We Go Together…

I’m strolling down memory lane remembering my very first audition for a musical in May 1990. It was Grease. Over two hundred kids auditioned and only 30 or so were chosen. I was one of the youngest ones in the cast and was a cheerleader. Kind of fitting, huh?  I had one line that always got a laugh when I sat on Doody’s lap.

I was bullied a lot in the high school days and never truly fit in. I was “too different.” So why am I bringing this up? Well, it reminded me of a time where I felt a part of something big and special.

I felt accepted.

I felt liked.

I felt magical.

I felt seen.

That’s how I feel in cancerland. I’ve longed to find my place in the world. I never thought I would find this kind of acceptance for just being plain ‘ole ME. I’ve dealt with some in cancerland who are bullies and rude and who tried to bring me down and doubt myself. Fortunately, going through cancer has given me a thicker skin and made me intolerant of bullshit.

There was a time in my life pre-cancer where I didn’t feel like I had any friends.  I had isolated myself which is completely against my nature. I wasn’t confident. I had become this anxiety ridden and insecure woman.

I can honestly say my cancer treatments not only killed the cancer, it also killed that insecurity and anxiety that had kept me stagnant from moving forward in life. It’s strange that it took something life-threating for me to realize that I been a walking zombie just going through the motions with no feeling other than despair.

Fast forward to present day, and I feel like the ME who once stepped on that stage in Grease. I’m fostering friendships both in and out of cancerland. I can honestly say I have friends locally to hang out with now, but I also have friends out of state and internationally who I can facetime or Skype with too. They are just as supportive and caring as the few who are here locally.

I feel confident.

I feel encouraged.

I feel loved.

I feel supported.

So, I leave you with the video of the finale in Grease click here because that’s how I feel about all the incredible people that keep coming into my life. There is a new pep in my step. My heart is doing cartwheels. Dare I say, I’m actually having some FUN.  

Until next time,

Warrior Megsie

My Own Valentine

I’ve always been a big romantic. I remember how disappointed I felt when I realized that love isn’t like the movies. I wanted so much to believe in fairytales and happy endings. I never thought I’d have to write my own…alone.

I didn’t date in high school in Macon, GA. I dated a little bit in college in Albany, NY. I went nuts dating in Los Angeles, CA because I felt like a hottie. Then when I moved back to Atlanta, GA, my dating life somewhat fizzled.

For me, it IS harder dating in the south than it was up north or on the west coast. Aside from the whole race issue, I feel dating is harder in this post-cancer body.

I was interviewed for an article about cancer and dating for Datingroo in the UK. Click here for article   In the article, I talk about the difficulties of not knowing what to say on dates anymore. I don’t know what to put on my dating profile anymore.

Now that my lower back issue should hopefully be resolved or at least feel less pain in the coming weeks after my spinal epidural injection and additional PT, walking and standing won’t be as much of an issue anymore.

I remember going on a date a year post-cancer and the guy commented that I seem to be walking stiffly. How could I tell him my body feels like a 500-year-old, and that it was taking everything I had to not show pain while we walked into the restaurant or getting up from the chair?

I’m a well-known talker, so the fact I’m often at a loss for words on top of not being able to find words (thanks chemo brain), conversation is hard and awkward when talking with a man on the phone or in person. I don’t know how to talk about trivial things anymore. My thought process (when functioning) is heavy. I’m not as light or carefree as I used to be.

I have a hard time taking a compliment from a man because I immediately want to correct him and let him know I didn’t always look like this. I looked better. I looked thinner. I still feel like an imposter in this body.

Weight gain

Infertility

Zero sex drive

Scars like a railroad track

Radiation scars on left side of neck

Chronic pain

Chronic fatigue

Cognitive Issues (chemo brain)

Hair (though can wear straight now) is so much thinner

In this body, I don’t attract the type of men I’m attracted to. Instead, I get thugs or creepy old white guys contacting me. That’s why I deleted my dating profile two years ago. I’ve never thought of myself ugly or strikingly beautiful.  I know I have a pretty face with a sparkling personality. The fact these types of guys are what I attract in this body, well, it was hurting my self-esteem.

The saying, “The right guy won’t care what you look like” is false. Men are visual. Heck, I’m visual too!

That’s why I’ll spend another year as my own valentine. Until I can learn to at least like this body a little more, I can’t put myself out there, even if just for fun. The rejection that comes with dating is hard. My current mindset is too fragile to handle it.

I’ll never love this post-cancer body, but I can learn to at least like it. Plus, I refuse to settle.

Happy Valentine’s Day to all the single people both in cancerland and out.

Until next time,

Warrior Megsie

Nut-Meg Rises Again

Just when I’m teetering on the brink of a nervous breakdown, something hilarious happens that snaps me back. I had originally written a woeful post but deleted it after yesterday’s hilarity. Let me set the scene of what happened and why I’m in better spirits.

I’ve been under more stress than usual since the last few days of 2019 and the beginning of 2020 due to my health and an unexpected death in my family. My body tends to do something crazy to rebel against stress. As usual, it’s always something spectacularly visual. This time a blood vessel popped in my left eye. Oh, my eye! My eye!

Seriously though, the fact it doesn’t hurt is the only reason I’m not going totally bonkers or even crying. I was and still am rather pissed, but my body no longer handles stress well.

It is highly noticeable and looks quite hideous. I’ve already had people at work asking what happened and a cashier at a store ask too. For once, I’m avoiding looking at my face. I couldn’t wear big sunglasses today because it was extremely overcast and raining.

So, my hair appointment had to be rescheduled because this particular natural hair dye I must use, due to being allergic to certain ingredients, did not arrive in time. Well, since I’m looking crazy, I was perfectly calm and said to call me once it has arrived and I’ll reschedule. My feathers weren’t ruffled. I love Tiramisu Salon and have been going to them for almost 13 years.

Since I was out, I decided to get my mail. I usually check my mail once a week because I hate having to get out of the car often due to pain. I had a lovely surprise when I checked my mailbox.

It was this gorgeous French beret. I thought a friend had sent it since I have so many amazing, thoughtful and generous friends who love to send surprises.  I had posted on my personal FB page about it, asking who sent it so I could thank them.

I was checking my wish list on Amazon to see if I could find a clue as to who sent me this stunning hat. Well, I totally forgot I ordered the hat off Amazon with Christmas money weeks ago!!! So, I surprised MYSELF!!! I literally have zero memory ever ordering it. So, it’s times like this where residual chemo brain comes in handy.

Should I send myself a thank you note?

All this to say, that even in a serious depressive state, my nuttiness always tends to poke through. I’m relieved I can still crack myself up even when the darkness tries to suffocate me. I was given the nickname Nut-Meg when I was 14 years old. Proud to say the nickname still fits.

Even through major stress, chronic pain, a popped blood vessel and grieving over my uncle, I can still find humor and channel my inner Bette Davis. I’m relieved the essence of me is something that breast cancer and this post-cancer insanity can never diminish.

The Compassion of a Baby Spoon

Let me tell you what happened Friday. I was in such a good mood. I had taken a vacation day. I woke up with my pain level at an 8, which is tolerable. I took my time getting ready, and then put on my very favorite Christmas hat which makes me giggle. It’s my current profile pic on all my social media. ‘Ain’t it pretty? I was off to my doctor appointment, and then lunch with my mother.

I thought for sure my follow-up would last maybe 15 minutes. That’s what I was prepared for anyway. The original doctor who ordered the CT scan of my spine did not call to tell me I had spondylitis. Heck, I didn’t even see the actual report of the results. She just sent a message in the patient portal to come see her. Naturally, I flipped out, complained and got an appointment with a different doctor within that practice but different location. It’s slightly out of the way, but a nice drive when I don’t have anywhere else pressing to go.

I immediately liked this new doctor because she talked me like a colleague. So, when she pulled up the report and read it out loud, I was not prepared for what it said.

I have two small sclerotic lesions on my L3 and L4 lumbar vertebral body. The report says they’re likely benign but indeterminant at this point.

I have mild lumbar levoscoliosis which is a kind of scoliosis where my spine twists and curves toward the left side of my body in a C shape. 

Then it said I have mild to moderate lower lumbar spondylosis with facet hypertrophy in my L5 and lower spine. Spondylosis is typically a degenerative condition of the joints of the spine and is also known as spinal osteoarthritis. The discs, joints and ligaments of the spine are generally involved.

WTF?!?! Am I 43 or 543 years old?

So, instead of being at the appointment for 15 minutes and walking out with a treatment plan, I was there two hours and walked out absolutely freaked out! As soon as this new doctor read that report and my breast cancer history, she immediately called my oncologist in the room with me. Keep in mind, I had literally seen my oncologist on Thursday and had told him about this appointment. I liked how the new doctor asked my oncologist point blank what kind of tests he is going to order for me because it should come from him. I believe she is Ukrainian, and my oncologist is Russian. I had to listen intently because both accents are thick and fast.

Now I have an MRI with and without contrast scheduled on 12/26 and will get the results at my follow-up visit with my oncologist on 12/31. Once again a vacation day will be spent at a doctor’s office.

Those who think breast cancer is the “easy, free boob job type of cancer” need to be smacked. The complications and rapid aging it can cause the body leads to poor quality of life. I want so badly to apply for disability but know I cannot afford to live on pennies without insurance. Plus, I do love me some designer purses!

For those who missed my social media post about the on-call doctor who I called an asshole, you’re not missing much. I was super anxious and only have two emergency Ativan. I had called to see if I could get some Ativan or Xanax to tie me over either until Monday or thru the 26th. This so-called oncologist completely lacked compassion and empathy. He refused to help or even pull up my chart, which I asked him to do. He yelled at me for yelling at him and said, “I’m THE doctor. You can’t talk to me that way.” Um…no boyfriend, YOU can’t talk to ME that way. What an arrogant prick. After calling him an asshole and hanging up, the asshole proceeded to call back three times. I guess his fragile ego isn’t used to hearing the truth from a mere patient. I did not pick up. I already had my plan B waiting in the wings.

I learned a long time ago that I cannot trust the on-call doctors to actually listen or help, but at least it’s on record that I called asking for help. My friend Carla reminded me of my CBD:THC oil, so that was my plan B. It helped take the edge off so I could rest.

The responses of support and encouragement have been overwhelming and humbling by friends inside and outside the cancerland. Of course, you always have one or two cancer patients/survivors who have as much empathy and compassion as a baby spoon. My feathers get ruffled when other patients try to diagnose me. I know I’m not stage IV and pray I never will be, but when you start diagnosing me and telling me how you know everything because you are stage IV, that’s when I take issue. Fortunately, I’m not close to either one of those ladies who irked me yesterday on Facebook. I said what I needed to say and done with it. I just felt it was important to mention to not ever diminish someone else’s fear and anxiety without knowing their entire history or them personally.

After all, I’m only human with feelings.

This is not how I wanted to spend my last few weeks of 2019. Even if benign, the fear train is riding hard on the tracks because now I’ll have to be monitored in that area.  I was born with a benign tumor on my right leg as a baby. So, it’s not my first time getting tumors and thinking they’re benign. Then if it’s cancer, well…I can’t even fathom it. I’m mentally preparing myself for either outcome.

I will not allow this to my last post of 2019. I’ve had a lot of good and thrilling opportunities to combat the negativity and challenges experienced this year. So, expect that uplifting post this evening.