Mountain Lion

Mountain Lion

................ In case you've ever wondered what crappy cancer is like................

"What’s it like to get a cancer diagnosis, and go through cancer surgery & treatment? It’s something like this: one day, you’re minding your own business, you open the fridge to get some breakfast, and OH MY GOD THERE’S A MOUNTAIN LION IN YOUR FRIDGE.

Wait, what? How? Why is there a mountain lion in your fridge? NO TIME TO EXPLAIN. RUN! THE MOUNTAIN LION WILL KILL YOU! UNLESS YOU FIND SOMETHING EVEN MORE FEROCIOUS TO KILL IT FIRST!

So you take off running, and the mountain lion is right behind you. You know the only thing that can kill a mountain lion is a bear, and the only bear is on top of the tallest mountain, so you better find that bear. You start running up the mountain in hopes of finding the bear. Your friends desperately want to help, but they are powerless against mountain lions, as mountain lions are killing machines. And even though they say they really want to help, most turn to run away because they fear the mountain lion will get them too. So you are alone. 

As you’re running up the mountain, you see other people fleeing their own mountain lions. Some of the mountain lions seem comparatively wimpy - they’re half grown and only have three legs or whatever, and you think to yourself - why couldn’t I have gotten one of those mountain lions? But then you look over at the people who are fleeing mountain lions the size of a monster truck with huge prehistoric saber fangs, and you feel terrible for even thinking that - and besides, who in their right mind would want to fight a mountain lion, even a three-legged one?

Finally, the person closest to you, whose job it is to take care of you - in my case, my husband - comes barging out of the woods and jumps on the mountain lion, whaling on it and screaming “DAMMIT MOUNTAIN LION, STOP TRYING TO EAT MY WIFE,” and the mountain lion punches your husband right in the face. Now your husband is rolling around on the ground clutching his nose, and he’s bought you some time, but you still need to get to the top of the mountain.

Eventually you reach the top, finally, and the bear is there. Waiting. For both of you. You rush right up to the bear, and the bear rushes the mountain lion, but the bear has to go through you to get to the mountain lion, and in doing so, the bear TOTALLY KICKS YOUR BUTT.

Then, IF YOU ARE LUCKY, the bear leaps on the mountain lion and they are locked in epic battle until finally the two of them roll off a cliff edge together. Maybe it's gone? You’re not sure - it fell off the cliff, but mountain lions are crafty. It could come back at any moment.

And some of your friends come running up to you later and say “that was amazing! You’re so brave, we’re so proud of you! You didn’t die! That must be a huge relief!”

Meanwhile, you blew out both your knees, you’re having an asthma attack, you twisted your ankle, and also you have been mauled by a bear. Your body is not the same.  This experience changes you. 

And everyone says “boy, you must be excited to walk down the mountain!” And all you can think as you stagger to your feet is “I never wanted to climb it in the first place.”

It's in the grey area

 

I’ve always found it interesting (and totally unfair) that gray signifies “old” on women but translates to “distinguished” on men.

We are constantly judged by our appearance (which is one of the main reasons women get reconstruction surgery). Ignoring that judgment is difficult, even when we know we should. Women struggle to fit into jeans that are too tight, wear flats if heels would make us taller, fret over freckles. But hair — in any color, style or texture — is a category all by itself. We are constantly straightening it, curling it, coloring it, cutting it, adding extensions to it, teasing it, spraying it, and don’t even get me started on how many bottles and jars of shampoos, conditioners and other hair products are littering bathroom shelves.

I don't have a problem with women who choose to color their hair, or any of the other many things they do to make themselves feel beautiful. I did it for over 30 years! I'm not judging! But for me, going grey has given me freedom that I didn't really know I was needing.

After crappy cancer, I switched to all natural products in my home, getting rid of toxins and carcinogens anywhere I could, and hair dye was just one of the things I decided not to put on my head again! I have a lot of insecurities that weren't there before crappy cancer (it changes a person) but when I look in the mirror and see my scars, flat chest, grey "highlights". . . . I'm pleased with my choices. I'm not gonna say I don't miss my boobs because I do! But, I'm so glad I got that foreign substance out of my body and I certainly didn't want to put something foreign back in! And that coalesced into being REAL with myself and others. No foobs for me (that's fake boobs for you novices), no fake hair color either! They just seemed to go hand in hand to my way of thinking!

I honestly do not care what others think, and I never have. If you look at me and see no curves where there should be, and curves where there SHOULDN'T be, then whatever you think is on you. Not my business.

It's in the grey area, but I'm happy with my choices. . . . . flat chest and grey hair has given me power over my own body!

RAW Truth

I started this blog to help ME cope with crappy cancer by writing my thoughts and feelings down. It has been therapeutic. If it helps another woman on this journey, that's a bonus, but not why I blog.

Today, a very raw and hurtful truth reared itself in Sunday school. We were in 2 Corinthians and the discussion centered on verse 4 about God being our comforter; He consoles us and is where we find peace. . . . and He has certainly done that for me. BUT then the discussion leaned toward how we are supposed to share that with others when they are in need. After listening to everyone talk about their personal stories of comforting others, all the hurt I've tried to hide and not deal with came tumbling to the surface. I let them know they weren't doing the wonderful job they thought they were. I gave them some RAW TRUTH about how I was abandoned and ignored when I needed it the most. I'm sure I embarrassed my husband. It will be hard and a little awkward to face them all again after today.

Nobody in my church family brought food while I was recovering. Only one person in my Sunday School class sent a card. Nobody called. NObody visited me. I was alone with only my husband, unable to do laundry, vacuum, cook, shower by myself. . . . . it was a painful recovery, physically and emotionally. I'm still recovering. Where were all my church family? Where were all my friends? I noticed they took meals to other people and helped others in times of need. Why not me? It's been 2 years and the pain of being abandoned, ignored and forgotten has never gone away.

A COMMENT ON FACEBOOK DOESN'T COUNT PEOPLE!!! (Read that again)

I wished I could've shared both the good and the bad of cancer’s aftermath with ANYone who would listen. I was good at faking my strength and that I was fine, so people assumed I was fine I suppose. As long as they couldn’t see the ways in which cancer had changed me, perhaps that made it easier for them to imagine that cancer hadn’t changed me at all. As anyone who’s gone through diagnosis and treatment knows, that's not true at all. I AM CHANGED! But nobody notices or asks.

Is it my flatness that makes them uncomfortable or makes them feel awkward? Is it difficult to see how my clothes hang without my breasts to fill them out? Maybe they'd rather not think about my breast free chest and what caused it, or maybe they are thinking that they might be next, or maybe my brave face and jokes about a lack of cleavage leaves them to think that I'm doing great. I'm told I look wonderful. I'm told that I appear strong. None of it is true. The raw truth is that I'm hurting and sad. I hate going to my Oncologist and surgeon, getting my blood drawn, and hands groping my flat chest for any changes. I have lasting side-effects from treatment, and I’ve had cancer-recurrence nightmares.


I was told today that everyone assumed I had tons of friends and was being surrounded by them and family. Yeah. . . . I thought I had tons of friends too, but crappy cancer showed me they weren't real. My husband was the family that surrounded me, and even he doesn't like to hear or talk about my "feelings" when it comes to this raw truth. So, I bottle it up inside.


I'm trying to get past it, and honestly thought I was doing better about putting the hurt away in a box in the back of my mind, at least until this morning. I have severe anxiety and hardly ever leave the house. Now, I'm not sure I'll even be able to go back to my Sunday School class after this morning. . . . . that's the raw truth! 
 
I've lost a lot.

I've lost my figure.
I've lost friends.
I've lost bone.
I've lost sleep.
I've lost hair and nails.
I've lost my energy.
I've lost my confidence.
I've lost my sex drive.
I've lost ME.

I've lost myself, the person I used to be. I'm trying to find the new me. But, I feel alone in that and it makes me really sad. Today only magnified my sadness with crappy cancer and all that I've lost. . . . and that's the raw truth.