Friday, June 30, 2006



Sarah, Beth, Oscar, me, Miles, and Steph...at the National zoo. Matt took the picture. It was an AWESOME visit to see them, and to meet Oscar and Miles. Makes me ache for old friends.

I almost stole the kids several times, but Sarah and Beth couldn't create big enough diversions...

"Me"

This could be a long one…
I had the second of the next 12 treatments today. I already had one this week—on Monday. I have to say (and maybe I did) that it seems to be an easier treatment so far. I’ve progressed with “normal” activity all week. I started a new quarter at Columbus State although that means that I’m done with Wednesday-night softball because of a time conflict. It’s been good to go through a treatment and not have my body and brain fall into a state of disfunction 3 days later. No, disfunction is not a word—the Word editor keeps underlining it. But I’m not changing it. I feel like a lot has gone on, even dating back into the other treatments, but I just haven’t had it in me to blog about it. That’s why I think this one might be long. I just put on some music and am burning some incense, so I’m sort of inspired.

I’m playing in a softball tournament tomorrow—assuming we come up with enough players. The nurses at my treatment today were a little, well, amazed at that prospect. I guess that means they think I’m “strong.” That’s an interesting thought—I’ve gotten a lot of similar comments lately. “You look good” and “You always have a smile on your face,” and “You are handling this SO well.” It’s so very encouraging because so many times I feel weak and defeated. Not defeated in the sense that I cannot beat this thing, but certainly from the perspective that this is NOT the “me” that I want to be forever. Sure, I know that this (hopefully) won’t be the “me” that I am forever. But it is getting hard being IN the moment and seeing into the future.

There are emails from my Ultimate team (MOJO) flying—trying to figure out if we even have a team. I had to respond that I won’t likely be able to play much until at least September, and then at some point I’ll have to have surgery, which will set me back again. I had thought that when I would decide to retire from Ultimate, it would be a conscious commitment to finishing strong. Not Michael Jordan style, but perhaps Charles Barkley style. Decent, still with something to contribute. And I had thought that this year would be that year. After being in Sarasota again last year as a player, I thought I would go through the winter and spring committed to improving my conditioning and being stronger, for one last year. I know I wouldn’t be able to reach the conditioning that I had when I was 28, but hey, why not try. But that didn’t happen, and now I have to tell teammates that I will likely be a sideline fixture. I guess I can try to turn that into a positive—I know my lot in life is becoming a sideline fixture for Ultimate, whether that’s coaching high school, college, or a club team. I guess I just wasn’t quite ready for it to happen like this. Maybe next year I can strive for that in-shape player that I can be. By the time of the 2007 club season, I will be 40. Maybe that’s a good time to finish it out strong. Perhaps that will be more Michael Jordan-like—when he came back from playing baseball. Yeah, that’s it—my cancer is like Michael Jordan’s attempt at baseball. Now I understand what this is all about.

I learned today that a fellow Ultimate player up in Cleveland is also battling cancer. I don’t know much about her case—it’s the first I’ve heard—but it isn’t sounding great. It seems that she has cancer in many places (the email mentioned back tumors, cancer on her liver, and rapidly dividing cancer in her bone marrow). She’s probably 10 years younger than I. And at this point, they don’t know the origin of the cancer. They can’t do a full course of chemo because of the liver issues, so they are working on helping that so that can boost up the chemo. Drats—it definitely hits me harder when I hear of other’s cancer battles. Not that I wouldn’t expect that to be the case, but when it happens, I am surprised by my reaction. It also hit me when I heard about a coworker’s friend who had brain cancer. He died recently, after knowing (I think) about the cancer for about 1.5 years. He left a wife and 2 young children. From what I’ve read about them (from their website), they are deeply religious and rooted in faith. I think faith is the key—and I don’t necessarily mean that any “faith” needs to be based purely on the Bible or any “god.” But I do think everyone who is battling something—whether an illness, an addiction, or some other affliction—needs to be rooted in some faith, something spiritual. I haven’t quite identified the character of my faith, but I know it’s there. Perhaps that’s why I can be seen with a smile quite frequently (or so I am told). I can’t really explain it—I don’t have an answer as to WHY I am handling my affliction as I am. I just don’t know how to do it any differently.

So yea, it’s hard when I hear about others battling cancer. And I know for anyone who may read this who is dealing with a situation as such—IT IS HARD. It isn’t fair. And it is different for each individual going through it. How I sit in the treatment room and handle having poison dripped into me is different from the 68-year-old across from me. How I handle walking around with nothing covering my practically bald head is different from the 43-year-old mother of 2 who has a wig on. And how those around us handle being around us is unique as well. There are no rules as to how to handle cancer—or other diseases. There are ways to cope, there are ways to get through each day—but there are no rules. And I think that is the hard part. We are creatures of structure, and having rules/guidelines us gives us comfort. Without them, we cannot understand how to feel or know what to do next. But we all do feel, and we all do something next.

I don’t know what I’ll feel tomorrow, but I do know that what I am doing tomorrow will exactly lend itself to what I feel. I, of course, hope I will feel a sense of accomplishment in being out at the softball fields in the sun, in the warm July air. It’s July 1st tomorrow—moving ever so closer to the end of the treatments. And tomorrow I hope that I can forget for awhile that I am not the “me” I was, nor the “me” that I want to be. I’ve battled in my head that I don’t “look” like myself—I have little hair, I have more weight, and I have dark circles on my eyes after treatment. I know that these things needn’t be permanent. I know that the “me” doesn’t really involve what I look like on the outside. Yet I am pained about who I am on the outside. I’ve finally realized that the pain isn’t about how I look—it’s about how I got to looking how I look. And I can only hang on to the idea that in 11 weeks the treatments will be over, and in 4 months I should be through surgery. And THEN I can reach really deep, dig in there and pull out the “me” that I want to get back to. No, that’s not right either; I don’t want to go back (well, sure I do, but I also know that can’t happen). I want to move on from this. I want to move on from dealing with the situation—the realization, the worry, the treatments, the being in need of support. There are so many things about my world right now that aren’t “me,” but I can let this “me” go in a few months. Not forever—I suspect this person will be with me forever, out of necessity. But in terms of the overall package, I can return to being someone that doesn’t worry about dark circles, “soft” parts of the body, and certainly someone that doesn’t worry about cancer every minute of everyday.

Monday, June 26, 2006

Sleeping through treatment

Maybe they are right, or maybe it's too soon to tell, but the Taxol does seem easier. It wasn't any faster today, but I was told the subsequent treatments will be quicker. The biggest effect that I have felt so far is from Benadryl. They gave me about 100 mL by IV, and it kicked in big time. I felt really bad for Jane (who had accompanied me today--good thing, not sure I could have driven home). I slept almost the entire time I was there. And then I slept a few more hours at home. But on the flip side, I was able to make it down to class with no problems (although I did have problems AT class--the projector wasn't working so I couldn't give my lecture).

I'm a little tired tonight, and that meds have left a bad taste in my mouth (literally). But I am planning on going into work tomorrow and have a "normal" week. Perhaps sometime I'll blog as to what "normal" really means for me these days. I go back for another treatment Friday. I'll see what I'm up for, but the neighborhood is in full swing with Fab Fridays, so I'd like to attend one. It would probably be rude to attend and fall asleep in a lawn chair...