not the best.)

Ouch. Major self-flagellation going on, even though part of me knows I shouldn't but I want to be the best I can be for her, not the good-enough mother. (Which is the title of a book. That I think I read. And recall not liking.)

By the way, I left a message for the therapist today, who, right on cue, has not called me back.

The blog does for therapy for now. Not bad therapy if I may say so myself.

this sucks

Ryan watched Tessa for an hour today while I blogged and then laid on the couch. That was my break.

What follows is not a gratitude list or a peaceful meditation.

THIS SUCKS.

I took Ryan to the doctor, and took Tessa to a coffee shop to wait for him (she's got a cold, so I didn't want her in the waiting room). We waited, then picked him up. Then we went to Rite-Aid, and Ryan waited in the car with his barf bucket handy while Tessa and I filled the prescriptions.

I dutifully asked the pharmacist all of the questions (Imitrex for migraines, an anti-emetic, and a pain med) and how they worked together and when he could take them blah blah blah. Side effect of all three? Sleepiness.

Got Ryan home. Got his water. Gave him three meds. Said "good night" and he went to the guest room.

Tessa and I are in PJs again and it's just after 6pm. Her nose is a faucet, she's pale, she's sneezing, and she's saying "my ear hurts." She's also saying, "I'm thirsty" and "let's snuggle" and "watch a movie with me." I have set her up but then I need to take my meds (I'm breaking down to take pain pills, plus the Lexapro, plus Benedryl....oh, crap, I forgot Aromasin) and she's saying, "Watch the movie NOW Mama!" She deserves me and love and tenderness but I just need to take my damn pills so leave me alone! (I say that here. I did NOT say that to her.)

Me? Oh, me? What do I have to complain about? New side effect: blurry vision. The happy pills won't kick in for at least another week or two (or six or eight) and I'm PISSED OFF. I feel nauseaus, achy, tired, sore (kicked in the chest by a horse kind of sore, mostly centered around my left shoulder). My new nipples (and area) are oozing stuff into the gauze that makes me want to barf when I look at it. I'm told that this is normal. I have a headache. My eyes are itchy.

But now I'm going to go upstairs to watch "My Little Pony" with my beloved daughter because that is what you do when you're a parent.

If the drugs work for Ryan, he'll feel better in two hours. But the pharmacist said that I should let him sleep it off. I asked. I wish I hadn't. But I love Ryan and I want him to be well and I guess I can count my blessings if I get away with him being ill only one day instead of five like last time. And I know this isn't what Ryan wanted or predicted. And I know that he feels genuinely lousy, that light makes him throw up he's so sick.

But it was supposed to be about ME. Is it EVER about me? Or am I something to be fit in whenever it's convenient? It appears that it's the latter at the moment, and at the moment my emotional and physical problems belong to me and nobody else and I'm in charge.

When Ryan is well enough to talk this through, we'll figure it out. And he can make up for it by taking care of me again.

Nobody said that life was fair, but this feels ridiculous.

a glimmer of hope

Ryan is upstairs, wearing sunglasses to block the light, reading Tessa a story, so that I can rest. This was his idea.

I think it's a very good idea.

This is what it feels like to feel like hell and do what needs to be done. This is what I have been doing for a couple of years.

I wish that I could feel more tender right now, and that the tenderness was more genuine; instead, I feel like a little justice is being served, and that Ryan will be walking in my shoes for a while.

Maybe he will see that it feels good to be Strong and Brave, too, even (especially) in adverse circumstances. And this will let me feel weak and small when I need to be.

failing the test

Ryan is resting in the darkened guest room. I have brought him ice for his neck. I have read him affirmations of wellness. I have coached him through deep breathing. I have massaged his neck. I have made him an appointment (4:30) for the doctor. I have served him applesauce. I have put out towels, dimmed the lighting, and made him take a hot shower.

Tessa is playing. I have braided her hair. I have worked on words (she's expressing an interest in reading, and knows how to read "cat" and "rat" and other "at" words!!!) with her. I have played ponies with her. I have made her oatmeal for breakfast. I have wiped her nose. I have held her in my lap. She is calling for me; she wants me to play fairies with her.

I have swept up the doghair (a morning ritual). The dishwasher is running. The beds are made.

I am still in my pajamas. My heart is heavy. My chest, still bruised, hurts. My eyes, though the sutures are out, still alternately itch and throb.

Tessa can't go to a playdate because then she'd spread her nasty cold.

Ryan can't do much without throwing up.

So I'm in charge. Again. It's up to me to make everyone happy and well, and it's my responsibility. I'm very responsible. Everybody else trumps me. Here we go again.

I'm pissed that I'm trapped in this pattern. Angry at Ryan because when we figured this out (stress triggers migraines for him; lack of sleep triggers migraines for him) in August that he didn't follow up and go to the doctor to get migraine meds to prevent this from happening again, even though he promised, even though I brought it up twenty times. VERY angry about that. Angry at Ryan for coming to bed at 2:30am when he has responsibilities and he's run down, so that he put himself in this position. Angry that now that we're in this position, he can't fix it, so it's up to me to manage. Very, very angry.

And yet I feel sympathy for him when I hear him retching, when I see how pale he is. His pain is real, and I love him and want to help him.

But he put himself in this position, and I have to bail him out. And nobody is taking care of me.

Tessa is tapping me; she's hungry. It's lunch time. Here we go. Today, I am failing the test. The only difference between today and other days is that today I am saying I AM MAD ABOUT THIS. I DESERVE BETTER. THIS IS UNFAIR. I WILL NOT STAND FOR IT.

I didn't ask Ryan if he would go to the doctor, I just made the appointment. (My assumption is that he'll get migraine meds to make the problem manageable.) I'm taking this into my own hands. If I have to pay the price for doing it someone else's way, we'll do it my way. I will not accept less.

first test

Today will be a test of sorts.

Tessa is sick; she was up in the night (and that never happens) and will need extra TLC and nurturing.

Ryan has a migraine. He gets them when he's particularly stressed and not taking care of himself. The last one lasted five days.

The test will be to figure out how to take care of myself properly in the midst of these unfortunate events.

Tessa is still sleeping - she really was awake a lot last night. Ryan is laying in a dark room with ice on his neck, practicing deep breathing and affirmations of wellness. When he's well enough, we need to get him into a doctor's office to get migraine meds, asap.

I am going to take care of myself. I will give because there is pleasure in caring for others, especially those I love most, but I will try to remember not to give more than I have. I will expect them to be understanding of my problems, as I will try to understand theirs.

fighting analogies

I am a Warrior Woman. I fight for a cure. I'm doing battle against breast cancer.

All words of war.

It struck me just now that I am not a two year and four month survivor; it's that I have been FIGHTING the war for two years and four months.

2y4m of never knowing when I'd get bombed again.

2y4m of being humiliated (let me just look at your breast; wear this horrible gown; etc.), battered, bruised, poked. I've filled enough blood vials to fill gallon jugs, I'm sure.

2y4m without much of a break. Of constant assaults. Of having to be sharp. Of being ever vigilant. Of holding my gun, my back against a tree, trying to discern shapes in the darkness.

And now, it is announced, I am being sent away from the battlefield. I have been released.

And as I reenter civilian life, I have no idea how to manage myself. No idea how to strip from my mind what I know. No idea how to be polite and civil about everyday things.

Sounds pretty extreme, doesn't it? But it's how I'm feeling.

The PTSD thing makes too much sense to me. I'm not self diagnosing, but I am looking at the idea.

I need to learn how to be less vigilant; to think about it less.

Off to take my first Lexapro. I'll call the new shrink in the morning.

Today

Today I woke up with the unsettling feeling that I was going to have to get moving again and be human again and that sounded like a really big burden.

I got out of bed, went upstairs for coffee. Poor Tessa woke up coughing, saying "My throat hurts." I feel so bad for her; her cough is really horrendous, and worst of all she had to miss "her" day at preschool, and the field trip.

My mom came to pick me up and take me to the doctor. I had to go in to have the stitches in my face removed (thank God because I was really done with the blue strings poking out everywhere) and to have the bandages removed and replaced on my chest.

Being back in the doctor's office was not pleasant. Having stitches removed and being cleaned up and having tape ripped off my skin was not pleasant. But I made it through.

I told the doctor my view of my experience, and she apologized profusely, told me how much she respects me, and had tears in her eyes. It all felt strangely flat to me.

I returned the WonderWoman costume and picked up the fabrics for Tessa's "bat princess" costume (I think I've come up with a creative way to marry those two ideas). I picked up my new prescription: Lexapro is the name of the magic drug intended to keep my dark feelings at a manageable level. I had lunch with my mom.

And now I have to go rest. This is more than I've done in a few days and though it's not much, it's all I've got. Facing the doctor today took a lot out of me.

I still have to wear a straightjacket bra for another week. Still no showers for a week. My nipples are still bleeding and gross, but I'm told that the skin grafts worked and that they look good. I go back to the doctor in a week.

little steps

Tomorrow I'm going to pretend to be a normal human being for a while.

Tomorrow, for the first time in days, I'll take off the sweats that I've been sleeping in for days, put on shoes, and leave the house (to go to the doctor, to go on a field trip with Tessa). I will pick up my new prescription for magic pills (Lexapro). I will be there for Tessa, to play with her. I will go to bed early.

I feel like a totally different person than I did a few days ago. I don't know what to think of the changes.

Ryan has utterly stepped up and has waited on me hand and foot, and I feel gratitude and peace about this. I think it's pretty scary to see your wife totally lose it: sorry, honey. The cat has laid under the covers (he goes under by himself!) by my leg, not moving, for 12 hours at a time, just being close to me. Shep sits by me and whimpers. The animals know that something is up and it hasn't been good.

Tessa, on the other hand, has been delighting in bringing me small treasures (my bedside table is filled with things from her room) and telling me stories and being excited about her playdates with friends, which have been many in the past couple days (thank you thank you). Today we told her that it's her day for show and tell tomorrow and she's over the moon with excitement. (The decided upon items: Special Blanket and Special Bear, the items she has slept with since babyhood. Special Bear is so worn that you can no longer tell that he used to be a warm winter white, and he's no longer fuzzy...but he's very special.) Tomorrow is a field trip to Discovery Park to look at spiders and she's convinced that she'll find the first spiders and that it's going to be magical. I'm going to try to attend, too.

I'm looking deep, deep inside. It's not pretty. It's not fun to acknowledge my fear, my powerlessness, my anger. It's not fun to see how I have contributed to my own problems. It's not fair to see that even when I did everything perfectly sometimes things went very, very wrong. It's not fun to look at how much awful stuff I've had to endure over the past two years, and to acknowledge that there were no lessons or positives out of those experiences.

It's not fun to put up a "STAY OUT!" sign that has a note under it, "PollyAnna, this means YOU!" because I'm so mad at PollyAnna. Or maybe at myself because I am she. Or not. But anyway, I'm mad, and I don't welcome that kind of optimism back in my life because the let-down is NOT WORTH IT.

But I also know that I need to be an optimist, I just need a new way for it.

I'm returning my Halloween costume, by the way. I was going to be WonderWoman to show my alter-ego but I've decided I'm NOT WonderWoman and so it doesn't fit. I have other ideas now...stay tuned to see.

My voice is coming back.

I don't know how much I can explain outside of the blog...it's all pretty raw, unappetizing, scary stuff, and I don't think I'm ready yet. Thank you for understanding.

What a mess, though. I never saw it coming and now it seems so obvious.

I can't wait to get my hands on my new pills.

an outpouring of love

As I am crashing and burning many have made it clear to me how important I am to them, even when I am not smiling and being sweet and pulling my share.

Part of me wants to jump out and get back in the world but I'm too scared to do it too soon because I suspect that the abyss is still trying to suck me down and I need to gather my strength.

Part of me wants to help others right now. To take care of my family. To do all kinds of "right" things.

But I think that I am going to rest. To stay away. To let everyone take care of me. To not answer the phone.

Thank you for sticking by me. You know who you are.

Resting

I really had it out with Ryan yesterday.

He really hasn't understood what I'm going through, and how much I need his help to be the glue in this family when I am down and out. That everybody needs to have their hand held, me included. That nobody is as strong as I was being. NOBODY. That I hurt just as much as anybody else, that I need love just as much. That "I'm fine" doesn't mean anything if I'm bleeding and swollen and hurting and tramatized. I think that "I'm fine" in those circumstances means that you if can't see how not-fine I am, how much I am struggling, how much extra care I need, then you are not really looking at me. If you can't look me in the eye, I can not reveal my pain.

That's pretty messed up. I know. Ryan is closest, so he gets the brunt of it.

Ryan protests. He wants to help. This is where it gets sticky. He is so frustrated that I have not let him help; I am frustrated that he has not tried harder. I am frustrated that I wasn't allowed to ask him for help as he struggled with his own demons, and that I had to shoulder so much in his place. I'm damn angry, as a matter of fact.

Ryan is a good man. I'm glad I married him. I love him. He is a great dad, and Tessa thinks that he hung the moon. He is capable of great things. This is not about belittling him. I'm just trying to be honest about where all of this "stuff" I'm dealing with is coming from, and it's not all roses.

My strength is real, but also a farce. It's what I did to hold it together through a long ride through hell, but it has its limits.

And I have reached those limits.

A woman on the YSC has been through more than I have. I won't tell her story here because it is not mine to tell, but she knows about pain and loss and cancer and other tragedies; she started her journey before mine, has been going without a break, and isn't done yet (though she will be soon). I admire her more than I could possibly express here; she is graceful and real at the same time. She sent me a reply to my "help!" message that I sent out to the girls in Cancerland, and she told me that she had been watching me since the beginning. She told me that she's been waiting for this, and that it was okay for me to break down now.

Suddenly, it all feels so transparent. This was inevitable, and I didn't see it coming.

I have not really dealt with all of this. I have told myself that Bad Things Happen and It's Okay.

Bad things happen. It is not okay. It's reality, but it sucks.

And a LOT of bad things have happened to me.

As somebody else put it to me, PollyAnna never got cancer.

It has been pointed out to me that a lot of survivors get post traumatic stress disorder. A counselor on the YSC pointed out to me that she thought I had an acute case, and to get thee to a shrink post haste. I'm pretty sure she's right.

I have taken great pains to prove to people that I Am Okay. That I am Bigger Than Cancer. That I Am an Inspiration.

Well, maybe I am. But I'm also human. DAMNIT. This part hurts. That no matter how much I deal with pain in various forms, in the end, I am not WonderWoman. I can take bullets to the chest and lift SUVs off innocent babies but in the end, I'm just human, and I still hurt, and I still bleed. I can lift the SUV to save the baby (or myself), true, but I still put out my back, damage my muscles, break my bones, and burst my blood vessels. I am not unscathed from the process.

I have forgotten how to acknowledge pain. When is pain too much? For me, it's when the nausea overwhelms me and I feel terror because if I throw up my chest stitches will burst open from the force of the vomit expelling from my body. I know the pain is too much if I start shaking uncontrollably. I know the pain is too much if I wake up moaning. I've experienced those things more times than I can count.

But right before the moaning, or the shaking, people ask me if I'm okay and I think "Well, all my parts are there. I guess I'm okay," and so I say "I'm fine."

I'm not fine. It should be abundantly clear that I am not fine. But when the pain is a throbbing in my body and it's almost manageable if I lie perfectly still and keep my breathing shallow, I haven't been able to acknowledge that this is the kind of pain that nobody should ever experience. Never mind that if I HAD to, say, if the hospital caught fire, I could make it out on my own two feet, it's not okay. Never mind that I can take it as long as it doesn't crank up any more. I shouldn't have to take it.

The nurses are surprised when they come to check on me and ask me my pain. "What number on a scale of 1-10, 10 is worst?" I think. It feels like I'm dying. But I know I'm not dying. 7? Oh, don't be a wuss, 7's for really bad stuff, and this isn't all that bad, because I can still talk in short sentences if my eyes are closed. "Five?" I say, uncertain. "FIVE?" they respond, "Why didn't you tell me! Let me get you some more narcotics! Let's bring that down."

How come I don't even know how much pain I'm in, on my own personal scale?

My cancer has been inconvenient to more people than I can count. People are tired of my complaints. They like it when I'm brave. "Oh I'm so glad you're up and about so soon!" they say. This is how I have defined myself. I am successful when people are telling me how brave I am.

I'm the girl who lost 40 pounds while in the middle of hell. The girl with a mastectomy who went swimming the day her head was shaved bald. If I can do that, I can do anything. I'm the girl who speed-walked the first year of the 3-Day.

I'm also the girl who wrote a 3-Day speech that had 2500 people in tears. It honestly struck me - why are they crying? It was supposed to inspire! It was supposed to show that there could be joy with pain! We all know that cancer is painful, but I was showing joy! Why were they crying?

More importantly, why were they crying so freely when I was not?

If you've followed any of this rambling, you know, as I am now realizing, that I am completely crazy. I have really lost it this time.

I spoke to Rev. Peg yesterday, and she reminded me of the sermon from last week, teachings of a Buddhist monk whose 3-part name (Thac? Nan?.....?) I can never remember, even though he is an amazing teacher and human. Anyway, it was about owning all of our parts. It was about allowing ourselves to acknowledge our anger, to turn it over in our hands, to accept it, and to look at it with acceptance before doing anything with or to it. Or maybe it's about not doing anything to it, just acknowledging that anger is real, as much as joy or other "positive" feelings. I need to go online and read the sermon, that's for sure. (I heard the lecture when 24 hours out of the hospital, in pain, on narcotics. Pardon me for getting the details mixed up.)

Because I think that I have said, "There is no point in being angry over something I can not control," and I have tried to turn my anger into positive actions (focusing time on fundraising, for example). I have not accepted that I have burning anger. That it just "is." That it is an (acceptable?) part of the package. That you cannot go through what I have been through and emerge unscathed.

And now the anger has exploded and taken over. Instead of apologizing for this, instead of smoothing everything over, instead of pretending that I feel better than I do, I am attempting to stand back and watch - let - it blow.

This meant that I spent a lot of last night crying and yelling. Let me tell you, this is not Lifetime Movie material. This is ugly.

Part of what I am realizing is that I have spent a lot of time making people feel better about the fact that I had cancer, the fact of my pain, the fact of my concern. People love to talk about how I'm going to fight this thing and win; nobody wants to talk about the fear of losing. "Oh that won't happen to you," they say. Well, I'm allowed to worry. I'm allowed to acknowledge my fear. My cancer isn't scary because I had to take bad drugs and do awful surgeries; my cancer is scary because it threatens to take away my breath, to turn me back to ashes.

And I'm angry that I have all of this fear and nowhere to put it.

I'm angry because if I spend an hour at home watching Dr. Phil I feel like I have let down Tessa and myself and everyone because Dr. Phil is junk-TV and not useful and I have wasted a day that I was lucky enough to have. I feel guilty because I could be doing something useful to improve the life of my family or of the planet. I feel guilty because I'm resting when I should be working. There is always work to do. But when am I allowed to just rest? When am I allowed to take an hour to gather my thoughts, or to just rest?

On Monday, fresh out of surgery, Tessa at my mom's, why did I do four loads of laundry, change the sheets, take out the recycling, load and unload the dishwasher? WHY? There are a lot of answers to that questions, and I'm not interested in the most simple answers.

I guess I'm running out of steam. I'm waiting for Dr. Rinn to call. I need meds. I still feel completely off balance.

Ryan stayed home today to take care of me. I am under orders to rest.

Our fridge and freezer are stocked with meals from friends and Mom. Tessa has been under wonderful care from my Mom, Heather, Katie, Beth, and others. I can't blame any of this on a lack of a support system. I have bouquets of flowers, food, desserts, cards, gifts to remind me of how much people love me. It makes no sense at all that I would feel unlovable, but I can't explain it. I am so grateful to my friends and family - you know who you are, and how much I love you.

I'm just a basket case.

And for those of you reading this and thinking that this is just a phase, let me say in no uncertain terms: this is me, too. This me has been there all along. I need to be in this place right now. It's dark and it's scary and I hate it but I've got to get through it. PollyAnna is still missing but I'm starting to resent the hell out of her because she led me down this path and then abandoned me in the wilderness with no map to get out. I'm pretty pissed off at her, for letting me believe in her, for letting me believe that I could count on her to stick around, because she has left when I needed her more than ever.

In a day or two I hope I will be functional again, not weeping at every turn. But not today. Today I'm crying a lot and so confused. In a day or two I will have to emerge from my hole and face the day and look at the sun (or feel the rain on my face; it is Seattle) and I will try to find some middle ground between PollyAnna and the darkness where I don't feel schizophrenic. I will take all of the necessary steps (make gratitude lists, meditate, deep breathing, take drugs, seek a counselor, blah blah blah) to figure my way through the mess and I'll figure it out. But this part of me is not going away.

I have to deal with this part of me so that I am prepared when it comes back again, because I am very ill prepared this time.

What a freaking disaster. Just when I think I'm at the end of the awful journey, just when I think I'm the most healed, I fall apart. Great.

Depression

I am relatively certain that I have slipped from a bad mood into a clinical depression.

If I look, it's been coming for a long time.

I have called the amazing Dr. Rinn (who was out of the office today) and left a message asking for anti-depressants. Maybe magic pills can make my problems go away.

I am completely drained of strength. I do not have anything left to give to others or myself.

I am ashamed of my inability to be a good mom. Thank GOD I can blame the surgery right now so that Tessa doesn't need to worry about one more thing.

I want to crawl into a hole, to disappear.

I can not shake the feeling that it is my job to make everyone else feel better, and that it's my Good Attitude that keeps the world spinning. It seems that now my Good Attitude has gone away the world will stop, but I know that's stupid and egocentric of me. I'm not that important, and I know it. Maybe a better way to put it would be to say that without My Good Attitude and Amazing Strength and Courage, which are ways I have defined myself, I feel unlovable. I feel like a screw up. My Good Attitude, Strength, and Courage have defined me for a long time and without them I am lost. Scared. Hopeless. Lonely. Frightened.

If anyone is seeking inspiration from me today, I'm afraid you'll have to go elsewhere. Shop is closed until further notice, with apologies from management.

And yet a tiny bit of me remains. For those of you who know and love me, know that I am working on it. That I am hopeful that Dr. Rinn has some new magic pills in her arsenal that will take the edge off. That I will remind myself of all of the things that I have to be grateful for, even though such a list makes me want to gag. That I will work on repairing my damaged relationships (I'm pissed off right now and there are those who know it). I'll get over it. I always do. It's just that right now, it's so dark, and I can't find a match, and I'm cold and scared.

Maybe all I need is rest.

Good God, reading this, I sound like a bad novel; like a cliche'. Whatever. It's all I've got right now.

Bad mood reigns

I am in a horrible mood.

Horrible.

PollyAnna is on vacation. I can't find her anywhere, and frankly, I am too freaking tired to look for her.

I do not have the ability to hold polite social conversations on the phone at this time. If you ask me how I am, I will tell you. Be warned. It's not pretty.

Physically, I'm doing fine. It sucks, but it's fine. I'm trying not to take pain meds because they have too many bad side effects. I'm managing.

Emotionally, I'm a wreck. I have done too much, been through too much. Ryan and I are arguing, and I'm very angry with him (and he with me). I have to come to terms with the fact that I ask for too much, and I need to ask for less. This is a struggle for me.

I am tired of being the strong one. I am tired of having to hold it all together. I am tired of doing the right thing, I am tired of being an optimist, I am tired of making lemonade from lemons. I am tired of trying to buoy the spirits of everyone around me. I am tired of telling everyone that I'm fine. I am tired of making others feel better that I had cancer. I am tired of smiling. I don't feel like smiling. I feel like crying. I am tired.

I do not need advice right now. If you offer it, no matter how well intentioned, I may snap. I apologize in advance for this anti-social behavior. I value good manners, but I am at my limit. It is best that I avoid social interactions right now, because I don't have one milimeter of patience or extra goodwill to share. I'm at my limit.

I'm just tired. Really, really tired.

PollyAnna, where are you?

Damnit PollyAnna, come back here. Right. This. Minute. Come here! Where are you?

I really need PollyAnna, and she has left me when I need her most.

I am in a terrible mood.

Surgery

Surgery was not fun. It makes me feel sort of ill just to think about it.

I got to the hospital early, and spent a joyful half hour holding Michele & Dave's newest family member, Everett. It was the only highlight in a miserable day.

But then I had to go check in to surgery.

I checked in, and answered all of the questions. "No, I'm not pregnant." "Yes, I'm sure." Don't you people read my chart? I've had a hysterectomy - I am NOT pregnant! I even told them, "I've had a hysterectomy and oopharectomy" and they continued to ask, "Are you sure?" Whereas I realize that they have to be careful, there is a point at which this type of thing is insulting.

Anyway.

First, Ryan was late, because his work meeting ran late. On a normal day I could handle it, but I was feeling really alone and scared and I couldn't stop watching the clock, wondering when he would get there. In a hospital, right before surgery, 25 minutes feels like a lifetime.

Then, they had to poke me multiple times. First, to do blood work, with a "sorry no I can't hook up the IV someone else has to do that." Idiots! Then, to hook up the IV, but I told her it wouldn't work without a hot towel to enlarge my vein, and I got the "oh I've done this lots of times" and then she tried and poked me but it didn't work. She was surprised; I wasn't.

Then waiting for the anesthesiologist, who got the IV in right away, but put it right in the bend of my wrist so that I couldn't move my hand without feeling the needle jab me inside of my wrist.

Then, off to a supply room filled with boxes (!) with the surgeon to take pictures and mark me up for the operation. Lots of Sharpie pen on me, as I stand there, mostly naked, a gown tied around my waist because I am not allowed to wear underwear into surgery (but it's CHEST and FACE surgery.....?!), my bare rear end up against the cold wall.

Lots of marking, lots of discussion about where the nipples should go. The surgeon couldn't seem to understand that the muscles on my chest still have feeling even though the skin doesn't, and she kept pinching me and moving my breasts around in a way that hurt me. I kept saying, "That hurts" and "that's really uncomfortable" but she kept saying "Oh really?" and "oops I'm sorry" and then she'd do it again in a moment.

Throughout this, there are knocks on the door, and we are interrupted by three different people, each of whom comes in, rummages through boxes and drawers, says, "Sorry!" and leaves. All while I am standing there naked and covered in Sharpie.

Small indignities such as these add up after a while.

Then we discussed the different things that would be accomplished in the surgery. I asked about what size the new implant would be to make my left breast smaller to match my right breast. The assistant got nervous, stating, "Wait I didn't know about that and I didn't order another implant" and she rushed off to track it down.

What the ****?!

She came back, sans implant. None had been ordered.

At this point, the doctor changed what we had talked about. She said, "Oh, I'm sure it will be fine without the implant exchange; when we remove the encapsulation it will look smaller," and I said, "If this is true, then how come you wanted an implant in the first place?" and there was some discomfort in the room.

I was told that I could reschedule the surgery if I wanted to. She told me that the implant was just for back-up purposes, and that she thought things would be fine.

So now I'm expected to go into surgery without a back-up. Great.

I knew that I should walk away. I knew that the risk of things not going well was too high, and that I should reschedule.

But I couldn't.

I couldn't face walking into the hospital again. As I have blogged here, I have felt the weight of a thousand worlds on my shoulders as I faced this surgery, and I have hated the worry about it. I couldn't do it again. It makes me shake to face surgery, and I couldn't face it again.

I started to weep. My choice was to go into surgery without a back-up plan to put in a smaller implant if necessary - the back up that the surgeon told me we would have, that she felt comfortable with. Or, I could walk away from the hospital, explain to Tessa that Mommy didn't get nipples, that we weren't done after all, that we needed to plan for another surgery.

Naked and shaking, I slid to the floor and sobbed uncontrollably. I could not stop crying. It is so brutally unfair that I would be forced to make this decision, minutes before surgery, naked, IV in my arm. The assistant said, "Just look on the bright side. I believe that a positive attitude will help!" and I wanted to commit her to an insane asylum. I know a LOT about being positive. I'm Ms. PollyAnna most of the time. But things go wrong, and not because I have a bad attitude. I'm the one who got breast cancer, who needed an extra surgery because the sentinal node results were wrong, who had an allergic reaction to Taxol, who got third degree radiation burns, who is already on her second set of corrections to the plastic surgery. Don't tell me to have a good attitude! A good attitude will not help if I'm under anesthesia and the implant size is wrong and there is no back up.

A horrible choice, and I fear that I made the wrong choice. But what could I do? Walk away from surgery, rescheduling my families' lives; or get it over with. I knew if I walked away that I could not be certain that I would ever have the strength to sign up for it again. I knew that I couldn't put myself through it again. And I knew that I could not face telling Tessa, who has counted on this symbolic moment for so long, that Mommy wasn't getting nipples after all.

I can not believe that I was expected to make such an important decision while naked, IV in wrist, covered in Sharpie, in a supply room closet, minutes before surgery. I am only human. How was I expected to manage this? What was the right thing to do?

So I said, "Okay, I'll do it."

We'll see if it worked. I'm still in a straightjacket bra, and will be for two weeks.

I woke up from surgery feeling fuzzy headed, nauseated, and in pain. I couldn't get the pain to go down - it climbed and climbed, and they kept giving me more meds. I couldn't sleep. It was all I could do not to throw up. They hooked me up to a pain pump at night - it was realized, amongst all of us, that there was no way I could go home - and this was idiotic because I was exhausted and the pain pump was set up for every 10 minutes. So, every 10 minutes, I would need to wake up to re-deliver pain meds, or suffer the pain of not doing so (which would wake me up anyway).

At about 1am I asked to be given oral pain meds, and to have the pain pump removed. I slept in half hour stretches after that, but at least that's better than 10 minute stretches.

I was more than ready to go home in the morning; I even stopped at the coffee shop on the way, before collapsing into bed, just to prove to myself that I was alive.

I am trying to steel myself for the fact that I might need another corrective surgery, and I could kick myself into next week for not having more strength and courage to walk away.

I will certainly let my plastic surgeon know how incredibly disappointed in her I am; I will make sure that she understands that the "minor clerical error" of not placing an order has had a huge impact on me, and that I find it extremely unprofessional of her/her office.

In the meantime, I'm trying, often unsuccessfully, to have a good attitude about this, and to heal.

Tessa has been in a bad mood much of the weekend; Ryan and I are still in bad moods.

Today goes on much like normal, though Tessa is with my mom. I've folded four loads of laundry, emptied the dishwasher, taken out the recycling (it's garbage day), etc. Life goes on even when I'm feeling miserable.