BATMOM

Displaced Newt

I am slowly regaining energy and strength and feel that my brain is becoming my friend again. I'm not so terrified to think the dark thoughts that are real and constant and ever-present. I am getting better at voicing those fears, acknowledging their existence, and then staring them down and inviting them them leave.

I have found that if I allow myself the thoughts (and don't run and hide from them) then I have some control. Thoughts aren't reality. Fears aren't fact. If I voice my worst fears, I am able to pull them in perspective, loosen their power over me, and begin to find my optimism. It's a practice... a work in progress... I get better at it the more I do it.

Tom and I have started our cancer support groups again (his for the caregiver and me, the patient). Our groups are next door to each other. I can sometimes hear him through the wall, and I know he hears me (my laugh is loud, and we do laugh). I  was in need of a community where there is sympathy but no time for dwelling on it. We tell our sad stories like AA introductions. "I'm Renee. I have stage 4 colon cancer which has spread to my liver. I was diagnosed in 2008." No one cries at the introduction. These are the facts. Crying comes when the patients talk of their spouses, children, caretakers  coping (children, caregivers) with our illness. 

We are awaiting some genetic test results to find out what the next plan on action is.  Is there another chemo option? Is there a clinical trial? Do I have liver surgery before or after chemo?  I have another scan at the beginning of April which will help determine the next step. We leave for Australia days later for my sister Juliet's wedding, the prospect of which makes the whole family excited. 

The kids are doing well despite our anxiety. Tom and I went on a field trip with Cole's class this week. I am trying to get out more... walk more... We took a long walk through Tilden Park with a determined park ranger, 16 4 and 5 year olds, and a displaced newt. 

 

Civil

I ventured out in the world today to accompany Adeline on her pre-school classes' field trip to the Mocha Children's Arts Museum. My mom drove and herded children. I got to sit back and enjoy as Adeline explained the finer points of Beach Boys' lyrics (Bom-Bom-dipty-dip) to 4 other 3 year old girls (two of whom are native French speakers).  

It was also the day that Cole was required to bring in 100 of something for his 100th day of Kindergarten. Despite my best efforts to dissuade him, he chose to bring 100 stuffed animals. We rounded up every last plush toy in our house (including ones I'd moved to the garage at Christmas time), exempting George and Adeline favorites, but we were still far short.  I brought out the musical Christmas toys. I pulled out the childhood animals of immortal status that neither Tom nor I have been able to ever give away (for which our children don't really care... not one can still be called plush).   I  even called Grandma. She scoured her  supplies and sent over as many she could find. After a final inspection, and a decisive rejection of a pink poodle and small doll in a red skirt, Cole went to school with two large garbage bags and 97 stuffed animals.

The word is he dumped them in the reading corner with his teacher's permission and dove in amongst then. Classmates followed suit, frolicking with a stuffed Darth Vader and a Jingle Bell singing cow. Bliss.

I had lunch out with my mom, but was back home by 1:30PM for a nap (how civil).  

George and Tom came home late due to baseball practice (Tom's a coach for the team). And after dinner, homework, and piano practice, the night is gone. "When do I just have time to read?" George yelled last week in frustration. He's been the most aware of what is going on with me because he listens closely to everyone. 

Now that the pain isn't so severe, and I'm not ruled by a constant stream of doctor's visits, I feel that I might be in a bit of denial. I guess the best thing to do is enjoy it while it lasts. 

Back in the Fight

Well, it was nice while it lasted... The reprieve from cancer. 

Three weeks ago, I had a routine CT scan that showed 2 problem areas. One in the pelvis and a few small spots in the liver. We were immediately thrown into the whirlwind of PT/CT scans, blood tests, and my first MRI (yipee). 

My needle phobia came back with a vengeance, and I found myself on the phone with hypnotists and counselors, who had lengthy advice but no availability.

The more extensive tests showed that there was indeed cancer everywhere they suspected. I would require a pelvic surgery, a liver surgery, chemo, and perhaps radiation. One week later, before I could grasp it all (not that I really wanted to), I woke up from a 14-hour surgery with another compressed nerve in my leg and tubes come out of me from every which way.  I felt like that evil dude from Spiderman who highjacks all the electricity through his tentacles.

I am told that the surgery was a great success. They got the cancer with wide margins (surgeons are about as obsessed with margins as tenth grade English teachers) and no sign of cancer in the lymph nodes. Excellent. 

They had thought I would be in the hospital for 7-10 days,  I got to go home after  5 days for good behavior. Thank goodness. The kids were losing it at home. Memories, I think, were resurfacing, and Tom and my mom were having a hard time dividing their energy between me and the kids while trying to deal with all the emotions gone haywire.

The children want me to be better faster, but are glad that I am at least here, even if I still harp on them about their table manners... (Does it even help? The harping?).

I am still trying to take it easy and follow the doctors orders. I have always tried to do too much. I'm wired with a  lot of energy. But my dad said something after he was recovering from a double hip replacement... he said that if you take it slow and steady, following the doctor's advice instead of attempting to cut corners, you're taking better care of yourself which is ultimately better for everyone. I'm trying to follow his advice. I'm walking every day, doing piano practice with the kids, but resting and  sleeping... I'm not worrying about meals or cleaning or picking up the kids. I'm lucky enough to be surrounded with loved ones and friends who make this possible. My mother has been amazing.

Right now my goal is to heal from the surgery. If I think beyond that, I get terrified and overwhelmed. Fear is ever-present, Tom and I take turns freaking out and being calm. We count on the words from my oncologist that every spot of cancer is still removable. The bastard is back but I am still curable. I have every intention of getting it out for good this time and moving on. Wish us luck.