A month of Mondays

It’s been exactly one month since my last blog post. Stop yelling at me. I’ve been preoccupied. Just kidding. I doubt anyone lost any sleep over it. So what have I been up to? Well, let’s see. First of all, I DID drink that bottle of champagne with a few of my best friends. One year ago (yesterday) I was released from my stint in prison (also known as the hospital) where I was recovering from surgery. After twenty long days I was finally sent home, completely exhausted and anorexic. Now here I sit, a year later, over twenty pounds heavier and feeling just fine. Ah, the difference a year can make.

I’ve been working on a couple of career ideas I have, and still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. More importantly, I’ve been taking some time out for me to reflect, relax and rethink a few things. This was on the advice of my psychologist, who suggested I ease up on the self-imposed to do lists I create for myself and just enjoy this time off. After our session, I went three days without changing clothes. It was nice. But three days is enough of that.

To be honest, I’ve had a lot on my mind during the last month or so. After my last post, a friend of mine made the following comment:

A fact of life that I've accepted: HOPE is a wicked bitch. It's fine to know her, go shoe shopping with her, even have a drink with her occasionally but it's never a good idea to let her live in your house. I'm not suggesting that you give up hope (definitely don't), just keep her where she belongs. 

This is so true. And it’s something most people just don’t understand. Yes, I feel fine. Yes, I look healthy. And yes, it is possible that all of the cancer that took over my body and tried to kill me has been eradicated; never to return. It is also possible that there is still cancer there and it will still have to be dealt with, most likely with another round of high dose chemotherapy. I won’t know until at least April when they run more tests, if even then. Now what most people will say is to look at it from a positive point of view. Hey, might as well assume it’s gone and get back to living a normal life and move on until I find out differently. It makes sense. I mean why worry about something you have no control over anyway, right? And there is truth and wisdom to that. Worrying is only good for acquiring dark under eye circles and gray hair. Here’s the flip side to that. As my insightful friend pointed out hope is a good thing. Hope is what keeps us going on the bad days that we all have. We know (or hope) that no matter what is going on in our lives that things WILL be better. This too shall pass. BUT, as she also very eloquently pointed out, and something I know from first hand experience, is what it’s like to get your hopes up only to be disappointed by reality. It’s soul crushingly devastating. Which is why in a position like mine, you have to ride this fine line between not worrying and assuming the worst, and yet mentally preparing for what may in fact be coming down the road and however bad it may be. It’s mental survival. But it’s not easy. I go about my days, doing my best to enjoy the moments and create happiness where I can. I make vacation plans and plug away at different career interests so I can get back to work (and get paid) at some point. But there are times, when amidst the planning when I have to consider the possibility that if I have to do more chemo, then all my plans may go flying right out the window.

And survivor’s guilt. Oh, it’s real. Anyone with cancer wants to be cured. And no, I shouldn’t feel bad for feeling good. But if I do make it, then what about the ones who don’t? How is that fair? I’m certainly not special. But that’s life, and it’s not fair. It doesn’t have any rhyme or reason sometime. Bad things happen to good people, blah, blah, blah. You know. Still, it’s this kind of shit that will keep a person up at night. So, back to just enjoying the moment while it’s here. It’s honestly all you can really do. 

But let me tell you some good news. I have finally figured out how to tune my guitar. Turns out, there’s an app for that! Imagine that.... I am working on learning a few chords and maybe this time next year I will be able to play an actual song. I have made a teensy bit of progress on my book. Only teensy; however, now I’m caught up on a few other things I’ve had going, so should have more time now to devote to writing. I’m taking online real estate classes. I’ve been interested in the field since the company I worked for went belly up. I like the idea of not being tied to a desk and the flexible schedule it would allow. I’m also researching other career ideas and the idea of possibly going back to school if need be, perhaps something in the field of oncology. It seems appropriate. And I plan to start submitting writing samples to various publications in hopes of  finding a niche in the world of writing. 

I’ve been doing yoga more often these days. Always take time to stretch. Trust me. You will feel so much better for it. I’ve been looking into alternative cancer cures. I now incorporate turmeric and selenium and other antioxidants into my diet when I can, and have just recently purchased some CBD oil. I haven’t tried it yet, but I’m going to give it a shot. Oh, and I have been dating someone. We’ve been friends for forever, but only in the last few months has it moved into another category. I will blame him for some of my preoccupation and therefore lack of blog posts. But it’s been a good preoccupation. Today is his birthday. So, if you’re reading this, happy birthday!!! And if you’re not, you should be. 

I keep busy. For someone who doesn’t have a “real” job, I don't have a lot of free time. But for me, that’s a good thing. I only have one tattoo - the Libra scales. Life is about balance. And I can tell when my scales get tipped too far in any one direction; I start feeling out of sorts, and I have to shift it back the other way. That’s all I’m really doing at the moment. A delicate balancing act between work and play, family and friends, knowledge and wisdom, hope and reality. And I will continue writing. Even if I don’t get a post up every week, I will stay in touch. I know that whether I do or don't is not life altering for anyone. And there are days when I don’t, for whatever reason, most especially when I don’t feel I have anything worth sharing, like today, really. However, since I have started this blog, there have been a handful of people who have reached out to me and thanked me for writing these stories. Somehow it resonates with them, for some, it’s with their own battle with cancer or illness or any other of life’s struggles. And that gives me reason. 

So, until next time, remember: “You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.” 

Salut!

I bought a bottle of champagne several months ago while I was visiting friends in Birmingham, AL. It’s a nice rose champagne. I bought it with one intention; to open it the day my doctors tell me I am cancer free. It’s still sitting here. Unopened.

I met with my oncologist a couple of days ago. The two liver ablation procedures I had done were successful. There are no more spots on my liver. Everything looks good there. It’s the spots on my lungs that are cause for concern. The problem is, based on the latest PET/CT scan I had done, it would appear I have developed new spots. But maybe not. It may be that the previous CT scan didn’t catch them all. The other problem is they are too small to biopsy. To put it in laymen terms, they are baffled about what to do about it or what exactly they are. They are not growing or shrinking as would be expected for typical metastatic cancerous lesions. But then again, it seems there’s a high probability that’s exactly what they are. One option is to undergo another round of chemo and see how they react. Another option is to do nothing and wait to see if they present themselves in such a way that we know for sure what they are. The risk is of course that it could spread. My oncologist was very clear, however, that even if they do multiply or enlarge, the chemo treatment would do it’s job and eradicate all of it, whether it’s five spots or fifty. That’s assuming of course, they respond to the chemo. It seems they have not responded to the chemo or tumor starving drugs I was on previously. Based on whatever information she had, she determined there were certain drugs we could rule out. Which according to her is one of those double edged swords - on the one hand, it’s good to know that because it saves us from wasting time on drugs that aren’t going to work. The bad news is that it eliminates half the drugs available to me.

I can honestly say the last thing on earth I want to do is endure more chemo. In fact, I’m not entirely sure I can. I was pretty sure the last bout would kill me. And I am only now getting to the point where I feel good on a regular basis, physically speaking anyway, and not looking like I have one foot in the grave. The idea of being that sick again, and losing all the progress I have made, makes me want to sit in a corner and cry my eyes out. For days. I have chosen the let’s wait and see option. My oncologist is presenting my case at the next council meeting among other oncologists and surgeons to get their opinions, in the meantime, I am praying.

God does speak to me at times. Sunday night, knowing I had a week full of doctor appointments, I prayed and asked God for clarity and healing and as always, for help. And he answered. In the form of television, no less, starting with a marathon of Bear Grylls talking about survival in the wild, and a movie called The Martian. Good movie, by the way, if you haven’t seen it, and the entire theme of the movie is survival. Imagine that. And it all started to click. And while that might not sound like a divine message from heaven, you have to understand my mindset.

When I was first diagnosed, I could see an end in the future. I could foresee a day when all of this would be behind me, nothing but a memory. As hard as it was, I knew if I could just grit my teeth and deal with the pain, I could get through it. That thought kept me going on the really hard days, through radiation, and surgery, and chemo - through all of it. I thought one day, this would all be over. The kick in the stomach is that I’m not sure that’s the case anymore. Actually, I’m not sure that was necessarily ever the case; I just refused to believe it. My oncologist, God love her, has been dropping subtle hints for awhile now, using terms like “incurable” and phrases such as “this doesn’t change the prognosis” and “maintenance drugs”. But as we’ve already established, the mind is willfully stubborn at times. And so am I.

It’s as if I am just now grasping a new truth. That bottle may forever remain unopened. I’m not saying the cancer will eventually kill me. Granted, it’s true that it might. But I am gradually coming to a new realization, that there may very well be no “end". This is my new life. And as long as I’m living, I will have to fight for it. Which brings me to my new modus operandi: surviving. I have been in survival mode for so long now, I’m not sure I remember how to not be. And just when I start to think I may have this disease whipped, I get another dose of not-so-fast-my-dear. I met with a psychologist for the first time this past week as well. Of the hour long session, I would say I cried for about fifty minutes of it. It felt good. I’m seeing her again next week. And probably the week after if I have my way. In many ways I feel like I’m in limbo land. And in many ways I am. But I’m trying to survive another day, and hopefully for many more days after that. That’s the message I think God was sending me. It's not about beating cancer, but surviving it, every single day, for the rest of my life.  

So I have a new plan. I will be opening that bottle of champagne on January 26, 2016 on the one year anniversary of my surgery. It seems like as good a time as any. I may not have yet won the war, but I will celebrate all of the battles I can claim victory over. And there are many.

Sincerely,
Jennifer Dees Whitten
Cancer Survivor

The Gift

What you say can and will be used against you. Make no mistake about that. A couple of perfect examples that come to mind involve this very blog. A couple posts ago I mentioned that I was having some concerns about someone being an irresponsible parent. Someone I know assumed the post was about them. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. It doesn’t matter. Example two is last edition, I talked about some of my OCDness. A friend of mine has now used the word neurotic at least three or four times since then when talking about me; something they didn’t do previous to my post. But you know what, that’s okay too. As a writer, I know that there are consequences to anything I publish. Whether it’s hurt feelings, or pissing someone off, or exposing myself for the world to see; it can make you vulnerable. That’s the risk. It’s also the main reason I have yet to write the book I’ve always wanted to. But it’s coming. As a matter of fact, I have already started it. And my new year’s resolution is to finish it in 2016. And if anything I have said in my blog has perhaps offended your senses, or you think “wow, that girl has issues” then you really should read the book. I haven’t even scratched the surface yet. The truth shall set you free. It also may alienate certain folks who would rather you didn’t speak it so freely. But that is what a good writer does. Or at least the authors I’m interested in reading, and therefore is my goal to do the same. Consequences be damned.

Each moment we have is so brief. Every second of our lives spent, is another second of our past. Gone, forever. These collections of moments are what we call memories. And while you’ve heard a million times in a million ways, you still don’t understand. We forget that every single moment counts. Not because you may get hit by a bus on the way home and never get to tell your wife you're sorry for the argument you had before work, but because that minute you spent arguing is now a recorded moment of your past, a time past that you will never ever have again. And those precious minutes now influence your recollection of the past and the feelings associated with it, whether it’s guilt or pain or joy.

I was really looking forward to the TV movie “Coat of Many Colors”. I missed it the first time, and had plans to watch it Christmas night on the rebroadcast. However, a couple of friends I know wanted to get together and drink and be merry. I knew I couldn’t do both. As much as I wanted to watch my show, I couldn’t pass up the chance to spend time with my friends. The show was the story of Dolly Parton’s life or at least a portion of it, but this time now, this is my life. And I want to make my moments count. I would rather fill it with memories of laughter shared among those I love, than countless hours spent watching someone’s else life on screen.

So remember that the next time your best friend calls and you don’t pick up the phone because you’re in the middle of cooking dinner. Remember it when your husband comes home from work, stressed about a hectic day, and you are tempted to tune him out. Or when you’re driving home from the grocery store, on the same road you drive everyday, no longer mindful of the trees. Or when you just can’t bear to swallow your pride and say you are sorry. I think if I could leave you one thing, one thought, this would be it. But you probably won’t listen anyway. I mentioned in one of my earlier blog posts about reading an article regarding Melissa Etheridge and Sheryl Crow and their respective battles with cancer and how they referred to cancer as a “gift”. I know now what that gift is. The price for that knowledge and the wisdom gained is rather steep, and comes at an incredibly painful price, but I think in the end it’s worth it. It’s value is immeasurable.

A day late and a dollar short

I worry a lot. I will overthink every situation that comes my way. As an example, if I think I have said something that may have offended one of my good friends, I will stress about it for hours, days, even weeks maybe. Then, the next time I talk to my friend, I will bring it up, only to find out they have no idea what I’m talking about. Part of my “life after cancer” is to learn how not to worry quite so much, since I’m convinced that over worrying may have led to this whole situation to begin with. My dad doesn’t worry about many things at all. My mother usually worries double for him. I obviously inherited it from her side of the family.

I’ve decided it must be a control thing. I worry about the things I cannot control. I can be somewhat of a perfectionist, and no, it’s not a good thing all the time. It serves its purpose when it comes to certain tasks. But it carries over into other aspects of my life where it has no real purpose, and becomes more of a hindrance than an attribute. My friends are aware of my neuroticisms. They love me anyway. It’s not that I’m bossy, it’s more like, I know what needs to be done, and how, and I know it will be done right. In fact, I’m reciting the serenity prayer right now, in an effort to let it all go. Because, guess what... I’m again worrying about something that is beyond my control and I know it. At least I can now recognize the signs. They say acknowledgement is the first step to recovery.
I’m working on it. Sometimes it sneaks up on me though, and I find myself fretting over something I can’t really do much about, like earlier today. Part of my conscious effort is to try to imagine the worse case scenario and how it might play out. It seems to be helping. So far, no worlds have exploded regardless of the outcome. But old habits die hard.

I cry more these days than I recall ever having done in my past adult life. I laugh a lot harder when I laugh though too, I think. I embrace them both. Hell, just yesterday, I started crying in my doctor’s office while talking about my pain. Not like snotty nose, boo-hooing, but more like as-I’m-talking-tears-start-coming-and-I-can’t-seem-to-stop-them kind of way, with no apparent reason. And just a minute ago I busted out laughing rather loudly while sitting in the hospital waiting room and didn’t care. I’m just more emotional these days, and it doesn’t take much to set me off one way or the other. I can cry and laugh within the same thirty minute time frame, and often do. And just because I’m crying (or laughing) doesn’t mean I’m sad (or happy). But more like, I seem to feel every emotion I go through in a day’s time more deeply, and I don’t consider that a negative. I guess it’s all a part of Jennifer’s home therapy. Because a portion of that therapy is embracing who I am. The core of me. The good, the bad and the slightly neurotic. And being more aware of each moment as it’s happening. It’s never too late to change the parts of you that need improving. It’s also never too late to accept who you are fundamentally and embrace those quirks that make you so damn, well, you. 

Suck It Up, Buttercup

The Lord works in mysterious ways. The universe has a twisted sense of humor. Life has a funny way of working out. Pick whichever one you like. But I’m telling ya, it’s true.

Yesterday was a fairly shitty day. I woke up with a slight hangover from too much celebrating the night before. It was my friend’s birthday, and my motto has always been, go big or go home. Hangover aside, I was just downright depressed and have no real reason why. I take medication for this so you would think that wouldn’t be a problem. Maybe it was that shot of Fireball. Whatever the reason, I woke up feeling sad and blue, and more than a little aggravated. The object of my aggravation was a friend of mine and his um, how shall I say, baby momma drama? And of course, not one to just let things go, I had to have a discussion about it. And guess what, this discussion did absolutely nothing to make me feel better. Instead I felt even worse.

I go the grocery store, still agitated from my conversation. As I’m walking down the aisle, I feel tears threatening to spill. And who the hell wants to start crying while picking out cereal? That’s just awkward. So I suck it up like a big girl (a big, sad, almost crying in the store, girl), get my purchases and drive home. As I’m driving it occurs to me that my frustration goes beyond whether or not the mother of my friend’s child is fit to take care of a small person. And what I’m about to say is probably going to sound horrible, but here it is anyway. I was upset that she was allowed by nature to have a child, and is perhaps one of the most irresponsible people I know, and yet God saw it fitting to make sure I will never have a child of my own. There I said it. I was angry at life’s unfairness. Now I realize that I was once married and had reproductive capabilities for many years. However, in my defense, I was in my mid-twenties when I got married and raising future adults was not high on my agenda. I was pursuing more career oriented goals. By the time the notion of having kids even registered on my radar, my marriage was already on a downward spiral. Having seen firsthand what having children can do to an already unstable marriage, I opted out. I still think it was the right decision. However, this didn’t make it any more comforting when the doctors told me I needed to have a hysterectomy in addition to my colon resection. The radiation had fried my ovaries, there was a better than average chance the cancer had already spread to my female organs, and if it hadn’t yet, it surely would and I would only be prolonging the inevitable and another risky surgery down the road, combined with the fact that it was a threat to my very life by not having them removed, I mean, what damn choice was there... Exactly. There wasn’t one. And having your choice to reproduce taken from you will wreak all kinds of emotional havoc.

And it wasn’t just for my sake I was upset. I thought about my parents and how they would forever be denied a grandchild to love and spoil. So that was my emotional crisis yesterday. But, as fate would have it, a three year old child spent the night with me last night. And she got sick - as in vomiting on my bed and on herself sick. And not just once, but multiple times throughout the night. Which, of course, meant I got no sleep either. If she was up, I was up. And maybe this was my reminder that having children is not always sunshine and rainbows. And maybe for reasons unknown to me right now, there is a perfectly good explanation, to be revealed much later, as to why I am childless. I like to think so.

Oh, and remember last week when I volunteered at the Help Center and questioned whether or not I was doing anything worthwhile? Well, that question was answered today too. One of the volunteers had to leave early and we got crazy busy shortly after they left. At one point, I was running around so feverishly I was starting to sweat. And a small thought came to me. Had I not been there, there would only have been one person back there working in that area, and that poor person would be completely swamped. And whether or not I made a direct impact on any one person’s life, somebody had to be there to bag up clothes, so it might as well be me. So there. A lot can change in one week, most especially your perspective. So remember that the next time you’re having your own emotional crisis. Nothing lasts forever. (Even Cold November Rain) Until then, suck it up, and keep on doing your thing.

Not Forgotten

I had a great holiday week, but I have to be honest and admit that I’m glad it’s over, only because I am exhausted from the going and doing that accompanies it. I got to see a few friends that I rarely get to spend time with, including my high school best friend that I haven’t seen in about seventeen years, and that was beyond wonderful. However, catching up with friends, spending time with family, and good times abounding can wear you out. To start the new week, I went to Florence, AL today and donated my time working at the Help Center. It’s part of my pay it forward mentality I’ve adopted these days. Plus, I feel like for every charitable deed I do, maybe I can atone for past sins.

Typically, after a bout of good-deed-doing, I get a warm, fuzzy feeling all over. Today, I did not. Maybe it was the cold, rainy weather, or perhaps fatigue from the recent week’s activities, but as I drove home after my volunteer shift, I couldn’t help but feel rather melancholy. Perhaps it was knowing that I really didn’t do anything special and that for most of the people that came in today, their problems are much larger than anything I can fix. They leave with groceries and possibly a couple bags of clothes, but not much else. There were stories of those who can’t find work, or a house that recently burnt, or bad health that leaves them unable to keep a steady job. A brown paper bag full of canned food isn’t going to fix that.

Or maybe my depressing mood was because today only served as a reminder that life isn’t easy, and the solutions to everyday problems are often more complicated than anything that can be fixed in one day. Or sometimes even, in one year. This past Thanksgiving, as I was be-bopping up my cousin’s walkway, arms full with a casserole, tea and a few bottles of wine, it occurred to me that the Thanksgiving prior to this one, was a much different story. I wasn’t carrying wine or a casserole. As a matter of fact, I had to have help just getting out of the car. I can remember pulling into the driveway, popping a pain pill, and waiting for the wave to pass before attempting to get of the passenger seat. And throughout dinner, I barely moved. At times it’s easy to forget that. It’s easy to forget how bad things were, during a period in life when things seem better. But I do not want to forget. Ever.

As I stood at the counter of a gas station this afternoon, waiting on my friend to finish pumping gas so we could pay for it, an older gentlemen turned to me and said (as I stood staring out the window) that I had a faraway look fitting for a rainy day. I smiled at him, and he smiled back. Then, as he was walking out the door, he turned around and smiled at me again. There was something about that smile. It was one of those knowing smiles. A smile that says, “I understand.” “I’ve been there before.” The truth is, we all have been there at one time or another. The trick is to not forget it. When we lose ourselves in the commonality of everyday living, it becomes easy to take these moments for granted. It’s only when we make a conscious effort to remember the pain from our past, that we can embrace our present and make purposeful our future.

Turkey Day Tribute

Okay, so I guess I should apologize for not posting anything in two weeks. In my defense, since the last we met, I’ve been to Colorado and back, had another spot on my liver burnt off, and walked up and down Beale Street listening to some blues. I mean, who has time for writing amongst all that?

Quick thing on Colorado: I freaking loved it!!!! And for one main reason, and that reason, is marijuana is completely legal there. Now, granted you have to be 21 to purchase it, and you can’t just light it up in the middle of a restaurant, but they do have smoke bars and pot friendly areas. And of course, in your own home, you can do whatever you want with it. The hotel we stayed in had a smoking area, which was awesome. I met two different couples there, a young couple from Florida and an older couple from Pennsylvania, who were there for the same reasons; to smoke weed without worrying about cops busting down your door. To be honest, I’ve never understood why it’s not legal everywhere.

But that’s another post for another day. Maybe next week. This week I want to focus on the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday. It’s a day dedicated to giving thanks for our blessings. Granted, we should do this every single day, but most of us don’t. We forget. We wake up in a hurry to get dressed for work, spend hours responding to texts, calls and emails, get our jobs done, then rush back home for dinner, laundry, and late night television. Then we get up and do it all over again. Except Saturdays. And on Saturdays, in the fall, in the South, we drink beer and watch football. But at Thanksgiving, we gather around the table with our families, and take a minute to appreciate one another before digging into the turkey and dressing, and then promptly fall into a food coma. I have to be honest, one of my favorite things about Thanksgiving are the leftovers. Casseroles just seem to taste better the second time.

I try to remember these days to include a moment of thanks in my daily routine. Not that I have a daily routine anymore. I just commented to a friend today that every day is Saturday for me, but without the beer and football. That’s what happens when you haven’t had a real job in over a year. But I do try to stop and say a prayer at the end of each day thanking God for the blessings in my life, even though I too, sometimes forget. But I have so much to be thankful for. Being alive is quite obviously at the top of that list. My parents being a close second. And my girlfriends, well, I can’t imagine my life without them. But I’m honestly thankful for all the wonderful people in my life. I’m thankful for you all, who are reading this post right now, for supporting me on this journey. I am thankful for every single person who has helped me in any way throughout the last year and a half. Sometimes I catch myself feeling a bit guilty at all of the kindness that has been bestowed upon me. Who am I to deserve it? I have tried in earnest to pay it forward as much as I can by doing things for others in need. And I have no doubt if I lived 100 more years, I would never be able to repay that debt of gratitude. But I can always try. And I will.

And I am thankful for every trial I have gone through and every lesson learned along the way. I am thankful for a second chance at life, God willing. Let’s all try a little harder to acknowledge life’s blessings each and every day, and not just on holidays or Sunday mornings. Tell the people you love, today, that you love them. And thank God for every day you wake up, because one day, you won’t.

So happy Thanksgiving to each and every one of you. May your holidays be filled with love, laughter and leftovers.