cancer

love and loss

It’s been a rough month. I know. You probably don’t want to hear one more story about Dakota. I’m sure you don’t. His passing has left such a hole in my life, though.

I miss curling up with him on weekends. I miss getting his kisses when I came home from wherever I went. I miss seeing him playing in the snow.

I worry that I didn’t give him a good enough life, that I didn’t treat him as well as I could have. Maybe I yelled too much. Maybe I punished him too harshly. Maybe I didn’t give him the benefit of the doubt as much as I could have.

And all of my doctoral applications were due (and I got them in). My gosh is that a lot of stress. I didn’t get much time to grieve because I had to get those done.

And as I said, my grandfather was terminally ill. He passed on Thursday. I think that everything I’ve been holding in, from Dakota’s passing to the stress of the applications, my thesis, and work, to my grandfather’s passing have all come out this weekend. I’ve had these bouts of intense crying that haven’t been duplicated in years. I haven’t cried like this in such a long time.

I am going to miss my grandfather. I’m going to miss his emails and his voice. I’m going to miss his presence in my life.

I miss my little guy so much that it physically hurts sometimes. I ache from the loss.

My grandma and I were talking yesterday. She said, “In our family, we laugh just as hard as we cry and we’re able to do both extremely well.” I replied to her that I’d rather be able to laugh and cry because it means I’m alive.

I just wish the crying didn’t accompany hurt. The hurt is overwhelming sometimes.

climb to conquer cancer


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Each year I try to take part in the annual Climb to Conquer Cancer. This is a 7-mile walk (or run if you’re that ambitious — which I’m not) up the mountain here in Flagstaff. All proceeds go to the local Cancer Society. It’s a great event.

This year, I’ll be walking with my brother, sister-in-law, willow, and justice.

If you have the means, I’d love to have you support this cause. It would mean the world to me.

feed me

A friend posted this link, What the World Eats, on Twitter the other day. It came shortly after I had made some decisions about my own eating habits.

I’ve been working really hard to lose some weight in the last year. I have lost nearly 50 pounds but I have had a diet filled with a lot of processed foods that come under the label of “spa classics” and “homestyle” and “cafe’ delights.” I chose to eat these foods because they were easy, I could count the calories easily, and it didn’t take more time for cooking than I really had.

However, I started thinking about what I’m eating and what it is costing me. First, those meals are extremely expensive. At $3 or $4 a meal, I could use that money to make 2, 3, or 4 meals that are more healthy.

Second, the meals are frozen so I’m not getting the same nutrients out of the vegetables that I would get if I actually made the food myself.

I don’t know where those foods are coming from. If I buy fresh fruits and vegetables (and I usually buy organic), then I have some sort of control over the quality.

Also, everything I have been reading says that certain foods are good to help combat cancer. Maybe if I treat my body better, I will have less incidences of cancer and a healthier life. I think, too, that it can help me with the fatigue and illness that seem to plague me.

I looked through that pictorial and watched the food that went by. The wealthy western families had diets full of processed foods. The poorer families had diets full of vegetables, whole wheats, and non-processed foods. And the less wealthy diets looked better to me. The abundance of fruits and vegetables made my mouth water.

I’ve been thinking about the whole slow food movement, too. Enjoying the food we eat. I put my fork down between each bite, savoring the food that is going in to my mouth. I think about what is going in, and appreciate the work that has gone into it.

I want to enjoy my food and let it work for me, not against me.

I figure it’s never too late to treat myself right.

–

The MacBook Pro is a work computer. It’s not really mine but it is mine to use. I’m still excited. Glossy screen. 17 inches. The better to see my photographs with.

I’ll miss my little 15″ PowerBook G4, though. It has been a good machine for me. My first Mac. I feel almost weepy. *sniff*

blight


Today I had a six month checkup for cancer. We’ve backed down from every three months to every six. That’s a good thing.

I haven’t had any biopsies taken in almost a year and a half. That’s amazing. It’s really amazing because I was averaging a new biopsy for every visit, if not more, before then.

It caught up to me, though. It was bound to. I’m due.

It’s almost two years (in September) since my last melanoma was found. Two years. Can you believe it? Most of you who read my blog have been around at least that long, if not longer.

Five years is the magic number. At five years, they figure that you can go down to a yearly visit because it’s not coming back. I haven’t made it to five years yet.

First, carcinoma on my hand. Two months later, a melanoma on my back. Three years after that, another melanoma. Now, two years later, we’re watching.

Two biopsies today. A pound of flesh removed from my upper right thigh and another pound removed from the middle of the inside of my left calf. Ok, not nearly a pound…but it sure feels like it. Big scoops of flesh removed from my body — areas that will take months, if not years, to mend because legs mend so slowly. I still have one that is trying to mend from two years ago December on my lower right calf. Over two years and the mark is still there, still looking bruised and ugly.

I will find out the pathology results within a week. I’m not worried about the one from my calf. That one didn’t look bad. The one from my thigh, however, grew fast. It may be something. Then again, it might not be.

My war wounds. My little reminders that I’m still here, still kicking, and still moving forward. This blight upon my body will not win.

One of the other interesting things is that my doctor is now going to be taking digital photographs of my body so she can compare them to my visits.  That way we’ll know if any of the moles have grown, appeared, or changed shape.

So, being the dorky photography nut I am, I started asking her about her camera, the megapixels, and the resolution of the photographs.  Heh.  She told me that we could look at the photos together, when they are taken, and then I can make recommendations about cameras.  I’m up for that.

Hey, it’s just about the cameras and photography, folks!

what we wish for

We recently finished up Autobiography of a Face by Lucy Grealy (you can hear an interview with the author on NPR’s Fresh Air). In this book, Grealy accounts her bout with cancer and how the surgeries took their toll on how she looked physically.

Grealy writes about how being in the hospital made her special, made her stand out, be the star. People paid attention to her. When her 2 1/2 years of chemo were over, her mother asked her if she was happy. She put on a brave face and said she was but when she reflects on it, she wasn’t happy that her moment of stardom was over.

She writes, “As hard as it was to admit this to myself, I was afraid of it ending, of everything changing. I wouldn’t be special anymore; no one would love me. Without the arena of chemotherapy in which to prove myself, how would anyone know I was worthy of love?” (136)

I wonder how many of us feel that way with our own traumatic experiences. I’ll be honest about this. When I found out I had cancer, I was sad. But it also felt really, really good to know that my family rallied around me. It was nice to get virtual hugs and support here.

When I write about the abuse I went through, the poverty we lived in, and the various events that litter my life, it feels good to hear readers give me support.

Would I want to live through any of that again? No. But there is also some part of me that equates trauma with love. If I’m hurting, I get loved more. It’s not a conscious thought but I feel more love when I’m hurting. People remember to tell you more then.

During my last surgery for cancer, I felt like a fraud. We catch my cancer early, before it can spread. I’m relatively well off compared to people who have to do chemo and radiation. I have chunks of skin taken out (which can be traumatic) but it is nothing like chemo. Whenever I wrote about it, it was double-edged. I wanted the support but I felt horrible – feeling like I was milking this thing for more than it was worth. Or, maybe more appropriately, more than I was worth.

I don’t want to be a victim or a survivor or any other word/language that is associated with someone who has dealt with large levels of trauma in his/her life. I am, though. I have. And trying to find love outside of that is always a challenge. I’m not sure what non-traumatic love feels like.

picture the cure

Today is the day for the Picture the Cure benefit in Toronto.

This is Irina’s second year in working on this project. I want to give her huge kudos for pulling this off.

It’s a beautiful tribute to the women and men who have had to deal with cancer and I applaud all of the artists and the people behind the scenes who make this happen.

If you have a moment, go to the site and check out the gallery. There are amazing images that will be for sale after the showing tonight.

If you’re able to go to the show (and live in Toronto), I urge you to go. It’s a worthy cause.

picture the cure




photo by irina souiki

As long-time readers know, cancer has touched my life in more than one way.

In 1999, a co-worker was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was as bad as it could possibly get – spreading quickly into her lungs and other parts of her body. Several of us decided to hold an event to support her in her recovery. We shaved our heads. Being county employees, the media was delighted with this and we were featured in the newspapers and television news locally. People stopped me in stores and talked to me about it, telling me their stories about cancer.

It was one of the most moving events of my life. I learned about the stength and goodness of people. I learned about how connected we are to one another.

Four years later, I’d have my own personal touch with cancer. I have had two types of skin cancer – one of them twice. I am still checked every three months.

So when Irina Souiki sent me an e-mail asking if I’d like to be participating photographer in her annual picture the cure event, I was on board.

Plus, I have to admit that it’s rather exciting to be asked to donate some of my photography to an international event. I’m honored to be included with the other artists. I’m honored to have three of my images chosen to be a part of this event and honored that two of my photographs (the first one and the last one on the image here) were chosen for the promo card.

I’m in great company. Please go to the site. Read about the survivors that Irina has profiled. Look at the photography. If you’re interested in any of it, you don’t have to attend the event. It will be for sale. If you make a donation to the event, anything over $10 will get you a postcard sized image of your choice.

Please consider supporting this event. The Canada Cancer Society will thank you. Irina will thank you. I will thank you.

free


photo by me

I had my three month dermatologist’s appointment today.

I always get so nervous. I know she’s going to cut me. I know that she will find something.

She always does. Always.

But not quite.

Today was the first time she didn’t take a biopsy. In the four years I’ve been going, she didn’t take any of my skin.

I told her that and she laughed. She said maybe we’ve finally gotten this ugly thing under control.

I just felt complete relief.

Short and sweet today. It’s a day to celebrate, live life, and be happy.

No cancer.

cloudy horizons




photos by me.

I’d like to write something here. I actually have a lot on my mind. I can’t connect things, though. My mind is a fog. I’m having difficulty even thinking or remembering things. I keep forgetting things and even putting them into my PDA or writing them down isn’t helping because I forget where I’ve written things or if I’ve recorded them in the PDA.

I’ve forgotten to say the surgery went well. The last three weeks have sucked but the surgery went well. The edges of the flesh they extracted came back clear of cancer.

This was a bad one, though. In the six months between my last check-up and this one resulted in a melanoma that was big enough for a 4 inch incision. So, now I’m on check-ups every 3 months instead of six.

I’ve been having trouble sleeping. At first it was because the stitches were at a place that hit every time I turned. Now it’s because the incision hurts whenever my body twists.

So, between the stress of the surgery, not sleeping, and just trying to keep up with things, I”m not doing well. I can’t keep my head clear. I’m having trouble doing school work.

I just can’t focus. And I’m irritated by that…which makes it all worse.

Friday I did get some good news. A position that I applied for came open and I got the job offer. It will take some of the stress of finances off of my shoulders. It’s also going to be awesome in terms of my schooling because it’s dealing with many of the issues I’m studying in my program: literacy and technology. I’m so excited about it.

I’m currently working in the distance learning area and I’ll be moving to e-learning. It’s going from front-end to back-end in terms of producing online courses.

I’m so excited about that.

It starts October 31st. Yay!

Okay…enough for now. I can’t think of anything more and my head is in a fog. I seriously feel really dizzy and foggy today. Blech. Bad time for this all to be happening.

I’ll update again soon.

another round




photo by blackpearlz.

I knew this was coming. I could feel it somehow.

There was an 80% chance that it was going to happen again anyway.

I know it’s “just skin cancer” but it happens to be the worst type of skin cancer: malignant melanoma.

I went in for my regular 6 month check-up on Monday. My doctor did a biopsy the size of Texas (seriously, this is a big gouge in my body). It is as big as my thumb and deep enough that my thumb fits into the depression.

I had a feeling something wasn’t right. It hurt more than the other biopsies have. It bled a lot more than any of the others.

She called about an hour ago to tell me that it was melanoma and that I had to have surgery as soon as possible.

Last time, she had me in the next day. This being a holiday weekend and a short week next week, I didn’t expect that to happen. As it is, they got me in on September 15th at 8am.

I know I’ll be okay because we catch them so early. It’s just so invasive having huge chunks of your body taken out and then having stitches and scars.

And I’m such a wimp. Seriously. I’m a big baby.