war zone

You know when you think of doing something, and you know it's a bad idea, but you do it anyway?

Well, I just did that.

As I think I've mentioned before, ever since diagnosis, cancer comes up on a daily basis. It's become unavoidable. It's the topic of every other TV commercial, radio commercial, the plot line in every movie, and it comes up daily in the conversations around me.

Tonight, I finished a book, and was looking for something to watch. I scrolled through the channels on TV, and didn't find anything intriguing, so I picked up my tablet and opened up Netflix. I saw an intriguing movie with Kate Hudson as the leading actress, so I clicked on it to read the description. It was about a woman who was diagnosed with a terminal cancer and how she lives her life until she dies, and how she falls in love. I knew I shouldn't have watched it, but I knew what I was getting myself into, so I did it anyway. A lot of the story hit home perfectly. The dread, the terror, the acceptance. It really is just following the road map of the 5 stages of death and dying - Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. More often than not, the phases don't follow that exact pattern, but the emotions are spot on. I cried several times throughout the movie, and I'm grateful that I watched it at home, in bed, in solitude.

Today, or yesterday, rather, was exhausting. I had my radiation simulation, which I haven't been dreading at all. It just felt like another doctor's appointment that I had to attend. However, on my drive to the radiation center, I started crying. Two of my friends, Chris and Alicia, happened to text me at the exact same time asking how I was doing. I let them both know where I was heading, and that I was on the verge of a panic attack. I tried to slow my breathing down, to stay calm, to soothe myself, but nothing worked. So I hid behind my sunglasses as I drove, and let the tears make their way down my cheeks. I pulled up to the parking lot, and I sat in the car for a few more minutes, letting the last of the tears fall from my eyes, and then chasing them with a kleenex, trying to clean up my face. I walked in, checked in, sat in a chair, and tried to hide my face as a few more tears escaped. Not too long later, a nurse introduced herself to me as Terry. I'm sure she could see the fear and dread in my eyes. She told me to undress from the waist up, put on the vest, opening in the front. She had me lay down on the table, and started to position my arms. It was when she was explaining to me the process of how the CT scan would work, that I started crying, somewhat uncontrollably. She rubbed my leg, and I apologized. She asked why, and got me a tissue. I don't know why I always apologize for my emotions, but I do. I know that in this situation, they're completely valid, and no one would blame me for crying, but I'm supposed to be strong. Crying doesn't come with that territory. The doctor on premise came in, marked the areas where they'd be doing the scan, and told the nurse to stop making me cry. They were both very sweet, and compassionate.

Terry did my scans, and as I went through the machine, a few more tears escaped, and rolled down the sides of my face. When the scans were done, she started asking me about how I found my lump - everyone seems to want to know, given my age, and I never have a problem telling them, once I get past the crying. She then did my tattoos - markers for the radiation area. I'm not happy about having more reminders on my skin of what I've gone through, but I have no choice. They're small - they look like little black freckles - but still. It's just one more thing on my body that I didn't ask for. One more reason not to look in the mirror. One more reason for someone not to find me beautiful.

Alicia said it best, as she usually does.

"Your body is a war zone and one day all those scars and marks will tell the story of how you fought and won. Which doesn't help now when you didn't agree to be fighting at all."

I think the experience was emotionally draining because every new chapter is like starting over. I have to relive the pain of what I'm going through. This is why I wasn't terribly excited about the end of my chemo - because I knew radiation was next. And even after radiation, I still have to endure the Herceptin infusions once every three weeks until next March. Maybe then I'll feel some relief. Maybe then I'll be able to start working towards how to live daily life without focusing so much on cancer.

The one thing about the Kate Hudson movie - it gives me hope that someone can still be capable of loving me, despite my having had cancer. I desperately need to believe that.


I remember texting a close friend earlier this year. I think it was before I started chemo. I had gone for a walk, and I sat down under a tree, and started sobbing like a baby. My message said "I don't want to die." I still don't want to die. I'm afraid that no one will want to love me because of that possibility. I'm still trying to convince myself that that's not true.