Sittin On A Porch

Sittin On A Porch
Our little back porch

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

The Big Day for a little"c"

So this morning was the big day!  But let's go back one day, 24 hours, moments of understanding of laughter, of sadness and sickness and bull-headedness, and sick as a dog moments, but opportunities to really be my self.  Not just be who I thought I should be, or who some other person thought I should be but just be me. 

Twenty four hours earlier..... 6:00 AM.  Get up to take shower, get dressed, fix lunch, feed dogs/cats/rabbits/chickens/fish drive to work.  Cut, Stop!  That is not what happened at all.  Over the last week I have not slept well, done too much, did not spend enough quiet time just being, but instead was constantly being honest when I could not stand up any longer to go lay down, but I would push it to that point.  In my defense, this is still more reasonable behavior then when I started this journey where I would push through all pain with the mantra, "Just a little more, you can do it, what are you a wimp? Come on, Seabiscuit it up.  Now, I say, "I am tired, and I stop."  And so yesterday as I lay on my bed dreaming myself through my normal schedule, except this time I will not have to get up early on This Tuesday I don't have to go to Radiation, just straight to work.

Monday afternoon after my last radiation and Janak's birthday luncheon, I went to my Zomata bone treatment.  This is the bone treatment that is like the once a month Boniva that Sally Fields uses, but this is a tad more serious.  The first time they did the IV, it took about 1 hour, 45 minutes.  This time it was a little over 30 minutes. A little fast I thought.  But I was in and out and happy to get home after a quick run by seeing Mary and little Owen.  He had a cold and was so charming and giddy and silly and lovely and warm and sweet and tired and not really fussy as in "Don't bother me."  "Or Grandmother, make it all better, I just don't feel good."  Oh Sweet Owen, what lesson to learn.  Sometimes you just don't feel well and it does not go away.  I hope to remember how he looked and felt, and maybe find my charming, silly, lovely, warm and sweet when I am not feeling well that I remember how well this precious 10  month old felt.  He is amazing in 10 months, sit up, roll over, crawl, stand, walk, point, talk and I already know how to do all those things, I learned them around his age, so without so much on my plate, surely, I could try to be kind, accepting and joyful.

 So now here we are back at Wednesday, and Juday, aka, Lovely picked up me and drove me to Ms. Moon's and the three of us drove to the hospital and spent the day experiencing my first day of chemo.  We had so much fun the day we found out I had cancer.  We laughed and ran and I was poked, prodded, scanned, Xrayed.  We ran some more and laughed.  Then they tell us I have cancer. I slept through most of this today with Judy and Ms. Moon stuck in in the most uncomfortable  chairs you could imagine. I lay there sleeping, unable to stay awake or talk as if I made any sense. I could see. They started with a premedication which consisted of anti-nausea, benadryl, a steriod and some other meds that I don't remember and let me tell you, there was no keeping  my eyes open.They grew heavy and I slept. But by the end I had awakened enough to be part of the gang.  It was large gang, but of course, Mary, Judy and I were the cool kids. And we laughed and all it all it was ok, and I am feeling fine.  A little dopey from the drugs, but ok.  
I have had some off and on cramps in my chest, my side, my stomach, but that is the worst of it.  And then we drove back to Ms. Moon's and dropped her off, then Judy and I drove home over to my house.I showed Judy where the animal food is and other things. Then I packed my bags and drove over to Mary's. Ok, that was a little stupid thing to do.  I was fine, but I was way too relaxed to be driving.  And now Ms. Moon and I have enjoyed a lovely dinner of pasta salad that she cut up like she does for Owen and soon I will lay my head on the red pillows in between the crisp white fresh smelling sheets and pull the red quilt up over me, then turn to click off the panther light and sweet dreams.  

Sweet dream of Weapons of Mass Destruction surging through my veins, searching for the fastest growng  cells.  Flowing along with oxygen and other checimals dropped into the lung to then move to other cells and organs and leave the oxygen and pick up other chemicals.  Maybe some of the cancer cells, fast growing, out of control cells in my lungs, in my pleural lining. I don' t have a stage. I have no idea about what type of orgin or stage or, come to think of it, not all that much about my cancer and I am ok with that.  I have cancer, I am not sick and I am not pinned down in a box because I have a specific cancer.  I really appreciated  that today as we sat in the small room with other people there to get their chemo.  Some of these people get a little bit of chemo each week.  I get a lot every three weeks. I think I would rather only have to deal with this once every three weeks.  This cancer with little respect; this nameless, small c, not really the same as all those sick people with cancer.  I am different.   Several people in each room, and they were sick.  They had already had surgery.  I don't have to have surgery.  They are sick, I am not.  So, really, maybe a sick day here and there, not that bad.

So I learned today, that in about 5 days I shouldn't be surprised that I am feeling tired and sick.  No big deal, I will be at the beach with beolved!!! and I will take an unbrella so that I can sit on the deck with long sleeves, but I will be on the beach.  And I can swim in the water, in moderation.  And I can lay on the bed and look out the window and see Mary and Vicki walking on the beach and talking, maybe even Lis, and they will be laughing heads down, looking for shells.  And sometime they will come together and hug and cry.  Because we have all found ourselves on this journey, and we are all so gratefull for this journey.  Because they are sharing my journey, but we are each on each others' journey and they are interwoven and we are each so very, very grateful.

WMDs are in me right now.  They are working their magic.  Attaching the fastest growing cells, like hair cells, like cancer cells, even insignificant cancer.  And it was a good few days.  I slept all day yesterday, and really wasn't well, but it wasn't that bad, so much today time with friends, and I feel good.  Will I feel good tomorrow?  I don't know.  How about Saturday or Sunday? I don't know, but Vicki will be here and Ms Moon and Vicki and I will be on St. George Island and what will be will be.  And I will take pictures of my favorite times we have and that is what I will use when I lay in bed and don't feel that great.  I will look at the pictures of hte sand and beach, our funky little house and sunsets, sunrises and my beloved ones.  
Because I have cancer, and it is ok, really.  It is not always going to be easy, but I can do it with my beloved ones.  WMDs and all. 


  1. You are tucked up in bed in the Panther room and Zeke and Dolly are curled up beside you. I know they are not YOUR kids but they are kids.
    I had a good time today, believe it or not, and I feel at great and sweet peace tonight. I hope you have sweet dreams and an easy tummy.

  2. Well, Kathleen, I don't know you and you don't know me, but I can see that you are beautiful and wonderful and smart and funny and sweet and silly and all the things I love...I was introduced to you through Ms. Moon and have been reading your blog all along, but tonight felt compelled to say hello and I am rooting for you...I hope and feel sure this will work out just fine for you and your loved ones and I thank you for sharing yourself so beautifully as you do. I wish beautiful moments for you, Vicki, Mary, and hopefully our amazing friend Lis as you have your special time at the beach. I send you love and all the healing energy I can through this cyber-space-place!

  3. Life is too short to not let someone know they are loved. I love you and I am praying earnestly for your "little" cancer. I am thankful that they have caught yours while it is a "little c". Aunt Kathleen no matter what you are my family and I will always love you and I am rooting for you. I have been following your blog since post number 2 but haven't known quite what to say. But, "My God is so big, so strong, and so mighty there is nothing my God can not do" is a song we sing to our kids and I know it is true. I am praying God will work through your Dr.'s, your medicine, and your loved ones to bring you healing. I miss you! I miss having a relationship with you. I am sorry to not be there supporting you too.

  4. I am rooting for those WMD's to do their work. The positive forces around you are working against that little c as well.