merry christmas

the note, from my oncologist, came this morning:

"I am happy to inform you that the pap smear performed at your last visit was normal, without evidence of cancer or pre-cancer cells. I know you will find this reassuring as do I."

yeah. i guess you could say that i am pretty stoked.

pristine

"kathleen, please call me back.
i have great news for you and i don't
want to leave it in a message,"
said laura, dr. abbas' nurse.

i rang back as fast as i could.

"dr. abbas wanted me to be sure to
tell you that your biopsy results
are pristine!" she said, excitedly.

nine lymph nodes.
my ovaries.
and my uterus.
PRISTINE.

the hysterectomy?
that was the precautionary step.
that was the insurance,
because the LEEP procedure that i had
back in july? it had gotten all of the cancer.
all of it.
but to be sure...absolutely postitive,
the rest needed to be explored.
removed.

the icing on the no-more-cancer cake?
no more menstrual cycle.
wheeeeeee!!!
and i will go through menopause when i am supposed to.
not a second before.



PAP smears every three months, for the next two years?
that, i can handle.
the healing and other self home-care that i have to endure?
i can think of worse.

five weeks ago, i was told that i had very aggressive
cervical cancer that was estimated to be at stage 2.
the difference between then, and now? extreme.
no chemo.
no radiation.
nada.

i know that there are others who have very different outcomes.
and for them, i will say a prayer every day.
i will send healing, positive energy.
and i ask you to do the same.

i will not take this second chance for granted.

i love you, too-too.

his hands, sticky with maple syrup,
find my face as he crawls across the bed toward me.
he smiles and kisses my cheek and nuzzles into my neck.
mama...you are sooooooo beautiful.

through tears, i respond, "i love you, baby. thank you."

i love you, too-too.

he curls his tiny body into mine,
and asks if we can watch dinosaur train on my computer.

my three year old is my medicine.
better than the percocet,
better than the ativan,
better than the antibiotics.
and there is no overdosing on his sweetness.

i am doing well.
my abdomen was opened from one hip to the other.
lymph nodes? no cancer.
ovaries? no cancer.
operation radical-hysterectomy? success.
menopause will have to wait.
we kicked some cervical-cancer-ass.

two weeks. two weeks to see what path we take.
will this be enough?
will there be more?

i will leave that to the doctors to worry about.
in the meantime, as i type,
liam is attending his first day at school.
we have halloween costumes to plan.
summer produce to prepare for the shorter days ahead.
i have photos to edit.
lessons to plan.
and friends to catch up with.

life is good.
i will never say that again
and not really mean it.

deep breath. repeat.

meditating on this poem
sent to me by earth mama, and
advocate for goodness everywhere,kimmy:

Wild Geese
by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

butterflies

no matter what the news, good or bad, happy or sad, there is always poop to be cleaned. motherhood grounds you. - my wise friend, marni

today, i lost my mind.
more than normal.
i kept waiting for my body to just stop.
i waited for the signal that it was time to roll up in a ball
and seize responding to the world around me.

laughing one minute; incapacitating sobs the next.
feeling every emotion from
sad to ecstatic,
anxious to resolved,
pissed-off to terrified.


i waited for the people-who-come-to-take-you-away
to come
and take me away.


after dealing with insurance issues for 48+ hours,
(my diagnosis came in the middle of
switching my insurance over to cobra)
and my surgery almost being cancelled because of it,
(have i mentioned that i despise insurance companies?)
i finally appealed to the right person
and, miraculously, got the approval just in time.
just.
in.
time.

when i got home from seeing doctors,
getting blood drawn,
and picking up prescriptions,
the chopster was waiting for me.
he wrapped his arms around my neck.
worried about my a.m. meltdown said,
you know what, mama?
what, baby.
it will be ok.
i know, baby.
i love you, mama.

in the end. i am a mama.
and no matter the news.
i am what i am.

the road not taken

i'd rather you be a raging bitch and be alive.
-nitza-pizza-with-an-n, dear friend and fellow girlie-girl.


in one week, i will be clutching the arm of the nurse
who encourages me to get up and walk.
i will either be smiling through gritted teeth,
or possibly sweating through my first hotflash
and on an emotional rollercoaster.

when my oncologist makes the cut
my ovaries will be singing out
should i stay or should i go?
he will decide, once he gets a chance to
really look at them, whether or not
i get to keep the goods (my ovaries).
if not, then i will win what's behind
door number two: immediate menopause.

and seriously? i am not complaining.
i am standing.
i am breathing.
i am present.
and i don't care what i have to go through
to stay this way.

having a catheter for two weeks or more?
no problem.
having to give myself a shot every day
to thin my blood?
bring it.
not having energy or the ablity to gogogo
for four to six weeks?
i got it covered.

menopause...i can handle it.
it isn't too far away anyway.
right?

and the silver-lining no matter the decision?
no more wasted cabinet space with big boxes of
monthly feminine paraphernalia.
hallelujah!

word.

may the sun bring you energy by day,
may the moon softly restore you by night,
may the rain wash away your worries,
may the breeze blow new strength into your being,
may you walk gently through the world and
know its beauty and harmony all the
days of your life. - apache blessing


i really don't remember when we last checked our mail.
apparently, it had been a while
due to the explosion of paper
when i opened the small door.

i made two piles.
cards in one;
bills, surgery procedure packets, and magazines
in the other.

i can pay bills and be serious about
medicine and stuff
tomorrow.

for now? i am wading in a
paper love-fest.
i can feel your strength
and your arms around me.
i can hear each of you saying the words you wrote,
on paper and in your emails.
and i know you love me.
this is what gets me through.

nothing is more important than friends and family.
i am so blessed.
and so aware.

work

my oncologist called me this morning.
after speaking with my colleagues, and expressing
my concern about what we are dealing with,
the same answer came up repeatedly.
take it out.
get it out.
let's take no risks.

i have an aggressive form of cervical cancer.
it isn't the one that people read about:
the slow moving one that, if caught in time,
is easy to contain and zap.

my cancer is a mover and a shaker.
so they want to make sure that there are zero
of these raucous cells left in my nether regions.

two weeks ago, i was told that i probably had stage 2 cervical cancer.
i was told that in the next three weeks, i would start
a five-day-a-week radiation and one-day-a-week chemotherapy schedule
for six weeks.

all i could do was look at my three-year old son and cry.
or lower myself to the floor, on all fours,
have a monumental freak-out-panic-attack,
and try to catch my breath and pull myself together.
don't let the boy see you cry.

today? i am told that in a week and a half, i will have a radical hysterectomy.
no radiation.
no chemo.
for now.
(and for this, i would like to
thank everyone for their prayers.)
(no. really.)
(i mean it.)
(because before this, i was a bit skeptical.)
(but this has been an enlightening journey, so far.)

deep breath.
buck up, sister. you can do this.

my mom said that if i can have a ten pound baby
with no drugs,
then i can do this.
and you know what?
she is right.

clarity

...breathe deeply and slowly
and live in the moment because
not one of us has been guaranteed more than that.
-written to me by my wise friend, susan.

breathing out

the waiting is the hardest part.
the whole time, imagining the cancer slowly taking over,
winding its way around and though,
eating away at my health. not considering that
i am a mama
i am a wife
i am a teacher
i want to live until i am 89.

written in an email 8/25/10:

yesterday, when i met with my chemotherapist for the first time, she had my PET scan in front of her. she introduced herself to me, sat down, and said, "i have good news. the cancer has not spread to your lymph nodes or any of your organs."
i almost fell off of my chair!
since this whole journey started, i have braced myself for the worst. and today, when i met with my oncologist, i learned that i will be ok. i do have a long road ahead...but, in the end, i will still be breathing and here to watch my son grow and enjoy my family.
my oncologist, dr. abbas, had a colleague of his from hopkins examine me this afternoon. they are concerned about the type of cancer that i have, so they are presenting my case to two different boards to make sure they have covered everything. then, next week, we will discuss my treatment. (surgery/chemo/radiation).
the choices are not fun, but i will do whatever it takes...
they both said that i will be ok...that i will get through this. it will be work, but i can do it.

i will live.

and honestly, a week ago? i wasn't too sure about that.

so, please. be good to one another. don't take your days for granted. slow down and soak it all in. because it really is a luxury to enjoy this thing called life.

i love you all. and thank you for your prayers and good energy. i think the outcome has proven that it works.

read all about it

blog about it, said my mother.
write about it,my brother advised. that way, you can keep everyone updated and you won't have to repeat yourself to exhaustion.
share your story, my aunt suggested. maybe you can help others going through the same thing.

so here goes. here is the first email that i sent out.
the first what-the-hell-is-she-saying to those i love.
written between panic attacks on the bedroom floor and
"you can fight this" encouragement from my mother.
trying to stay positive while waiting for the other shoe to drop.
seriously considering the process of wrapping things up and wondering why
i don't have a bucket list.

8/19/2010
the next few weeks are going to be a bit crazy. i don't want to alarm you, but i am in the middle of a health-thing. i will know more on wednesday after i have had a PET scan and my doctor can look at it. bottom line: i have cervical cancer. and they are not sure what stage it is...or how much it has spread. usually cervical cancer is slow to spread, which is why people don't worry too much when they are diagnosed. but i have a rare, aggressive cervical cancer that is fast moving. (yay, me!) you know...i always have to be different. sigh...
so. by the end of next week, i will either be getting the hysterectomy/chemo/radiation combo package...or the simpler chemo/radiation deal. we'll see.

i hate sending this in an email. but i am just so tired of talking about it...repeating the same story over and over while i cry and then worry about how the person i just told is doing. you are all my "people". and right now, i need the strength of you all. what i really want to do is just curl around my boy and be normal.

i will be ok. i have to be. i feel that there is no other option, really.

i love you all. please pray for me, send healing thoughts, goodness and whatever else you can muster.

kathleen