pigs on the wing

Wow. Time flies when you're taking tough classes, working more days than not and trying to have some semblance of a social life.

All things considered, I'm doing well. I've got a cold coming on, but Marty is forcing-feeding me Echinacea like a crazed homeopath, so maybe we can ward it off. My mind still feels like it's melting away or shattered into pieces or at least half-gone. I'm still not back to "normal" yet, whatever that is. I'm still having trouble with memory. Marty asked me last night what kind of a kid I was, and I honestly couldn't answer for the longest time. I could not for the life of me remember what I was like when I was younger. I settled on "Dramatic." Was I sweet? Or was I loud and obnoxious? Was I driven , low-key, pushy, fun? Was I social or was I a loner? I don't know. I hope it all comes back to me. I just read as much as I can and hope that all that knowledge puffs my shriveled little brain back up. I'm getting better with words. I'm remembering more vocabulary and applying it. I think all of the papers I've had to write this semester have helped with that.

Only two more weeks and this semester is over. I'm enrolled for 7 hours next semester, and hopefully after that, I'll go full time for two more semesters and then... graduation! That is, if I get enough grants and scholarships to get me through the year without having to work and worry about bills and groceries. I just cannot juggle full time school and working. It's just something that I know that I am unable do, or I will not only do poorly in my classes, but probably have regular panic attacks. I get overwhelmed easily, and I learned to accept that and work with it late in my college career. One neat thing that I came across when researching scholarships was one exclusively for cancer survivors under 25. I started writing the essay last week, and for the first time in I don't know how long, I sat down and wrote. Not for a blog or for school, not some paper about Don Quixote or Linguistics, but my feelings and thoughts about my experience with my diagnosis, treatment and subsequent remission and how it has shaped the way I see and do things now. I haven't gotten far on it, but I'm excited about the possibilities.

Well, homework calls. Back to reading Arabian Nights for World Lit. On the bright side, It's a wonderful book. Being an English major's not so bad.

Final note: CT scan in 10 days. Feeling nervous. If it's a "clean" scan, I want this port OUT! :)

rejoice, rejoice/ we have no choice/ but to carry on

Admittedly, I am horrible at this blog thing. I'll try to be better.

Fast forward three months. I wish I was on the road again. The trip was blissful: mountain cabin, Rhythm Devils tour, backpacking through the woods in Oregon, sipping amazing espresso in Portland, camping in the redwoods, driving on Highway 1, seeing the ocean again, driving driving driving, waking up in a new place every day, Berkeley, Telegraph Avenue, Phish tour, the long road to Las Vegas, (complete with bats!) the beauty of Utah, being held on all sides by the mountains in Telluride...

God, it was beautiful.

Regarding the tumultuous and tumorous journey of the last year, I have a clean post-treatment scan under my belt as of a few weeks ago! A few little nodes in the right armpit area mean I go back in December for another scan. (No biggie. Just making sure nothing's growing.) I told my Onc that he could go ahead and schedule my surgery to have my Port taken out. I'm ready. He says he'll give it the green light if I get a clean scan. In other words, I hope to have the last remnant of treatment yanked out by the winter solstice. Beautiful.

In other news, my mind has been a mess. Up and down, like waves crashing. I'm insane with hopelessness one minute, calm as a Buddha the next. I'm having trouble remembering things still, and school is very tough as a result. I have panic attacks frequently, or little episodes of depression. I figure that this is all pretty normal after the last year of being pumped full of poison. As a friend of mine reminded me, "The effects of chemo don't stop at your neck." I guess my mind and body are still reeling, no matter how good I feel physically. (And I do feel good. So much energy!) The only issue that still plagues me on the physical side of things is the Raynaud's Syndrome stuff (which has actually gotten worse) but it's not painful, so no more complaints here. If Raynaud's is the worst lasting side effect I have after everything, I consider myself very lucky.

I feel lucky to be alive either way. Yet the further I get from the horror of the last year, the more I forget to put things in perspective.

"Dear Sara: You are ALIVE. Quit yer bellyachin'."



More later, I promise.

On the road...

I'm having a blast playing up here in the mountains, but I have no steady internet.

Stay tuned for a decent post on Thursday when Marty and I get settled into our hotel room (free wifi!) in Denver for the Rhythm Devil's show.

I'm feeling better every day, by the way.

And I'm smiling. A lot. :)

The Hollow Men

The last lines from the T.S. Eliot poem The Hollow Men are relatively well-known:

This is the way the world ends

not with a bang but a whimper.

They popped out at me a few days ago, and I couldn't shake them. I feel like that's how treatment ended for me. Not with a bang, but a whimper. I wanted to celebrate, I wanted to party and run around with my friends, drink a few pale ales. But it all just... ended one day. And since then I haven't had the strength or stamina to be enthusiastic about remission and the end of treatment. I'm still dealing with side-effects. I don't feel well yet, so a celebration for my being well seems wrong.

However, yesterday was my LAST appointment with my Radiation Oncologist, and it finally hit me. I'm done. Yes, I have scans in September. But treatment is done. I'm cancer free. I did it. My body did it. I was filled with something that I can only call understanding. I've been smiling ever since.

It's a sunny day, and I plan on being out in it.

6/27/10

I've got the post-radiation bluuuues.

Fatigue is kicking my butt. I sleep about as much as the cat. My daily routine is usually something like this: wake up, get coffee/work shift at the shop, come home, sleep for 4-6 hours, get up, eat dinner/ go out for an hour or two, go back to bed. No strength, no stamina. I wonder if it would help or hurt to push myself physically; should I be working out, or taking it easy? I'm not sure what to do, but I have to make sure to listen to my body this time around. I'm just so scared that this will never go away.

I've been thinking about Jon a lot. I miss him.

The road trip is coming together nicely. I've been researching coffee shops to visit. Looks like Portland has about a million.

I promise to write more soon. I think for now, I'll get back in bed.

Joyful Girl

Life is good. I'm working 5 days a week, the fatigue is (slowly but surely) fading day by day, and I found out today at my follow up with the Onc that I don't get a CT scan until September. That means, other than my Radiation follow up appointment in early July, that I am done being at the hospital every week, every day. As much as I love all of the nurses in the cancer center, I am ready to have a schedule free of office visits, bloodwork, chemo infusions and radiation appointments.

The "Road Trip of Epic Proportions" planning is coming along pretty well. Looks like we'll be on the road to the cabin in Colorado by July 14th, back from our travels to the west coast no later than August 17th. I'm ready for some adventures.

The End

I'm done. I survived treatment. I survived cancer.

I finished my final radiation treatment on Friday. It doesn't feel real yet. Just like being done with chemo didn't feel real until three weeks later and the day came around when I would have gotten my next treatment and I realized I wasn't in that chair. Come Monday at 2:30, I will realize that I'm not bolted down to that table like I have been at 2:30 for the past month of Mondays. I will breathe in deeply, breathe out slowly and go on with my day with a grin on my face.

I will look up at the sky every day and be thankful. Rain, clouds, sun, sleet- I have the honor of experiencing. Every cut and burn and headache, I will be thankful that I am here and I can feel. Every person I love, I will tell them. I'm so happy to be here.

Now it's time to rebuild. This may take a while.

And that's okay. I've got time to spare.