Be careful what you wish for

The following is a true story.

In the year previous to my cancer diagnosis, I was sitting at a bar having a few beers with a friend of mine. Earlier that day somebody had posted a comment on Facebook about how breast cancer got all of the attention when it came to various cancers. I brought this topic up while sipping on a cold brew that evening. Basically what I said, can be summarized like this: “I agree completely. Quite frankly, I’m glad that everyone wearing pink has possibly raised awareness for breast cancer, but there are so many other cancers out there that have higher mortality rates with much less recognition and it’s time people started showing support for those cancers too. I know, how about an ass cancer campaign? We should start one of those!” Then we spent a few minutes coming up with catchy phrases we could use as part of our Save Dat Ass campaign. 

That conversation has haunted me more than once, and my friend as well. Not long after my diagnosis of colorectal cancer, he came up to me one night at that same bar, hugged me, and said, “Child, you don’t think we jinxed you, do you?” I have no idea. Perhaps we did. Maybe God heard me talking and thought to himself, “Well, now, Jennifer, I think that’s a great idea. I will even let you be the poster child for “ass cancer” if you wish.” Or maybe somewhere deep in my subconscious my mind already knew what was coming. I mean, even then, if I look back with 20/20 hindsight, I can see little telltale signs of early symptoms even that far back, but at the time they were so insignificant I didn’t give them much thought. 

However it came about, I got my wish. I did start an ass cancer campaign - just not exactly how I had envisioned. Ever heard the old saying, “Be careful what you wish for”? Yeah, me too. But I am glad something positive has come from all of this. Because in a way, I have started a new campaign. And there are people who now know more about colon cancer and some of the signs and symptoms because of me. I am also a testament to the fact that you are never too young. And that yes, it can happen to you. It’s about time, we, as a people, started talking about such things instead of acting like it’s taboo to discuss problems going on down south. Too many people wait far too long to seek help because they are embarrassed to talk about their symptoms. 

I realize the Susan G. Komen foundation has taken some heat lately. I stopped supporting that particular charity years ago, for many of the reasons that are being talked about on the news currently. Overall, they haven’t had a good rating among charities, especially when it comes to donations coming in vs. money spent on actual cancer research and funding. I like to know when it comes to donations that my money is being used for the cause I am supporting. And while it’s great that so many people wear pink, it’s also sad that there are so few who wear other colors, or that cancers like pancreatic, colorectal, prostate, ovarian, or many others are not being talked about or given the same spotlight. They are all deadly. And while maybe some men (and some women) are fascinated with breasts, they are not essential, other than providing nourishment to newborn babies, to our lives. You CAN live without breasts. You CANNOT live without a colon. And no, this is most certainly not a post meant to diminish the devastating effects or seriousness of breast cancer. I have lost loved ones to that horrible disease. The point is, there are other, just as deadly (and more so in many cases), types of cancer that need the same attention. But for heaven’s sake, just don’t say you would like to start a campaign for any of them!!!! 

And, because of this blog, several people have reached out to me, in private messages or phone calls, asking for my help, or thoughts on treatment options, or how to cope with chemo, or sometimes just because they know I will listen to them when they need an ear. And I will. I will gladly do what I can to help any of you. Please know that. And if I don’t know the answer to a question, I will do my best to find it or point you in the direction of someone else who may know. I still want to start an “Ass Cancer” campaign. I hate that I had to do it this way, but maybe this was the best way. Maybe it was the only way. Maybe God isn’t finished with me yet. I like to think not. I like to think that there will be a silver lining in this cloud, and that my suffering has not been in vain. I am certainly no saint, nor do I even try to be, but I do hope that I have something positive to contribute to this world before I leave it. Save dat ass, people.

It’s My Birthday

Today is my 38th birthday, woo boy, 40 is just around the corner. How and when did that happen?

I have a lot to be thankful for today. Number one, I am thankful to still be alive. Number two, I am so very thankful for my family and friends who have supported me over the last year, and all the years previously. I am thankful for my loving, faithful canine companions, and even my cat, even though he is a stone cold killer and has destroyed more things in and around my house than all of the dogs combined. I’m thankful God has given me strength and determination, and a good sense of humor. I’m thankful that I have a cozy home to live in, and can afford to provide for myself and my animals. I’m thankful for insurance, and brilliant doctors and other medical staff. I am thankful for advancing technologies in healthcare. And I’m thankful Facebook did not exist when I was a teenager.  Thank YOU, mom, for giving birth to me and enduring my stubbornness even at birth. After all, I was a breech birth.

I have learned so much about myself, life, and even some of the people I thought I knew well, only to realize there is still much to learn about them and from them. I have gained a wisdom that only comes from experience, and much of that experience stems from learning a few lessons the hard way. I’ve made many mistakes in life, and have tried to balance those mistakes with sharing some of the knowledge I have. I told my parents not too long ago, that while I am in no hurry to die, and would rather not for many, many, many years to come; if I did meet my end in the near future, then I have no regrets. I have lived a fuller life at 38, then some people have at 98. I’ve been sick, I’ve been poor, I’ve had my heart broken. On the flip side, I have had many years of good health, I’ve earned more money than I needed to live, and I have been deeply loved. I have travelled to many places and seen some truly wondrous sites and met truly incredible people. I have friendships that will never end. I have stories. Lots of stories. I’ve had many adventures, and still do, with more to come in the future.

A few nights ago we celebrated mine and my mom’s birthdays. Her, my dad, two of her sisters and I went out to eat, then went back to my parents’ house for after dinner drinks and socializing. We had a wonderful time, and did a lot of laughing. My dad got me a handgun I’ve been wanting, and told me he was proud of me. Saturday, some friends and I enjoyed an evening of food and drink, and lots of laughter. Today I’m having a spa day with one of my best friends, and tonight, it’s dinner with some of my favorite women. It doesn’t get much better.

I have been blessed far more than I deserve. But, if given the opportunity, I will strive to make the next years of life the best; continue to reach for the stars, surely fail a few more times, but occasionally win a few too. I will shine as brightly as I can, even when there is no light.

#LifeIsAJourneyNotADestination
#Grateful
#Humbled
#ThirtyEightYearsAndCounting

Clay Pigeons

Sitting here listening to John Prine on iTunes. If you’ve never listened to John Prine, I highly recommend you do. One of the all time great song writers, in my humble opinion. And it looks like I may get to see him for the third time in concert in October. A friend of mine was given two tickets, and I was lucky enough to be invited as her guest. If you know me, that should tell you at least a little of what a fan I am of his. There has been no other singer/band that I can recall having seen more than twice in concert; not including some local bands, of course. His songs range from the insightful, thought provoking, and sometimes sad to the entertaining and quite humorous.


Music has a way of touching the soul that few art forms can really do - again, just my two cents worth. Some music makes you want to dance, some music makes you want to sing along, and some music just makes you want to stop and think for awhile or reminisce on fond memories. How ironic, as I sit here typing this, “Long Monday” comes up. It certainly has been. People are just damn strange sometimes. And I mean, damn strange. I hate to sound like some really old person talking about the new generation - Ha!!! - but, sometimes I just have to shake my head and wonder. I’m sure that’s what the almost 40 somethings probably said about me at one time.


Some days you just don’t have the words. But never fear, somebody out there does. And tonight, it’s Mr. Prine. So the best thing I can do for y’all is leave you with the words from the song that happens to be playing right now. And most appropriately, I might add. Couldn’t have said it better myself.


"Clay Pigeons"


I'm goin' down to the Greyhound Station, gonna get a ticket to ride
Gonna find that lady with two or three kids and sit down by her side
Ride 'til the sun comes up and down around me 'bout two or three times
Smokin' cigarettes in the last seat
Tryin' to hide my sorrow from the people I meet

And get along with it all
Go down where the people say "y'all"
Sing a song with a friend
Change the shape that I'm in,
And get back in the game,
And start playin' again

I'd like to stay but I might have to go to start over again
Might go back down to Texas, might go to somewhere that I've never been
And get up in the mornin' and go out at night
And I won't have to go home
Get used to bein' alone
Change the words to this song
Start singin' again

I'm tired of runnin' 'round lookin' for answers to questions that I already know
I could build me a castle of memories just to have somewhere to go
Count the days and the nights that it takes to get back in the saddle again
Feed the pigeons some clay
Turn the night into day
Start talkin' again, when I know what to say

I'm goin' down to the Greyhound Station, gonna get a ticket to ride
Gonna find that lady with two or three kids and sit down by her side
Ride 'til the sun comes up and down around me 'bout two or three times
Smokin' cigarettes in the last seat
Tryin' to hide my sorrow from the people I meet
And get along with it all

Go down where the people say "y'all"
Feed the pigeons some clay
Turn the night into day
Start talkin' again
When I know what to say

Help is not a four letter word

A friend once asked me if I would write a blog post on how people can best help others who are sick. I’ve given it some thought, and probably the only way for me to answer that question is to share a few stories of those people who have helped me in ways that for me were the most significant. But let me start by saying, that any act of kindness or generosity is always appreciated, but yes, there are ways you can really be helpful to those who are undergoing any sort of life crisis.

The answer is simple. Do something. And I mean, actually, DO something. Cards and flowers are nice, and again, always appreciated, but when you’re sick, or disabled, or going through a period of grief, it’s the most mundane tasks that become overwhelming and when someone lends a hand, it goes a lot further than just a phone call to check in with them and ask how they are doing.

Also, know this: most people who need help are hesitant to ask for it. Nobody wants to feel like they are a burden to their friends and family, and we still have our pride. So just because someone says they don’t need help, doesn’t mean it’s necessarily true. And sometimes, we don’t realize how much help we really do need. And often times, it pains us to admit it.

I remember once this past fall, when I was in so much pain, I could barely get off the couch. In fact, that’s how I spent the majority of this particular day - on the couch. I had a few friends who visited that day, and we chatted a bit, shared some stories, and passed the time enjoying one another’s company. I had some dirty dishes piled up in the sink, and since I am usually very fastidious in keeping a tidy house, I was somewhat embarrassed about the dishes; however, I was in no shape to get up and wash them. Eventually, they left. Just a couple hours later, another friend showed up. She drove here from Alabama, and came to visit for the night. After we sat and talked for awhile, she wandered into the kitchen and asked if I would like for her to wash the dishes. Of course I said, no, I would get to them maybe tomorrow or the next day. She came back to the living room, and we picked up our conversation. A little while later, she’s up and back in the kitchen. I hear the rattling of pots and pans, and I ask her what she’s doing in there. She responds, “I’m washing your dishes! I will be back in a minute.” Y’all, I got tears in my eyes. She knew I was too weak and too tired to fool with them, and she knew they needed to be cleaned. So she just did it. Even against my protest.

Also, for the last year, I have not had to mow my yard, not a single time. My dad, my mother, my uncle, another good friend of mine, and once, even my neighbor, have done it for me. And not once, did I ever have to ask them to. They knew it needed to be done, and they knew I could not do it myself, so they took it upon themselves to step in and get the job done.

There is another lady, whom, if I have met her, it was only briefly. But, she knows my dad, and sees him often at the marina, and he shares stories about me. Over the last year or so, that woman has stocked my freezer with homemade soups, quiche, and other goodies. Pre-cooked, all I have to do is thaw and reheat when I’m hungry. I have a cousin who has done the same for me. And you can’t even know how many times in the last year and a half, that I have been too sick to cook my own dinner. If it weren’t for this lady, my cousin, and my mother cooking for me, I may have very well starved to death; or at the very least, been even more malnourished than I probably already am.

And the same friend who has mowed my grass a few times, is also the same one who at one time came over and cleaned out my refrigerator when it was becoming cluttered and disorganized from too many leftovers. She also bathed my dogs for me. Trust me when I say, I hold this person in very high regard among my friends. She has done way more for me than most people I know, and does so without any thought of thanks. The gratitude I feel for her is immeasurable.

Now, granted, there are no two people on earth that I feel I owe more thanks to than my mom and dad. Their love, their support, and the things they have done for me, go so far above and beyond that nobody could even come close to matching that level of love and devotion. But, then again, they are my parents, and of course nobody else could ever compare.

Another person who deserves mention, is my ex-husband. Not long before I was diagnosed, we had reached a point in our relationship, while tenuous in the past, where we could once again be on friendly terms. And after my diagnosis, he went above and beyond to help me in any way he could. This past fall, when I was undergoing both radiation and chemo, and was so sick I felt close to death, and pretty much didn’t leave the house except for treatment, he made a point to come stay with me at least once a week. There may have been a few exceptions, but for the most part, he was there every week on his off day from work. He cooked dinner, or brought food, he fed the dogs, he listened to me complain, he ran errands for me, and pretty much anything I needed, he made an effort to provide it. And during this last bout of chemotherapy, which has been beyond hellish, he has been one of the very few people, (outside of my parents) who have actually been here while I was sick. Sometimes, the only thing you need when you’re that sick is just for someone to be there. Maybe they just sit and watch you sleep, or hold your hand when you’re crying from the pain, or hold your hair while you puke your guts out. But there’s only a tiny handful of people that have done that for me. And to those few, I will be forever thankful.

So there you go. Be there. Do things. Offer to get groceries, mow their yard, cook them dinner, wash their dishes, sweep their floors, feed their pets, run errands, fix clogged drains - anything that needs to be done. Just because someone is ill or otherwise compromised, the world doesn’t stop spinning, and they have chores and errands just like anyone else; the difference is they have a diminished capability for getting those things done. And when they say they don’t need help, help them anyway. They will remember your kindness, and they will be grateful.

Ramblings of a cranky old woman

I need to find my passion in life again. I feel like I’m losing it. So often these days I just feel plain tired. Tired of fighting this battle. Tired of gaining weight, then losing weight, then gaining weight, then losing some more. I have nightmares. Sleep is hard for me. I often stay up almost all night, then sleep half the day. I can’t get on a regular schedule. I have too many pills to name. I simultaneously can’t wait to go back to work, and scared witless about starting a new career. There aren’t enough hours in the day, and my to do list never ends. My back and shoulders are a maze of knots, stretched tight, like strings on a violin. I cry at random moments throughout the day. I stay anxious and wound up, feeling like I’m in a race I have to win.

So some nights I take a bubble bath. I may have one tonight. Lord knows I could use one. And a massage. I just had a professional massage not that long ago, but if there’s one thing I could probably never get enough of, it’s a good massage. I’m pretty sure that’s my idea of heaven, an endless eternity of massages. Or sometimes, I smoke a little of God’s miracle drug, marijuana. I may do that tonight too. It helps. And sometimes the best therapy is to talk to a good friend. Maybe my mother, or a relative, or one of my girlfriends. Laughter really can be the best medicine, but so can too a silent ear. Or a hand to hold.

Last night I was having terrible nightmares. It was the kind that as I dreamt, I knew I was dreaming but couldn’t wake from. When I did finally awake, I called out for my momma. She came and laid in the bed with me. And everything was okay again. That’s just what momma’s do I guess. Right now I am sitting on my screened-in porch, and trying to let the sounds of nature work it’s magic. It’s kind of sad knowing that it takes effort to relax. But that’s how I feel most days - that true relaxation is a thing of the past.

I died my hair blue. Well, parts of it anyway. And for some reason, that made me feel a little better about life. Something to control. Something fun and different. Or maybe I’m also just a little tired of hearing how lucky I am that I didn’t lose my hair in chemo, which seems so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. I feel like I’ve lost so much already, what’s a little hair to boot? But, I guess I should be thankful, and truthfully I guess I am. So maybe I added a little color in honor of those who weren’t as lucky. Is it a coincidence that blue is the color of colon cancer awareness? Perhaps not.

It’s been a long year and a half. I wish I could be more optimistic, and offer up something inspiring and thoughtful. But not this night. This night is for me. You want the truth? The truth is, I’ve been to hell and back and it’s been no easy journey. And while I have loved ones who may encourage me along the way, ultimately it’s my path to walk alone. So I take inspiration where I can, gain strength and wisdom along the way, but sometimes I just have to let it out. And just breathe.

Tomorrow is a new day.

They Say

They say that adversity doesn’t build character, it reveals it. They also say things like 'when life hands you lemons, make lemonade’ or ‘when times get tough, the tough get going’. They say a lot. And to be perfectly honest, they for the most part have no idea what they are talking about. Life is not a cliche. It’s hard, is what it is. When you think about it, most of our lives are spent in an endless cycle of shit to deal with it, sprinkled intermittently with happy moments that help get us through the bad times. I mean right now at this moment, I can sit here, and thinking of people I know, count among them ones who are going through a divorce, a bad breakup, a sick child, unemployment, their own ill health, family drama, and financial struggles. And that’s just off the top of my head. I, myself, am currently dealing with a broken down car that needs a new transmission. So what gets us through this parade of broken cars and broken marriages? Is it faith in a higher power? Inner strength? The will to live? Lemonade? Or is it perhaps a combination of these things? I truly do not know. Because when you put pen to paper, life sometimes seems like a hard row to hoe.

But we do. We overcome. We keep on keepin’ on until the wheels fall off. Since my diagnosis, I’ve had many people tell me that I’m a strong person for handling this load. I don’t know, maybe I am. Maybe some people just throw in the towel and give up. Or maybe I’m really not that exceptional at all. Given the same circumstance, I tend to think most people wouldn’t do things much differently than I have.

Someone I know very recently passed away from breast cancer. It affected me in ways that other deaths have not. We were not particularly close; I just knew her from around, as often happens in small towns. She and I had some of our radiation/chemo treatments during the same time this past fall, and got to know one another a little better. The thing I remember most was her unending positivity. Even after the cancer spread to her other breast, she remained steadfast in her faith. The last time I saw her was at the grocery store where she worked. We talked for a few minutes, she hugged me, and said, “We will get through this.” That was just a few short weeks ago. Her death seemed so sudden. She was hospitalized due to complications, and then that was it. She was gone. I am still struggling with why. To say that it was unfair, seems trivial and meaningless. Of course it’s not fair. If life were fair, good guys would always win the girl, and mean people would be the ones who lose in life. So really even asking why is pointless and gets you nowhere.

So again. What gets us through? I am not a particularly religious person per se, but I am deeply spiritual. I talk to God, and I pray. I also talk to my dogs. And my cat. And my parents. And my friends. I guess perhaps this is what gets me through the hard times. But the truth is, I am content. Probably more so now than I ever have been. I have no job, a busted car, and my health is somewhat uncertain. But as I sit here in this moment, laptop in front of me, under soft lamplight, with the windows open so I can hear the sound of rain and thunder, the dogs and Kitty Von Mouser sleeping, sharing my story, I am at peace. I have made my peace with life, and death, and the ups and downs in between. And I hope that no matter where life takes me, or throughout the inevitable pitfalls that are sure to come my way, that I am able to maintain this sense of peace and contentment. And remain just as steadfast in my will to overcome and persevere; doing what I love with the people I love. In the end, we all perish. But our spirit can live on. As they say, life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.

A Walk Down Memory Lane

I went to Birmingham, AL this past weekend, and met up with some friends who live in the area. I lived in Birmingham for about seven years and it was great being back. We took a nostalgic walk through the Five Points area in Southside, seeing what has changed and the places that are still the same. I had forgotten how beautiful the architecture is. Most of the buildings; apartments, houses, stores, churches, are very old, and I love their charm. One of our friends we stayed with lives in an official “historical home” and it's quite lovely. Among the things I do not miss are the occasional wafts of some terrible smell that sneaks out of nowhere and attacks your nasal passages and the never-ending traffic. But bigger cities do have their perks - an abundance of shoppes, boutiques, restaurants, and availability of a variety of beers, groceries that are not often found in small towns, and unique bars and other watering holes. And in my humble opinion, Southside is the best area in Birmingham. It’s a great mix of college students, artists, and other interesting folks. And a few bums too. 

I moved back to my hometown in February 2007, and have only made a handful of trips to B’ham since my departure. I don’t think I so much left Birmingham, but more accurate to say I ran like hell. When I first left my little hometown, I was 20 years old and had moved to Florence, AL to attend The University of North Alabama (UNA). I left with my middle finger in the air with no intentions of ever returning on a permanent basis. It wasn’t bad growing up here, but I had bigger plans in life, and felt suffocated by the smallness. Everybody knows everyone and also “their business”. So off I went to face the world on my own. I’m a firm believer that everyone should leave their hometown at least once in life, whether to return or not, but getting out and seeing other parts of the world gives us a better perspective on things I think. I don’t know if I have ever heard anyone who regretted leaving. 

After a year in Florence, I packed my bags and headed West, where I worked in the gift shop in Yellowstone National Park for possibly the best 5 - 6 months I’ve ever spent anywhere. After leaving Yellowstone, I was eager to finish college and get my degree. So I did. Which is how I ended up in Birmingham; as a student at UAB. My boyfriend, who I would later marry, and I shared an apartment. I worked and went to school, and life was good. In May of 2003, we tied the knot. We had also moved to our second apartment, just a few blocks from the first one. Not long after we were married, I severed my achilles tendon (that’s another story for another time) and spent the next several months in a cast followed by physical therapy. That was probably the beginning of the downhill slide. In 2005, my husband was diagnosed with Cor triatriatum. A congenital heart defect, it is extremely rare and results in the heart being divided into five chambers instead of four, due to a membrane separating either the left or right atrium. He had open heart surgery to correct it. My time was divided into working in the graphics department at Infinity Insurance during the day, and playing nurse in the evenings. It was exhausting, both physically and mentally. The surgery was successful, but my husband went through a long period of severe depression. He spent most of the next year wearing a bathrobe. He became increasingly moody and I became increasingly more fatigued. 

In January 2006, our Boxer, Punchinella was born and she came to live with us when she was six weeks old. She was (and still is) my baby. My marriage was already in trouble by that point, but she brought a new joy to our home, and for awhile I thought we might make it. We went through couple’s therapy with a counselor, and it helped a little, but after the counseling was over, we soon fell back into our old patterns. The arguments were increasing in frequency and intensity. At one time, my husband had a successful landscaping business, but after the heart surgery, the business suffered as well. So for awhile I was the breadwinner in the family. Then, in September of 2006, I lost my job as well. Adding fuel to the fire was a dispute between us and our landlord, a liar and crook, which resulted in a court case. The dream was over. What had started as a beautiful adventure, filled with hope and ambition, had turned to bitter feelings, resentment, hurt and anger. 

It was my husband’s idea to move back to my hometown. He had visited home with me, and to him, it was a quaint and charming town, sort of "Mayberryesque". So once again, I packed my bags, only this time I was coming home. The town I once vowed never to live in again, I now returned to, quite anxious to leave Birmingham and the terrible series of events that had tainted my feelings for the city. All of a sudden, that small town that I had escaped nine years before, didn’t seem like such a horrible place after all. I have friends and family here, and I’ve enjoyed living here again for the past 8 years. I can’t say that I won’t leave again, but if I do, I know I will always have a place to come home to, when the world outside gets a little too overwhelming.