Years ago, I used to (irregularly) write these irreverent, slice of life articles... based on nothing more than my casual observances of things around me. Primarily funny commentary about the weirdness of being young and single in DC.
After writing an article that I personally found witty and funny... and touching... I had a conversation with a male acquaintance about my dating habits and preferences. The subject matter of that article was based upon something that took place when I was out on a date. This particular gentleman brought up that article in response to a different article... one where I was (yet again) railing and questioning where my black love prospects lay.
To sum up his thoughts... he felt that I had put myself in a bad predicament by using my own life experiences as the subject matter of my articles. Especially, when these experiences included men that I dated. He felt that I was casting a spotlight on people who may not want to be that public. Though I didn't stop writing after that conversation, I did think more carefully about who I included in my articles from that point forward.
This conversation just popped into my head tonight as I was watching an episode of Sex and the City and wondered what on earth I was going to write about on my blog. I've shared so much of my very intimate thoughts and feelings here -- and now, as my thoughts turn a little darker from moment to moment -- I wonder whether or not I've gone too far in my sharing.
The past couple of weeks, I've been wondering whether I've shared too much of my intimate thoughts and feelings. Whether I've cast too harsh a glare on myself as I try to get through this process of dealing with having cancer.
Blogging, in the way that I have begun here, is helpful and scary. Its painful and healing at the same time. All of that to say... I'm scared to keep sharing so much of myself here. I don't know beforehand what I'm going to post, or how emotional it may be. I only know that there comes a moment when I feel like... its time to post something new. And then, I just let my fingers walk across the keyboard... in their own fashion.
I am fearful because I know that strangers read my blog -- though honestly, I can't understand why -- and I am fearful because I have no idea where I'm going, where I'll end up and how I'll weather the process. All I know... is that I want to be better. And I have to trust that what my doctors and nurses tell me to do... is what will get me there.
Today's post is really about being afraid. I am a classic procrastinator and when its possible, I will delay action and thoughts for a long time... I am often paralyzed by the "what if" thoughts. I can't procrastinate through this... so my fear is much more palatable than what I'm accustomed to dealing with. Everyday... I have to wake up and know... I have cancer. I can do this, this and this... and everything else, we have to let fall away. I'm having difficulty with the falling away part.
I have been angry (and hungry) lately. That's not new. My tongue hurts -- and it doesn't work so well either. I want to eat and drink but everything tastes like garbage really. So it feels like there's no point. I'm just... here. Sitting and stewing in my own funk about everything.
Someone said to me recently that my friends were afraid that dealing with cancer might send me back into a depression. I'm sure that its crossed the minds of some of my friends. Lord knows its wrapped itself around my neck more than one time. But the truth is that... getting depressed about my failing/ailing health... is probably part of the process as well. Depression is not a casual thing. It is not something easily dissipated like the blues... with a good banana split or something. It is a deep changing of your mental outlook on life. It takes time to start and time to stop -- if you can stop. It is different for everyone who deals with it.
I can say this. Today... I am not depressed. I am sad sometimes. I am frustrated a lot. I am achy and hungry and thirsty... man. But I am not depressed. I do not think of dying, or rather... of killing myself (or simply not existing anymore) the way that I did back then. But, I'd be a liar (and a bad one) if I didn't say that my thoughts get darker each day/week/month that goes by... and I still feel like crap. And I'm not so sure what to do about it.
I have a large envelope on my dresser. It contains the films from my mammograms -- the films that show Fred and his cronies from those early, confusing days of my diagnosis. I haven't looked at those films in weeks, maybe months. Not since they came back from NIH basically confirming for me that... yup, I have cancer and yup, its pretty advanced and uh huh... I'm going to have to lose my breast to save my life. Even though I haven't looked at them, I know what they are. And they represent a time of nearly blissful ignorance about what lie ahead.
They make me angry by their presence. But I know, or rather I feel, that they shouldn't. They should make me feel relieved a bit, if not happy. Because before I knew about the lump, I had no idea that I was a walking time bomb. I'm not sure why I'm sharing this tonight. I think its because I've been trying so hard... so very hard... to turn the damn corner on this thing. I am ready to be able to see the glass half full, instead of half empty. I want to see the blessings and the miracles that are around me... instead of the fears and the shadows.
I want to move on. But every time I try... I feel like I'm being a fraud, not being honest with myself. Can I be both scared and optimistic at the same time? Even though there are things I can't do, there are things that I can. And even within the realm of things I can't do -- most of those instances are relatively temporary meaning... I may not be able to do it today, but maybe 9 months from now I will be able to.
I'm pushing myself to see that end of the line perspective... rather than continue to sulk in the moments that make me sad.
What made me sad this week... was based on things that my mother did that normally would bring me so much joy. She baked sweet treats. :) Great right? Unless you can't taste them. Then its like torture.
My mom made monkey bread this weekend. She saw Paula Deen (I LOVE HER!!) on The View... and decided to make some monkey bread for the family. And then she decided two days later, to make apple pie.
I tasted the monkey bread and it was yummy. It was really tasty and (amazingly) I could actually taste it. I haven't been able to taste sweets for awhile (which is torture for me). My appetite however, was missing in action, so I only had about 5 little monkey balls (is that what we call them) over a period of time. My dad and my brother demolished them...
When she made the pie a couple of days later... I was in heaven from the smell. It was soooo yummy in the air. And then I cut a small slice and tasted... absolutely nothing. And it pissed me off so damn bad that I had tears in my eyes. I ate the whole slice but it could have been toast for all that I tasted. I could tell that there was butter, and I could tell that there was cinnamon (I could smell it) but I could not taste one bite. Not a nibble... not any. I don't think I would care if it was liver... but apple pie? Come on man. How unfair is that?
My dad and I love sweets. Love them, love them... love them. Last night, I took a trip through the pantry and tried nibbling on all sorts of things... just to (once again) see what worked and what didn't. Let's say... brownies, no. Canned fruit, nope. Hell, fresh grapes... no. And so forth. Raisins... something I eat by the handful when I need a quick pick me up... now just taste bitter and harsh. It feels like a punishment that has no purpose.
So you're probably wondering... she got sad because she couldn't eat pie? And honestly... as pitiful as it sounds... yeah. I got sad because my mom cooks just about everyday... and most days I chew and don't enjoy the food she's prepared and it makes me sad. When my dad was sick this summer... she cooked every day... a few times a day, to make sure that he ate. (he didn't eat in the hospital because the food was nasty) Now, I watch her cooking everyday for me and my dad... and I eat because I know she's trying to make sure that I'm healthy and getting enough nutrients... but it tastes awful most of the time and it often takes what little appetite I have... away.
I guess I'm sad because I don't want her to think I'm rejecting her. Just like I'm annoyed and frustrated that I can't do all the things I want to do because I don't want people to think that I don't care about them. I'm a little tired of focusing so much on myself... but at the same time, I have to focus on figuring out how to navigate through this madness.
I'm hungry. And my mom made a good dinner. I ate it. But I tasted nothing. I'm laying here in bed, trying to think what in the world can I eat right now that will satisfy this hunger? But the truth is that... there probably isn't anything I can eat that will help me ease this crazy feeling. But look... there's PIE in the fridge... HOMEMADE PIE... and I can't enjoy any of it.
What?? So freaking unfair. The half-full perspective is... I've lost nearly 20 pounds since chemo started. That's something right??
... this is a quick post for Joyce. Just to let her know that I'm doing alright.
I've never met Joyce, but through this blog we have become acquainted. Joyce is a nurse who works with cancer patients in Anne Arundel county Maryland.
Joyce reaches out to me regularly to make sure I'm doing okay and to try to connect me with other breast cancer survivors in Maryland. Before I get odd responses, let me add... more than a few folks have reached out to me and asked me to connect with friends, family members, prayer circles, etc. during this time.
My only problem is that I really don't have the energy to do all that right now.
So... while this post is for Joyce... its for all of you who have tried to reach me and have come up short. Just insert your name for hers... lol.
Thank you. I love you. I hear you. As soon as my energy comes back and I'm back up to speed... I'll come to every party, every support group, participate in prayer circles... all of it.
Three of my cousins came to visit this weekend. It is something that has been planned for just over a month now. I was excited to see them... but their visit caused me to reflect a lot on where I am and who I am right now.
These cousins (all sisters) are on my dad's side of the family... and while I love them dearly, this was one of our first opportunities to really sit down and talk and get to know each other. Sounds odd... but its true. They are all married with kids... and they seem so happy and content with their lives, I was impressed and overjoyed for each of them.
They kept me up all night Saturday... (definitely not something I can repeat again) but the laughter was genuine and the stories were great. One of the cool things about being a grown up, is being able to reflect on who people were in their childhood (and yours) and get to know the adults that they have become.
My cousins are fascinating women. I don't say that lightly because I know a lot of women -- and honestly, not all of them are fascinating. lol... But even though I looked at them last night and still saw their cute faces as kids... as I looked in the faces of truly grown women with their own life experiences (good and bad)... I marveled at how wonderful family can be. In all phases of its own craziness.
I learned a lot about them, and so of course I reflected on myself as I reviewed the weekend in my mind.
I am a brat. And I don't say that lightly either. I realized that sensitivity runs in the family, as does a slight hardness that isn't often attributed to women. We all had varying degrees of both. I realized that complaining about your mother's infinite ways of driving you crazy... is a family trait -- but I also learned that its not really that true.
I listened to my cousins joke and laugh about the ways that their mother (my auntie) drives them crazy. As my own mother sat there with us, trying to defend mothers everywhere.... I had to laugh because I was the only woman in the room with no husband and no kids. So, the perspective was interesting to me.
I am famous for complaining about my mom. And what's wild is that I love her so much... I cannot articulate the feelings adequately. I would fight for my mother... to the death if necessary. I would carry my mother on my back if I had to, to save her from any harm. But even with all that... there is a "thing" that some mothers and daughters have... that is just... well, tense sometimes.
One cousin commented that her mom would come to her home and wash her dishes... and then go back to her home and make remarks that she had to wash the dishes at her daughter's home. I had to laugh... but she was so tense about it that it wasn't that funny. No matter how much we tried to convince her that her mom's comments were trivial at best, and probably easily ignored, she continued to plead her case. I sat there... wondering if my "mom triggers" were equally as trivial.
Yep. They are.
I think that there is something that happens in some households -- won't say all -- that forever bond and cement a certain emotional reaction between a child and a parent. For me, it is the comparison to a "bad kid"... because I always felt that I was a good kid, who didn't get enough credit for just being good. (Now, as an adult, I understand and believe that giving credit for things you're supposed to do... is craziness... but as a kid, I just wanted a break)
I tossed in a story about how it used to drive me bananas that my mother would see something on television or hear a story about some wayward badass kid... and immediately launch into..."If Nikki ever did that... I would break her back". For some reason, well into my adulthood, the thought of being compared to some hideous, ungrateful child just would anger me, sometimes would send me into a real rage.
Silly right? Yep. Told you, I am a brat.
But I did not get past that until recently. It finally dawned on me that my mother's exclamations had little to do with me at the present moment in time... but on her reflections of her own time with me as my mother. When she looks at me, I believe, she sees me on a continuum of sorts. She looks at me at 39 and she can still see me from the day I was born, my first day of school, my first period, my first date, the first day of college... and so forth. But she sees all of these Nicoles... at the same time.
As a non-parent, I find that incredible. I also found it incredible that one person on the planet can see all of me -- just like that. Without a blink. So awesome. (by the way, I'm sure dads have that same super-ability)
As I sat up until 4am with my cousins... I realized that I have that same ability. I looked at them at 35, and 28 and I could see them as small toddlers, angry teens, beautiful young women... all at the same time. And I was really proud of who they decided they wanted to be.
I wasn't sure if I would be able to handle the visit of a group of people at one time. I wasn't sure if it would wipe me out -- it did. But it was worth the fatigue and the day long nap I had to take today... to learn that examples of strength, courage and an ability to get back up... are as close as a phone call or an email to North Carolina.
It was an awesome weekend. :) Thanks fam. And thank you mom, for loving me... every day.
I haven't posted since my last chemotherapy session. Really... nothing much to say at this point.
My hair has fallen out... I look a bit scraggly by the head. I thought that I would shave it when it got to this point... but now, I don't see the point. I rarely leave the house now and when I do, I wear a baseball cap. It seems to work.
But if it doesn't... no one will tell me differently.
Food... is still an issue. I'm still on trial and error time. Somethings work, others don't. The weight is coming off... but its relatively slow, so I'm not going to worry about it. Weight loss is expected with chemotherapy. I lost 10 pounds between chemo sessions -- and I was freaked out at first... but after worrying for a few days... I realized that I could lose 10 pounds each session and still... be a little on the thick side. Ha ha... guess sometimes it pays to be overweight, huh?
That calmed me down. My issue is that I'm downright greedy and I can't seem to be satisfied anymore. So, my appetite just fades away.
I think about food, about the food I really like... and sometimes I'll try to get it. Only to take that first bite... and nothing. Not good, not bad... just... chewing. Its the damnedest feeling in the world. But okay. This is a part of the process, right?
This is the first time that I've been at a loss for words. I am not quite sad, not quite angry. Just flat, melancholy I guess. I learned this week that a friend from my college days has ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease). That was really hard news to hear. I'm still really "stuck" on that.
Its one thing to be going through your own storm, your own crisis. But to hear about other people going through similar battles... its... its almost disheartening. I've had some wild thoughts and questions run through my mind. I won't share all of them, so you don't think that I'm ungrateful or something.
But really... with so much going on in the world, so many people suffering... I keep wondering... why?
Why now? Why at all? Just... why? Some of us will make it through, others won't. What will it be for in the end? What is the lesson in this for all of us? For any of us? Why?
Am I sounding like Job right now? I think I'm feeling that way a little bit. Not that I'm even remotely as good, as holy as Job was. But I know that God loved me... why do I feel punished? Or is this punishment at all? And if its not... then what is it?
Every time I go to the cancer center... I am so deeply saddened by how many sick people are there. It really upsets me. Like I said... I can (sort of) accept that I've been chosen to walk this path and bear this burden. But to watch the same sadness, melancholy on the faces of other people... its almost too much some days.
Another downside to being sick is that people stop sharing their stories with you. They don't want to burden you with their stuff. And ... honestly, that's not that horrible. Except for those folks who mean so much to you that you want to share their burdens and help them with their problems... and you realize that they aren't talking to you the way they used to. I guess I asked for this... by being so wrapped up in being sick, having cancer... that I pulled away from people. Now I have so much free time... and I want something to think about other than... all the ways that cancer has changed my life. Is this what its like to be sick? Just hour after hour of thinking about yourself?
I have books to read, but they don't really interest me. And the one book that is interesting... gives me nightmares. (a long way gone... memoirs of a boy soldier) This book is so gripping and so deeply sad and maddening... that I can only read a few pages at a time... and then I want to weep for the little boy who had to endure so much pain and misery.
When did life become so unfair? And at the same... it is full of miracles and happiness. How is that possible?
I just have questions on top of questions right now... which is why I haven't been in a rush to post anything. Nothing much is new. I feel crazy, I feel like I'm not myself... I think I stink of chemotherapy drugs. Just... crazy I tell you.
Just crazy.
But I'm still praying... everyday but I don't know why. Should I be praying for a miraculous cure? Or an easy time through the process? Should I pray for comfort through the hot flashes? Or, the ability to endure them and not be angry? Should I pray to be happier instead of angry? Or is it okay to be angry?
See... just questions. What a lousy post this was. I'm going to the bathroom (something I do every 10 mins now... thanks chemo!)
