The Evolution of My Ass Part 5

The surgery went very well. My lead surgeon came into my room the next day with the good news. "We got it all. 100% margins." Yay!!!!!!!!!! Tumor has been removed. I'm cured. Let's go home.

But the universe had other plans. At first, everything seemed to be as good as it could be. Tumor was removed, margins came back clean, and life was looking up. They started me on a clear liquid diet. The next day or so I moved up to full liquids. That's as far as I made it. On Friday, my surgeon came around and expressed concern about my bowel function, most likely from an ileus which may just be some after affects from the surgery. But just to be sure, they ordered a CT scan of my abdomen. In the meantime, they insisted I needed an NG tube. If you don't know what that is, well, let me tell you it's a tube about the size of drinking straw, only much longer, that they shoved up my nose and down my throat. Completely, absolutely, 100% awful. I cried the entire time they were shoving it in and down me. So did my mom. So did my friend who was there by my side. And I'm pretty sure my surgeon was on the verge of tears before it was over.

Around ten or so Friday evening, maybe later, my surgeon walks into my room with some bad news. "Your bowels are obstructed and we have to do surgery immediately. Like right now." Oh shit. What? I just had surgery. So, there we go again. A mere four days after my initial surgery, they cut me open again to fix a kink in my bowels. Holy hell. So back to square one as far as recovery goes. Clear liquids, then on to full liquids. And then, guess what. Yep. Another ileus. Fortunately, this time that's all it was. Just my digestive tract dealing with the trauma. Another NG tube. This time, however, I insisted they give me drugs beforehand, to ease the pain. And no surgery this time either. At this point, we're closing in on the two week mark, whereas initially we were expecting no more than a week of hospital recovery time.

My mother, God bless her, was there the entire time. I love my mother. She has been by my side during the worst of the worst times during this past year, hospital stay being no exception. My dad was a total trooper. He went to work during the day and drove to Memphis to spend time with my mother and me in the evening. We had to convince him to stay at home a few nights just to catch up on some rest. My friends came to visit, and those brief interludes helped keep my spirits up. Again I reiterate that I know I have good friends, most especially when they volunteered to shave my legs for me. Two weeks without a razor can get pretty hairy. ;) I even had a few surprise visits from some old high school friends. It was great seeing them and catching up. Although one (whose name shall remain anonymous) brought these unbelievably delicious looking doughnuts which I couldn't eat. My hospital guests, however, devoured them - and right in front of me at that.  Okay, so maybe my friends aren't that nice after all...

But I digress. Back to hospital hell. As it turns out, if you have C-Diff once, your chances of getting it again goes way up. It's just one of those things. And with the antibiotics they used to prevent infections from surgery, I ended up with yet another case of it. C-Diff is highly contagious, and I was put in quarantine, which meant I couldn't leave my room at all, not even for strolls down the corridor. They called in an infectious disease doctor, that I swear, looked like the perfect example of "the mad scientist" - think Doc Brown in Back to the Future.

Cabin Fever set in rather quickly. I was pretty sure I was going to lose my mind in very dramatic fashion, and start clawing at the door like a caged animal. Practically every single nurse on that floor had been assigned to me at some point. I was getting a reputation as the patient who just won't leave, though I promise it wasn't by choice. Never take your nurses for granted. They work their butts off and many times for ungrateful patients or hurried doctors. I got to trade places with one of the newbies for a moment, and held HER hand as she cried (just a little) from the stress of the job. We've all been there.

21 Days Later.
February 14, 2015 I was released from my prison and sent home. It was absolutely the best Valentine's present I could have asked for. A new chapter in my life was just beginning.

Author's Note - Anonymous doughnut bearing friend has since redeemed herself by sending me a fantastic selection of books to read. I hope you're reading this, dear. And thank you.

Also, I want to say thank you to all of you who have been following my story so far. I feel like much of this has perhaps been rushed, and I apologize. It's that part of me that wants to catch everyone up to speed, but in a hurry to fast forward in time to now. Writing of the past is sometimes hard when there is so much going on in the present that I want to express. So forgive me. But I sincerely appreciate the encouragement I have been given. Over the course of writing this blog, there have been times when I have gotten quite emotional writing it, remembering some of the most difficult times of my life thus far.  I have tried to interject some lightheartedness into my story, but this is in no way meant to diminish anyone's struggle with cancer or other disease. For me, humor has been a way to cope with the dark times, and I hope that it is taken that way.

As always, thanks for listening.
Jennifer

The Evolution of My Ass Part 4

It was time to start preparing for surgery. I met with a couple of surgeons and found one I really liked in Memphis. He also arranged for me to meet two other surgeons who would be assisting on the surgery, a gynecological surgeon and a plastic surgeon. I really liked all of them. It’s funny how we stereotype people with certain careers. For example, prior to this, whenever someone mentioned a plastic surgeon my mind automatically conjured up an image of the guys from Nip/Tuck - arrogant, womanizing, assholes who imagined themselves as almost Godlike. My plastic surgeon was nothing like that. He is an older gentlemen with the friendliest smile who hugs my neck every single time I go in to see him for a follow up appointment, and always asks how my mom is doing. He calls himself the fender and bumper guy of the surgical world. ;) 

Not long after I finished radiation I was playing on Google and came across some medical info about side effects that basically stated how my ovaries were most likely fried from the radiation. I asked my radiation oncologist about it, and he very nonchalantly said, “Well, yeah, so?” I’m like, um, you might could have told me that beforehand. His response was that it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t have changed anything. This was what had to be done. Okay, maybe so, but I would rather not find out my potential baby birthing days are over on Google. But there it was. My ovaries were nothing but raisins now. That, combined with the potential of the cancer spreading to my female organs, the determination to have a full hysterectomy in addition to the colon resection and tumor removal was made. Although let’s be honest, I didn’t have much choice. As a woman, this was a hard pill to swallow. I’ve never been one to just really, really want kids, as is obvious by the fact I’m in my late 30’s with no children, and have had plenty of opportunities if I had so chosen. But to have that choice stripped from you, well, that’s a whole other ballgame. It definitely led to some depression and a feeling of not being in control of my life anymore. Men may not understand this, but I can guarantee most of the women reading this will know exactly what I am talking about. 

So I signed the dotted line giving them permission to not only repair the sewage disposal but remove the plumbing too. 

A date was set: Monday, January 26, 2015. D-Day. For me anyway. To say I was scared out of my mind is a slight understatement. This was a big surgery. A huge surgery. Not to over exaggerate, but about as major a surgery as one can get. So yeah, I was scared. But after meeting the surgical team, I knew I was in the best hands possible. 

Sunday, January 25, 2015. My parents and I checked into the Hilton Homewood Suites in Germantown and began the waiting game. I had to do yet another colon cleanse. Get those pipes all squeaky clean. There it was in the hotel bathroom that I shat for the last time. Or at least as normal shatting goes. No doubt it was one for the record books. I believe I briefly touched on just how terrible the colon cleansing process is, and this was no different. Let’s just say I managed to somehow get poo on me, the shower, the shower curtain and even the walls of the bathroom. I did try my best to clean up after myself but really there’s only so much you can do while spraying liquid poop in all directions. I left a nice tip for the maid.

5:00 am, Monday: We check into the Germantown Methodist Hospital. This is how I know I have the best friends in the world - because they were all there. There were so many people there for me, I looked like a rap star with my entourage. There were some tears, and praying and hand holding. Finally, the moment came. The surgeon greeted us with final words about the procedure and a nurse wheeled me back - floodgates opened, and I cried most of the way back. Once I got back to the pre-surgery holding room, I calmed down. They got me ready for an epidural (not just for pregnant women apparently). Good stuff. The nurse was really nice and asked if I wanted to listen to any music. I requested “Southern Cross” by Crosby, Stills and Nash. She downloaded it and gave me her iPhone to hold so I could listen to it. The last thing I remember is singing along (probably loudly) while they wheeled me back to the operating room, just smiling and singing to everyone in the room. It was a packed house. I asked the nurse to please let my Dad know I was going under to one of his favorite songs. And from what I hear, she did just that. And then, I went to sleep. 

The Secret To Happiness Is....

I've had a few people tell me that I have a positive outlook on life, or tell me how inspired they are by the way I am handling cancer, or that I am doing a great job of still smiling. People ask me how I do it. It's easier than you think. You will be surprised at how easily you can adapt to life's ever changing moments. We do it daily without even realizing it. It's the slow process of evolution. We do evolve. We evolve and adapt to our new realities, whether it's a new career, the end of a relationship, or a physical change in our appearance over the course of a lifetime. You are stronger than you think you are, and the will to live is deeply ingrained in our own biology.

But let me say, I am not always giggles and sunshine. Far from it. However, I restrain from constantly whining or bitching about life or my circumstances or the weather or any of the other hundreds of things there are to complain about. What's the point? It's not going to change anything. All that's going to accomplish is make the people who are around me miserable having to listen to it. (Just get on any social media site as an example.) Occasionally I do complain. And whine. And sometimes my friends probably get tired of hearing it. Too bad. They are my friends. That's part of the unspoken friendship contract. In return, I listen to them when they want to unload a full day's worth of crap. But for everyone else, I try to put a cap on it.

I figured out a long time ago, that happiness really is an inside job. It's not something you can buy at Wal-Mart or TJ Maxx or even The Bass Pro Shop. It's not hidden inside a lottery ticket. And it most certainly is not found in the arms of someone else. At the most, all you will find in any of these places are fleeting moments that at the time may look like happiness and may even feel like happiness, but it's not. And I know that some will argue, but Jennifer, I love my spouse/boyfriend/lover/significant other and being with them makes me happy. Nope. That's still not real happiness. If your "happiness" resides solely on a new gadget or a friendship or a social status or a reputation or a career or a car or money - then hear me now - it will not last. Because every single one of those things can be taken from you at any moment. Then what? At some point in life you have to find happiness inside yourself. Be happy with who you really are and embrace it. Love life. Love yourself. That's where happiness is.

I wouldn't wish cancer or any disease on anyone. I damn sure wouldn't have wished it upon myself. But it's here. And I can't change that fact. I can try to fight it (which I am) and hope to overcome it (which I will) but I can't erase what has already been. This is the hand I was dealt, and I will play it. And even if I have to bluff from time to time, I will not fold. If I am beaten, it will be with grace and dignity. But I'm going to make sure it's one helluva game before I bow out. In the meantime I'm going to keep on smiling that Cheshire Cat smile, just to make them wonder if there's still an ace in my sleeve.

But the real secret to happiness is

June 8, 2015

Trying to decide what to write about tonight. Do I pick up where I left off telling my tale of how I got to this point? Or do I write about what it is I am feeling at this very moment? It's hard sometimes to write about the past, and give it due justice, while still struggling to juggle the present. So, today wins. This is my story; slightly out of order.

I had perhaps a moment of clarity today, or maybe it was a complete come apart. I guess that depends on how you look at it. I was on my way to a small event, called Look Good, Feel Better, to be held at the West Clinic in Corinth, sponsored by the American Cancer Society. Basically they bring in a few cosmetologists who give makeovers and hand out free makeup. Chemo does hellish things to your body, and it also takes a toll on your skin. So, the idea is to cheer us up and make us feel all pretty again. It's a nice idea. And I was delighted to be invited to attend by one of the nurses at my chemo session last week.

The thing is, front the time my feet hit the floor this morning, I was already in a foul mood. I've been trying feverishly to get some home improvement projects completed that have been on going for far too long now. I bought my house a little over four years ago, and have been plugging away at it continuously, adding something here, redecorating there. For the most part, it's been an enjoyable process, and I love seeing the efforts of mine (and other's) hard work pay off with each small remodel. Well, the latest "big" project has been to enclose my patio space on the back of my house. It hasn't gone well, and by that I mean, it just hasn't gone - mostly due to the incredible amount of rain we've endured the last couple of months, which has delayed everything and everybody. Plus, as I have found out, contracting work out is a headache all on it's own. But alas, I finally had the roots, so to speak, of my patio laid out and someone hired to pour the concrete. And after a few sunny days, I felt sure today would be the day when they could actually get the concrete truck onto my yard and pour. But no, I awoke to dark clouds and thunder rolling. Here's the kicker, I no longer cared. It's like I finally just said, "enough" and honestly at this point, not real sure if I care if the damn thing gets built or not. (Okay, that's probably not completely true, but it's how I feel at the moment.) I'm over it. If it gets completed before the end of summer, fine, great. And if not, oh well.

Plus, my house was a wreck. Being sick all last week, plus going out on the lake this weekend, I had gotten far behind on housekeeping. People ask what chemo is like. To be honest, it's unlike anything I've ever experienced before and sort of hard to explain. The particular kind I am on now is called FolFox and it's one bad mama. I guess the closest way I can think to describe it is, pretend you have the flu. Now pretend you have the flu every other week. That's how it goes for me. I pretty much just try to load up on anti nausea meds and sleep through as much of it as I can. And I also lose the majority of a week of my life every two weeks. Of course, I still have the normal daily to do's, just like everyone else - clean the house, feed the dogs, pay bills, run errands, buy groceries, etc. Add to that, endless doctor's appointments and tests out the wazoo. I'm soon to be scheduled for even more, since my last tests only further baffled my doctors. And of course, it's summer, and I want to be able to enjoy time with friends, boating, and general moments of fun and pleasure. But when you try to cram it all in a week, it becomes absolutely exhausting. I feel like I'm marathon running every other week, just playing catch up. Even the "fun" times, start to feel like a chore. Adding to this, the whole home improvement fiasco, and well, maybe you get the idea.

Also to note, last night I watched a great movie called "The Judge". If you haven't seen it, I do recommend it. Spoiler Alert: Robert Duvall's character has stage four colon cancer. In the movie, he deals with one of the side effects of chemotherapy; dementia. Memory loss is just one of the many side effects. Just last week, my mother told me she had to keep going behind me to close the refrigerator, because apparently I would just forget I had opened it. This scared the hell out of me. I don't like the idea of not being in control or knowing what the hell I am doing.... unless alcohol is involved, and then it's kind of expected. And it could have been side effects from the drugs I am taking too. Ativan, prescribed for nausea, is in the same class as Valium, so it pretty much knocks me out and induces a 'fog' as I call it. But either way, it unnerved me. Point is, the movie, albeit a great film, hit a little close to home.

It's not much of a surprise then, that driving along highway 72, headed toward what should have been an enjoyable event, I had a mini breakdown. Here I am driving along, when it hits me that I have absolutely no desire to go this shindig. None. Nada. Zilch. As a matter of fact, the idea of going anywhere near the cancer center and watching other cancer patients get facials, seriously depressed me. So much so, that I started crying. I kept driving, tears pouring, when I had "that" moment. And I thought, "Why am I doing this? I don't want to do this." That's when I asked myself out loud, "What do I want to do?" Right now, at this moment "What do I WANT to do?" I have spent so much timely lately doing things I don't really want to do. Some because they are necessary. Others, because I feel like I should. And even some still, just because someone else wants me to, and I'm trying to make an effort to make them happy. Turns out, the answer to my question was ice cream. I wanted some damn ice cream. So I turned around on the highway and headed to Sonic. I ordered a caramel sundae with nuts - hold the whipped cream. I sat there and ate every single bite of it. Car turned off, window down, no music, no real thoughts. Just me and my ice cream. It may really be the best sundae I've ever had. I did the polite thing and called to inform them I wouldn't make it, and hopefully someone else got to go in my spot, as space was limited. I did feel slightly guilty about that, but not enough to give up my delicious treat.

So what's the point of telling you this? I really have no idea. There certainly isn't a moral to the story, except maybe sometimes you just have to do what you want to do. Find time to make yourself happy, even if it's nothing more than a caramel sundae from Sonic. And maybe that's why I'm telling you this story... because it make me happy to do so. It's my story. I will tell it however I want to.

Oh, by the way, after my Sonic treat, I came home and cleaned my house with some kind of fury. And it didn't exhaust me or wear me out. Instead, I actually felt rejuvenated when I was finished. So much so, that I took a shower, and got out my laptop to do a bit of writing. And to all you who follow this blog, I want to say thank you for listening to my ramblings as I muddle my way through this chapter in my life, one small moment at at time.

The Thing Is

The thing about cancer is that it consumes your life. It invades every aspect of almost everything you do. It becomes the thing that defines you. People no longer think of you as you once were; all of a sudden now you're the 'girl with cancer'. You live it every single day. And even when you try to forget, someone or something is there to remind you. "Oh, yeah, that. I had almost forgotten." People are suddenly much nicer to you. You get hugs from casual acquaintances in the grocery store. You get messages from complete strangers offering their condolences. It's the first thing people want to ask you about. You find yourself repeating the same brief synopsis over and over. There are endless  doctor appointments. It can be overwhelming at times. And tiresome.

And that's not to say I don't appreciate the support I have been given. I do. I really do. I can not imagine having gone through this without the love I have been shown by my friends and family. They have listened to me when I needed to vent, they have provided shoulders for me to lean on, they have cried with me, laughed with me, held my hand, traveled to appointments with me, donated their time and money, and cheered for me with each small victory.

At the same time, it is a strange experience to be semi-famous (in a small town) for something I would rather not be known for. I guess if I had to sum it up thus far, I would call it "surreal". At times it still seems like some strange dream that I will wake up from and laugh about. "Wow. You won't believe this crazy dream I had." "I had cancer and it was this big, long, sort of terrible, but not all bad,  adventure - you were in it, too -  and it seemed soooo real." "Haha." But then the nurse jabs a rather large needle into my chest, and I'm all like, nope, this is definitely not a dream. That shit hurt.

Someone once told me that cancer was as much a mental battle, as a physical one. I know now what they meant. It wears you down. Some days it gets the best of you, too. I have turned to God and prayer many times, mostly at night, when the house is quiet and darkness has settled in; when the only sounds are the dogs snoring and the insects doing what insects do. The meditation has helped me keep my sanity. These quiet moments have become moments I treasure. I do hope there is a happy ending to my story. But I am determined, to make happy the life I have while I still have it, whether it's only days or many, many years. A good friend gave me a card a few years ago, with a quote on it, that I loved so much, I framed and placed on my coffee table as a daily reminder. It's the most simplest of statements, and perhaps one of the truest. And I shall leave you tonight with this quote:

"Life is what you make it. Always has been. Always will be."
      - Grandma (Anna Mary Robertson) Moses

The Evolution of My Ass Part 3

After the initial shock wore off, it was time to get down to business. I drew upon years of experience with making lists and planning things. At times, this passion of mine has almost crossed the line into obsession, but at this point, it was a skill that would serve me well. Trust me, when an event like this happens, you have a LOT of information coming at you from all directions. A handy-dandy little notepad or day planner proves to be extremely useful. So I armed myself with planners, folders, binders and other such accouterments and set off to meet my destiny.

The next few months were a whirlwind of tests, exams, and doctor visits. I was poked at so many times with so many needles, I was beginning to resemble a street junkie with a serious heroin addiction. And oh, the paperwork. For every new doctor, comes new paperwork. I actually got a little sarcastic and slightly ridiculous a couple times filling them out. I do hope some overworked, stressed out, medical receptionist enjoyed my attempt at humor. Maybe not. And there were a lot of questions. Being so young, with what is normally considered an "old-person" disease, naturally the medical field was very interested in my case, so there were a few odd inquiries. For instance, I had one doctor who just came right out and asked me bluntly if I had ever had anal sex. Not that there's necessarily any medical data that would link anal sex to ass cancer, but hey, I guess he was either just nosy or thought maybe he had stumbled upon something perhaps revolutionary. I took a DNA test to see if there was a genetic link predisposing me to certain types of cancer, including colorectal cancer. Nope. Not that either.

What they did know was that the tumor was large and aggressive. I don't remember exactly how large; I did see scan results with the exact centimeter size, but it just didn't mean much to me. (According to one doctor, any tumor over the size of your fingernail is considered significant.) Which meant, I didn't have time to waste as far as beginning treatment. They wanted to act just as aggressively. Not long after, about mid-October I began a combo of radiation therapy and chemotherapy. For five days a week, for five straight weeks, I underwent radiation with two oral chemo pills to be taken morning and night. I can't lie. It was five long weeks of pure hell.

Radiation as they described it to me was like getting a bad sunburn. And yeah, I guess that's kind of what it felt like. Of course, having a sunburn on your bottom is no fun if you can imagine. I can literally say my ass was pretty chapped! It hurt to sit. Hell, it hurt to lie down. Everything hurt. Diarrhea was back with a vengeance, I was dropping weight to the point of anorexia, I was in constant pain, dehydrated, and just overall about as miserable as a person can be. I was starting to look forward to a colostomy. No joke. Anything was better than this. As for the colostomy, the reality was setting in. The hope with radiation and chemo was to shrink the tumor as much as possible, but the chances of radiating it completely were very slim. And because the tumor extended down into my anus, reconstructing the colon wasn't very feasible either. I received the maximum amount of radiation allowed. The chemo pills were no fun either, but honestly, it was hard to tell what the Devil in the situation was. People ask what was the worst part, or what caused the most discomfort. But the truth is, when you go through so much at once (don't forget our old friend C-Diff or the abscess) you really have no idea what is causing what. Everything in your body is screaming in agony and you can't point the finger at any one particular cause.

And yes, the abscess that triggered that first doctor appointment had returned. Actually, it never fully left. Combined with the high doses of radiation, it basically turned into the nuclear, Godzilla of abscesses. During my last week or two of radiation, I finally had it surgically drained. That was no barrel of monkeys either. (So sorry to keep being the bearer of bad news but I'm just being honest.) After the surgery, my poor, dear Mother had the unfortunate job of having to pack my butt cheek every day with fresh gauze strips. It did eventually heal after much trial and tribulation. Thank heavens. That was a pain unlike any other, that I never care to experience again.

November 20, 2014 - After five excruciating weeks, I was done with that phase. I did live through it. And my testimony is that a person can endure a lot more than they think they can. Sometimes you just have to bite down on the belt strap so to speak and hang in there until it's over. But, whew! Just looking back on it, it brings me to shivers. For the next couple of months, my only real job in life was to recover. Give my body time to heal. And I did just that. I started a few projects around the house I hadn't really had much time before to do; to keep my mind occupied. I meditated and prayed, quite often. I renewed my faith and my inner determination to get through this and come out on the other side a stronger person. I wasn't done yet. I still had a major surgery looming in my future. But for the time being, it was a time of rest.

Deep Thoughts...

...by Jack Handey. Nope. Just kidding. It's just me.

I've learned a lot while having cancer and more importantly, I've learned a lot about myself. Not long after my diagnosis someone gave me an AARP magazine with an article featuring Melissa Etheridge and Sheryl Crow and their battles with cancer. In the article they talked about how cancer changed their lives, and at least to some extent, for the better. They revealed how they used their diagnosis as a time of reflection, a time to reevaluate their lives, and the strength they gained from it. They are quoted referring to cancer as "A gift".

It really struck me. Here were two women I admired and respected talking about surviving cancer and how it had really been, in many ways, a blessing. It inspired me.  It gave me hope, and helped to change my perspective. Instead of looking at this as the end-all, be-all most terrible thing ever, I could look at as a second chance. A second chance to live. To live the way I wanted to. To do the things I wanted to do. To make changes in my life so that I was living a more fulfilled life. And that's not to say I had a bad first half. On the contrary, I have been very fortunate thus far and have lived quite a great life I think. I have had the chances to travel to many places and see a lot of this country, and small parts of other ones. And traveling is one of my passions in life. But, due to whatever circumstances, I haven't really done as much traveling as I would have really liked over the last few years. I've also only come to really realize how unhappy I was in my former career. A career that I had worked hard at for over fifteen years, pushing myself to continue down that career path, inching my way up further in the pecking order of things, making a little more money each time, but only now understanding that's just not that important anymore. And the truth is, the real honest truth, I was never even that good at it. I mean, I was good, I'm not gonna sit here and self deprecate for humility's sake. I worked my butt off during long hours in the studio in college, to long hours sitting behind a desk - only to photoshop someone else's idea of what was good for business. I was selling someone else's dream. But I wasn't GOOD at it. I didn't love it. I didn't spend my off hours perfecting my craft or trying to stay abreast of the latest trends and new tools. In theory, it even goes against my personal thoughts on the misconception that advertising portrays and my distaste for the over photo enhanced world that surrounds us, and the message it sells, most especially the body image/false sense of beauty, it reinforces in impressionable young people.

I always knew I wanted to go into a creative field. I dabbled with four different college majors, starting in liberal arts just to get some basics, moving on to photography for a bit, and did a brief stint in interior design, before settling on graphic design. A decision that was made, in large part, thanks to a young cutie I met at UNA during orientation, who by the way, kept peeking at my class schedule selection so he could arrange his classes to match some of mine. We later sat beside each other at an 8:00 am Art History 101 class, on those days in which I decided to actually show up. (I had figured out I didn't actually have to be there to memorize the necessary slides with paintings, artist's names and dates in order to ace the exams. This is also why, as an art history minor, I am not very good at trivia games involving art history.)

So here I am now, 37 years old, medically unable to work and using it as a chance to try and figure out what it is that I want to do when I grow up. Taking inspiration from women who have been where I am. Because I know that one day this whole cancer thing will all be over. I want to be able to step away from it having learned something - to grow from the experience. I want to become a better person, with better habits and a greater consciousness about how precious each day is. To have the courage to pursue my own dreams and live the life I was meant to live. I want to live life knowing that at any moment it can be taken from us, so treasure the good moments and let go of the bad. One of the many things I have learned is that most problems in life can be fixed; certainly most of the problems that keep us lying awake at night, losing sleep due to useless worry. And most of them we have created for ourselves anyway. And sometimes it takes a tragedy to appreciate that.