Minefields and July 20th

I have a complicated personality sometimes. I am impulsive yet thoughtful. I am wreckless yet responsible. I face the most intense things in my life head on. I am a lot of other things, but they aren’t relevant to this post. My impulsive nature has led me to some of the best things in my life and into some of the worst messes. Regardless of the best or worst situations, I always learn a valuable life lesson and become more well-rounded and experienced. For 34 years old, I feel like I have already lived a lifetime, and in a lot of ways, that’s true. My dad has a really funny way of describing both me and my sister. He says if there was a minefield that we both had to race across we would finish at the exact same time, except my sister would take her time, calculate each move, tread carefully and have a meticulous plan to get her across unscathed. I, as he likes to point out, would run like a bat out of hell, with no plan, get blown up, keep running and come across the finish line missing limbs and body parts with smoke barreling off of me. What’s funny, is that, in a way that has been what my summer has been like, and oddly enough, I ended up across the finish line missing a body part. My decision to have a mastectomy was one that was impulsive. There is no other way to put it. That impulsive decision saved my life. When I heard the words, “I’m sorry, you have cancer” my whole outlook on my body and specifically my boobs, changed. I wanted that shit out of my body, so be it if it meant I had to remove a breast. There was little time left to question because there was about 10 days in between making the final decision and heading to surgery. I felt braver knowing the surgery was coming because I was going to kick this cancer in the ass. I started to become less sad and scared and more angry, like I was preparing for a fight. My journal entry from the evening of the 20^th was short. I was focused, prepared and my emotions were in check. There was no need for me to sit down and let it all my emotions flow out of me, because I had already done that over the past weeks. I knew what I had to do, I knew my and my unborn child’s risks and I was ready.

It’s the night before my surgery. I went to my first Reiki appointment tonight and feel great. I’m ready, clear headed and motivated to get this over with. I can’t tell if I’m extremely calm or if things haven’t truly hit me yet.

That’s all I wrote, but it’s not even close to what I remember, but it’s very telling on what my state of mind was going into surgery. I remember the smell, the temperature, how soft Kim’s hands were, even the temperature of her hands. I remember where everything was placed in her office. I remember the books on her shelves. I remember the tone of her voice, where she found “prickliness” in my right breast but great energy everywhere else. I remember the tears coming instantly when Kim said the baby’s energy was great and she was very healthy and very strong like her mom. I remember the snot running out of my nose because I was crying so hard when Kim pointed out the mist above me that represented all those who have passed that loved me and were in the room with me that moment to help me be strong. I remember the color of the sunset when I walked out of the appointment. I remember the light rain on the windshield and that I only had to use the wipers twice on the way home.

I did not have another journal entry until eight days after my surgery. Naturally, I was a little consumed. In those eight days, a lot happened. My next post will be to cover as much of those 8 days as possible from memory.

Musical Mess and July 19th

I have been sensitive to music for as long as I can remember. There are so many songs that will flood me with all sorts of emotions. My parents always listened to music when I was little and we would gather around the TV and watch Austin City Limits on Saturday nights. Other weekends they would play George Strait and dance in our living room. Then there were the times that my mom would put on Yanni (when she was cleaning, because that’s exactly what you need when you’re Pledging the coffee table.) The second I would hear that familiar “Signature Yanni” sound come out of their tweed orange and yellow weaved Bose speakers I would start to bawl. All of the sudden in my mind, my dog died, Nickelodeon was cancelled, my best friend lost her BFF half heart necklace, my parents told me we were moving and to really drive the knife in farther, I cut my bangs too short. THE HUMANITY! You are now getting a glimpse into my musical upbringing, so you can now imagine how confused my parents were when this scrawny awkward looking middle school white girl developed a love affair with gangsta rap. It was so relatable to me, you know, especially growing up in a rural town in Eastern Nevada. I look at is as, I am very musically well rounded. I am sure you are starting to find through reading this blog that I am a total weirdo. I don’t expect you to relate to me with the breast cancer piece, but it would be comforting to know that someone else has bawled their eyes out to Yanni, oh yeah, and maybe a little Foreigner, and maybe a little Bonnie Rait. POINT BEING, I am sensitive to music.

Knowing my music sensitivity, I listened to absolutely nothing after I had my melt down in the car listening to City High (Thanks Katie Louk for identifying the song first in my trivia portion back at the beginning of this blog, I still haven’t sent your $5.00 yet). I mean if a dorky song by City High was going to cause a full on anxiety attack there is no way I could take a chance and hear Yanni on accident. I could not be trusted with acoustic or steel guitar noise, violins, accordions, flutes, explicit lyrics…actually any musical noise was a “no-no” because the silence was hard enough.

July 19^th

I went to Target this morning to get our nieces and nephews’ birthday presents because July and September are birthday hell months. I thought the distraction would be good for me to do something fun and to be honest, we all know Darin isn’t going to give very fun gifts to his nieces and nephews. He would be happy tying some sticks together with twine and calling it an “Earth Frisbee” to give as a gift. Then he would be surprised and bitter when his gift wasn’t welcomed with open arms. So I headed off to Target to start damage control, plus I woke up sad and wanted to go be alone somewhere and cry. I turned on some music and cried the whole way to Target. At one point I realized that I was listening to Bruno Mars’ “Don’t Believe Me Just Watch,” while crying. This is a total oxymoron. This is a song you get drunk at a wedding and booty shake to, NOT CRY. But, that was my mental state. The drive to target was a fog, I bought gifts cards, got back in the car and started crying again. I am still trying to process how in the hell this whole thing happened and it feels so good to flush it all out and cry, I just can’t do that at home because I’m trying to protect Marco from it. There is still this looming fear that this cancer has spread and I feel like I am holding my breath until I get my pathology report back after surgery. When I pull into the driveway I see Mariluz’ sister Mela in the kitchen. I quickly wipe my eyes and take a deep breath before walking in the house.

Me, Marco, Darin, Mikey and Mariluz all end up watching The Goonies. It feels good to sit and tune out. My boob really, really hurts today so a distraction helps. It’s back in the peeling, cracking and bleeding phase. It feels like I dropped a hot curling iron on my nipple, so any type of bra or shirt rubs and is painful. Plus anything I wear soaks through with blood and I can’t put gauze or anything on it because I have to dry it out when it gets like this. Marco wants to go to Mariluz’ house after the movie so Darin and I go to sushi. I wear a new dress I bought and put on a little makeup because I know I’m not going to feel sexy or attractive for a while after my surgery. Darin tells me I’m going to be just as beautiful with one boob as I would be with two. It was very sweet, especially because he never compliments me. I keep wondering if he’s going to be repulsed by me after my surgery happens? I don’t think you can divorce someone on the grounds for disappointment for losing a body part, can you?

When we get home we set up the slip n’ slide for Marco in the backyard. For some reason my lunch has motivated me with a “fuck it” type of attitude and I decide to put on a bikini top that is too small because the next two days are my rack’s “last hoorah” if you will. I joke that I’m not going to wear a bra at all tomorrow. After the slip n’ slide we all decide to go to the Peppermill and swim. YES, WITHOUT BEING A GUEST OF THE HOTEL. I get major anxiety when I sneak into pools, which is weird because when I was younger it was more of a major event when I actually followed a rule. Anyway, me and my extra small top marched into the Peppermill and bounced around. It was nice way to take them out on the town before saying goodbye. We eat dinner at Amanda’s and take Marco for a doughnut after dinner.

When we get home Darin crawls into bed with Marco and reads him part of Charlie and Chocolate Factory until he falls asleep. I stand in the darkened hallway listening to him and peak around the corner every once in a while, watching them reading and cuddling. With tears pouring down my face I keep thinking that I am too young to die and can’t imagine that I may have to come to terms with the fact the I may not being seeing many more of these sweet moments between a dad and his son. I feel sick to my stomach but stand there burning this memory into my brain.

The beginning of "Thank You" and July 18th

Why is it so hard sometimes to say, “thank you?” Or to receive compliments? That is one of my biggest struggles. I am in a helping profession and I am a helper by nature. Need a jacket, here, have mine! Are you hungry? I’ll make you a sandwich! Need a ride? Hop in! I do all of these things organically, almost to a fault sometimes. But, for some reason when I am on the receiving end, it’s almost too hard for me to accept. To know that people want to help me for some weakness that I have or am experiencing, is uncomfortable. I hate to receive what is perceived as charity, however it fills up my little buckle to give it. It makes zero sense, but for those who know me well, they know that a lot of times things I do or think, don’t make much sense. Therapy time! I tend to make things around me harder for the benefit of helping others. It’s almost an illness, except I can’t take an antibiotic for it, drinking helps though. With that being said, here’s another awful part of having cancer: trying to truly express gratitude and appreciation for the outpouring of love. I know it makes me sound like an asshole,                       “ Whaaaaaaaa, too many people love me and want to help me and now I have to, dare I say it, say thank you?!”  That would actually be a really funny title to a self-help book. Whether I am an asshole or not, it is difficult to show a person how much you appreciate their kind words, their meals, their sentimental cards, their gifts to your children, their remodeling your kitchen (I’ll get to that in a bit), their rosaries, their gift cards, their phone calls, their just “being with you”…do you see where I am going with this? It became far too overwhelming to possibly say thank you when I realized that people really care about me. That my existence could possibly be coming to an end sooner than I thought and maybe, just maybe I have left a positive impression on this earth. It’s overwhelming, it’s astonishing, it’s amazing and it’s downright hard as hell to try and say, “thank you”, because truth be told, “thank you” is nowhere close to what I want to say.

 

July 18^th

I am back home. I made it! We survived the trip! I woke up early this morning and checked the Aiken Horse Rescue website to get information on Fia Mia and how I can adopt her. It’s not as easy as things seemed when I was little. I can’t just call and leave a voicemail that I need a horse and expect someone to drive her on over and drop her off in the yard. I’m going to work a more mature angle, horse adoption 2.0. I’ve decided to write the Board of Director’s an email or letter about the impact Fia Mia has had on my diagnosis and to see information on how to adopt her. Can I share something with you? It’s sort of embarrassing, so I’m glad it’s not going to go any farther than the internet. My hidden agenda is that the Board reads my letter, falls in love with my story and delivers Fia Mia to my doorstep free of charge, sort of like something Ellen DeGeneres would do or Oprah. Looks like I am suffering from arrested development of when I was trying to get my Appaloosa. See what I mean, when I say I don’t make sense a lot of the time? Imagine what Darin has to put with on a daily basis…I also called and left a message at Nevada Equestrian Assistance Therapy to set up weekly sessions with a horse. I’m still set on adopting Fia Mia.

My neighbor Mikey comes over for breakfast this morning and tells me that he can’t keep a secret any longer. Mikey has bought me a horse! Just kidding, but that’s actually the exact thing my brain thought of. Why in the hell would my neighbor (he’s actually our very, very good friend) buy me a horse and where in God’s name am I going to put it? Are you starting to see a trend with my thinking? I make no sense. But man do I love horses. As I am awaiting the secret he’s going to tell me, I am worried that my reaction is not going to be as great as it would be if he really was going to buy me a horse. I’m horrible. What he tells me is better, so thoughtful and leaves me with no possible way to say “thank you.” He says he’s building me brand new countertops as a surprise and said that I’ll need a good distraction to help me heal. I stand speechless. I want to cry, but I can’t. I want to jump on top of him and hug him, but that would be inappropriate. I stand in shock and am blown away by the amount of love and support that I have received. I start to squeal and ask when we can get started. Deep down I feel guilty because I just don’t know how to say “thank you,” because there is no way that is or will ever be enough.