Sunday, July 20, 2008

It's Monsoon Season

It's monsoon season in Vegas. The winds start blowing in the afternoon, the clouds tumble in, thunder and lightening roars and crackles across the sky, the smell of rain permeates the air and then the flood gates open. It's weird though, because it doesn't rain over the entire city, different sections get hit. We only have had sprinkles and yet other parts of town are flooded. But the end result leaves the air cool and smelling fresh and clean, a nice reprieve from the smog filled oven of our Vegas summer days. It reminds me of camping on the Oregon Coast. I wish I could be there now without a care in the world. My mind free from all the confusion and fear that currently has taken up residency.

People ask me how I feel. I don't know how to honestly answer that. Physically? I'm sore, sometimes in a lot of pain but doing well. Mentally? Okay. Afraid of what is ahead of me with the chemo. Emotionally? I feel like a monsoon is inside of me and the floodgates are going to open any minute and the tears are going to pour out. My womb is gone. I feel empty. It protected and fed four babies. It was my last connection to a very special, intimate time. It was what made me a woman. It's gone. I keep thinking of this ugly alien invader that somehow managed to attack my body and I didn't even know it was there. It stole something precious to me. I didn't expect to feel this way. But I do. How can I explain that to people who ask how I feel?

I now understand exactly these lyrics of Eleanor Rigby..."wearing the face that she keeps in the jar by the door." I have had to grab that face put it on, smile, pretend.

So whenever anyone asks I just say, "I feel great. Getting better each day."

I remember how very lucky I am. My gynecologist called me a couple of days ago and and said I must have a really great guardian angel, because for the type of tumor and how advanced it was for it to have not spread was truly a miracle. I am a lucky girl. That's what I will try and concentrate on. I just wish I could go to the beach watch the waves roll in, see the seagulls soar, hear the kids laughing and splashing in the water and not have to think about what the next few months has in store for me. I want to feel the warm sun and the cool salt air on my body. I want to run on the beach and splash in the water, I want to fly my kites and get the string all tangled and spend hours untangling it. I want to play my guitar around the camp fire. I want to sing and laugh. I want to run and feel strong.

Instead my mind wanders to the hospital, sitting 5 hours with an IV that will slowly drip poison into my body. It will kill the bad cells. It will kill the good cells. It will make me sick. I will lose my hair. There will be pain. There will probably be tears and some self-pity. But it will not get the best of me. Because I am going to kick this things ass! Chew it up and puke it out!

I know, like the monsoons, it may be a terrible storm, but it will pass. But you know, I just can't help it that I am a little scared. I have always hated the wind blowing at night, and that is what this feels like, dark and scary.


Sandy said...

Thank you for visiting my blog. You have a right to be upset. You have the right attitude. I won't say I understand because I've never had cancer, I've been close to someone and helped through the chemo and radiation last year. She was was ex MIL and she had Pancreatitis Stage 3 at the time. I can also understand that you're upset about your scar. I had to have my gallbladder out a couple of years back the old fashioned way and they cut me across, I still hate that scar. You have a right to feel the way you do, don't let anyone ever make your feelings smaller by saying how lucky you are that they caught it sooner. Remember they are your feelings, as long as you remember that you can work through everything. If you don't work through it, it won't go away and will hang around for years, whatever it may be. I wish you luck and I said a prayer for you. I bookmarked your blog and I love your header. I feel like that on a daily basis and I was drinking green tea at this time I was reading it, I busted out laughing. You made me smile. Thank you for that.

Peter said...

It's OK to be scared and feeling somewhat empty Peace. I would be scared too, and not being scared at all would be unnatural.

Like most people, I've seen women with cancer in my social circles.

Some were less fortunate and didn't have a chance in the first place. Some came through the ordeal needing a lot of support, some were like you: accepting the events that are hard to accept, but firmly decided to sail through the storm.

Hold on tight. The rain will pass, just like it does over here.

Warm hugs from a chilly Belgium.


V-Grrrl said...

You know, people asked me why I never had my tubes tied after having my last child and how could I explain that it felt mean to me, like I was betraying a part of my body that had served me well. Sounds stupid to someone else. I've never been through anything remotely like what you're going through, but I can imagine the way you feel about your womb, the scar on the stomach that had made it through four pregnancies without a stretch mark.

Don't feel compelled to be brave or cheerful or gung ho about fighting cancer. It sucks. It's terrifying. Yes you're lucky, but you're also unlucky. Yes, appreciate all the good news but know that you have a right to mourn all that you've lost and the challenges you face.

Stella said...

It's been quite some time since I visited - and I didn't know you were going through all this.

Brenda - thank you for stopping by and leaving your comment - I really do appreciate your words of encouragement.

and i hope to offer some of my own, in saying - the best you can do, is the best you can do. i think so long as you continue to keep your mind open to 'that bigger picture' we all struggle with - you will find the strenght and courage you'll need to push through the darkest of your hours.

i'm rooting for you!

PEACE said...

Sandy-thanks for visiting my site and your words of encouragement. I am glad my header brought you a chuckle.

V-Grrl--thanks for getting it. It's just too weird for words and I know not worth spilling tears over. It's not like I need it anymore! I have spent a great deal of time reading your old posts, I love your style! Thanks for visiting and all the encouragement.

Peter--Thanks for stopping in. I loved the Belgium Royals and the anthem? What the heck were they all doing, I thought one old lady was going to faint. Scary. Thanks for your kind words and the hugs. I can't imagine anyone being chilly right now. It's so dang hot, the nice cool air of yesterday has been replaced with what seems to be 112! Chilly sounds really good right now.

Stella-thanks, you are right, I can only do the best I can do. I thought I'd be back hitting the tennis ball by now, it's been two weeks and I'm still just so tired and sore. Wishing you the best as well.

eric said...

you've done a good job putting on a clinic in how to use a fear of something to make the most of your daily life.

amy said...