Fresh Out Of The Gate

Hello,

Here I am, starting an endeavor no one will probably ever read but I plan to have fun with it! My blog is called I'm still here after all these years! and it is a nod to my everyday life as a cancer survivor.

I have been fighting for my life for 20 long and arduous years. I'd be lying if I didn't admit I've had numerous days when I seriously wondered if it has all been worth it. But just then something really special happens... (like being at the births of my best friend's children!) and things don't seem so overwhelming.

I live in pain 24/7 but on the really bad days I remind myself of a line from a movie about a woman trying to survive a special ops bootcamp (I figure I can't just use the movie title) The line? "Most importantly, pain lets you know you're still alive..."

I've always thought that craving chocolate would be a better way... well, no... not for me, I always crave chocolate! And I crave caffeine and Bunny Tracks ice cream, and cookies, and pizza and...

So okay, by now you have figured out that yes, I'm "under-tall" although I would probably have to be about 6'6" to be considered "height/weight proportional" (I'm 5'10"... okay I was before I started shrinking. Hey! It happens!)

As one of my two, teen-aged, size-3-wearing nieces would say, "Yeah, so what's your point?" You know, I'm not sure anymore... let me scroll up and figure out what I was actually on a rant about.

Got it, cancer survivor. My particular type of cancer is a bone cancer that is quite rare and quite aggressive. It took aggressive measures to get me in remission (and again and again five times!) Those included seven thoracotomies ("cracking" open the chest and removing tumor, ribs, lung tissues, muscles, a few pieces of other things here and there etc. etc.) the removal of three separate organs, two separate, distinct and lengthly chemotherapy courses... and bald for almost two years! (Feel free to sing the last line to the 12 days of... well, you know...)

Between all the internal shifting and the "connecting" of internal parts that would normally not be connected to one another... it's not very comfortable at times. The real damage (and daily challenges) come from simply trying to deal with severe neurological pain, artifacts left behind after the cutting and resultant scarring of the thoracic nerves in my chest.

I have a friend that refers to my chest as, "Thoracic Park" she's a smartass and I love her dearly for it. Although, when you couple this with my many physical limitations... well it's a recipe for disaster on many fronts.

It is the challenges of everyday life, and the realization that the alternative is not being here, that keeps me going whenever I get too low. Yes, I can shovel snow, and I can vacuum, and take wet clothes out of the washer... but it often requires the use of medications both before and after that gives me the ability to not crawl into bed and just curl up in a ball under the covers... well, on most days anyway.

A lot of people look at me and I can tell they're thinking, "Who the hell is she tryin' to fool?" It is at those times when I wish I could just reach out and touch them, enabling them to physically feel, just for a moment, what I live with.

My Doctor once told me I had the pain tolerance of a Mack truck. This has always made me weirdly pleased... turns out he was probably right. Case in point, two dear friends were helping me get a fridge up my very steep apartment stairs. In hindsight I'm thinking they'd probably would have preferred to move a body.

Long story short... the testosterone fairy bonked them on the head, so they decided they could remove the old fridge (the one that had taken six guys to bring up!) and when it was all said and done... I was on the bottom of a pile that consisted of a big guy, then a refrigerator and the other guy having to crawl over the fridge to get me out from under!

So after the intial ranting (because I was very angry...) I'm at the ER to get x-rays of my wrist. This would be the same wrist that made a very odd popping sound as the fridge came tumbling down. Of course, doc looks at it, turns it a bit, orders x-rays... and he's pretty much figuring it's just sprained.

It wasn't. It was broken in three places. The ER doc had been thinking it would turn out unbroken because I hadn't been crying! It was set and casted and I spent the next six weeks being really pissed because casts are such a pain in the ass!

Of course there are days when I think that I wouldn't mind a stiff shot (or 4) of Southern Comfort (a funny or maybe that should be fuzzy reminder of my sometimes misspent youth!) Unfortunately, seeing as liquor is a respiratory depressant and my lungs are severely compromized... it's best to just remember what it'd be like to take a shot for old times sake. Because the reality of actually drinking could literally make me stop breathing in my sleep.

See, now I tend to view that as a bad thing.

Plus... if I did a shot, I'd probably be falling down drunk seeing as I haven't had any kind of alcohol for around 20 years! (Is this the part where I'd be considered a cheap date?) Not that I was a lush before, mind you, and I will readily 'fess up that there were a few occasions where someone was holding my hair and goin' "Eew! Are those flecks of gold? Cripes, when did you drink that!" Chances are the gold flecked "intake" was what precipitated the gold flecked "out-pouring". Go figure.

In closing, mainly to see just how badly I've messed up my first post, I'll close so I can figure out other features to utilize!

SO... Carpe Diem (means sieze the fish) I know, I know... old joke. Or my other favorite, Carpe Crustorem (means sieze the doughnut... I think)

By the way... the picture at the top of this blog isn't me... really! It is possible however that if I wore a black and white swim suit it would be best if I stayed away from the seashore...

"Quick! Roll her back!!! She's getting dehydrated!!!"

Ha!