my kids are alright

I had a dream a few nights ago.

My kids were in a giant flash mob, dancing their hearts out, surrounded by dozens of other kids and adults. They were exuberant and focused, their movements fluid and in synch with those around them. My heart swelled with pride and joy.

I learned that the flash mob had been created to drum up excitement over an upcoming performance. In a couple of hours, my kids would go on stage and perform. I could tell they were ready.

Then I was handed a note. My own performance was scheduled for right after theirs. I was wholly unprepared. I hadn't even looked at my script. I was rushing off to find it when my alarm went off.

Sacha was in a play very recently. And they did organize a flash mob a week before the performance, as a form of advertisement. And Sacha performed beautifully. My heart did swell with pride.

In part, my subconscious might have been remembering the play but I choose to believe that I was also sending myself a message.

Life with metastatic breast cancer is filled with uncertainty. But no matter what happens, my kids will be fine. They are smart, talented, resourceful and resillient. They have friends and family who love them. My kids will be alright.

a wild and crazy goal

I have been overwhelmed and touched by all the donations I've collected for the Run for the Cure.

Our team, No Pink for Profit, has more than thirty members.

I'm - ahem - tickled pink.

I've raised $1,558.00, way more than I'd anticipated. And maybe all this generosity and enthusiasm have made me delirious but I've begun to wonder, "what if I could make it an even $2000.00?"

What do you think? Is it possible? Want to help?

give a neurotransmitter a BREAK, mannn.

I can't remember what it feels like to not be in physical pain.

Of course I took it for granted; it wasn't even there until I hit age 23. Now... I wake up feeling like something has hit me, an invisible moving vehicle that I happened to step in front of. The accident can't be reversed, no matter how tightly I shut my eyes and reminisce about past-me.

The only time I don't feel pain is while sleeping. This is ironic, because I have chronic nightmares- every night is an increasingly ultra-violent scenario, usually involving me being captive and trying to outrun my captors, and of course, a tortured death. The end is usually grim-- I am on the ground about to have my skull kicked in, or I am shrouded and noosed and pushed off of a parking high-rise. I mean, seriously, seriously grim. But I feel no pain, and right before the final blow, I awake.

I wake up safe and warm in my bed, in pain.

I honestly can't decide which state I prefer, awake or dreaming?

what would you prefer?

dream analysis

I had a very vivid dream last night. I had a arrived at a big hall full of people and remembered that I was there to give a speech. Then, as I approached the podium, I realized that I was completely unprepared - I had forgotten to prepare anything to say.

My stomach dropped down to my toes.

Now I have never, as far as I can recollect, forgotten to prepare for a speech or presentation. And while I am speaking at a fundraiser in Montreal in June and I am a bit nervous, I'm not really concerned that I won't be ready (not yet, anyway).

Life has been full of challenges lately and I'm feeling a little overwhelmed. Some of these have been expected and others have come at me from out of the blue (or at least that's how it's felt). And I have definitely been feeling ill-equipped to respond.

When I was a little girl, I had to play dodgeball at every recess in Grades 4 and 5. Our teachers thought it kept us out of trouble but I just remember every recess as a misery. My stress levels would be very high as the balls came at me. I'd dodge a few, catch the odd one (mostly out of sheer luck) and get walloped hard, at least once in every fifteen minute game. Getting hit didn't hurt that badly (I was more stunned and winded than actually injured) but I always welcomed the moment that the bell would ring and I could return to the safety of the classroom.

Life (I'm sure you see where I'm going with this) has been a little like playing dodgeball lately. My skills have improved but I still don't enjoy playing that particular game. I'd rather take a walk along the canal (or a nap would be good).

For the most part, things are fine around here. But I wouldn't complain if life were just a tiny bit less interesting.

Cancertainment

Ah, it has been called to my attention that I have been NPR blogchecked. Yesterday's edition of Fresh Air focused on young adults with cancer and specifically, the difficulties of obtaining healthcare in our country. Thank you Iva and Kairol for sharing your stories. Listen further:



A friend commented that "cancertainment" is perhaps taking the word-combo trend a bit to far. I might agree. What's next? Aidstastic? Hemroid-rage? Flesheatingbacteriawesome!

A word on my personal heathcare situation: I am a 24 year old unemployed student with a pre-existing life threatening disease under my belt. I'd pretty much be fucked if it were not for my mummy's fastidious savings and willingness to pay the $430/month for Cobra.

The service I get at Kaiser is atrocious, and it would be perfectly acceptable if it was free or somewhat affordable. I'd shut my mouth and gladly wait in line. But paying hundreds of dollars up the arse every month only to be ignored/referred/pushed to the side is unacceptable. I love Kairol's story about how security had to be called because she demanded an appointment at Kaiser Oakland. Hells yeah! I feel like I'm dealing with the phone company when I'm at Kaiser. But... you can't threaten to take your business elsewhere as with most companies, can you? "Oh? You don't like our service? You're overcharged? I'm sorry for your inconvenience. Go die then, see if we care."

[One thing I must commend Kaiser for that has nothing to do with the company at all: the oncology nurses are the greatest, most caring people in the world. This is the only redeeming aspect of my healthcare experience.]

Anywho. Here is a new hair update. I've dyed it blond, well, because I can. See further:



I look kind of grumpy and ill-rested, I know. I've been having terrible, TERRIBLE nightmares. The kind that make me nauseous in the morning and stay with me all day long. One in particular I still can't get over. In this dream, I have a fist-sized hole in my chest, partially covered with flaky scab skin. I am looking at it in the mirror. I start to peel off the dead skin, revealing a rotting, decaying cavern within me. There is a little bar of soap stuck inside. I am disgusted but also morbidly fascinated.

I'm thinking this image spawned from the trauma of having my port put in, as well as anxiety about my body. It still makes me uneasy thinking about it. I feel violated, I feel raped by experience.

Have you had strange nightmares about your cancer experience? Care to share one? I remember chemo gave me amazingly vivid dreams. Ironically they were happy and full of excitement... I wish I could have them back, minus the drugs.

camera obscura

Today I found the stack of photobooth pictures that used to adorn my fridge. I stared at them for a good 10 minutes, unable to recognize the constant in all of them. That hair, those good times. Whose are they? Certainly not mine. I feel like I'm staring at a dead girl. The people in these photos have gone on to do all sorts of things- some have moved away, some are having babies, some are in love now. Some are out of love. Some I see more, most I see less. I am the same. I died in September, and now I'm just waiting to be born again.
I don't recognize myself when I look in the mirror, either. Here, I am totally alien. Bald like a baby, except for blond downy hair that seems to be sprouting up everywhere. I wonder if I will be blond now. eep. I don't want to be a whole new person just yet.

For posterity's sake, here was my radiation burn last week:


It's so strange having a burn eat up your skin seemingly out of nowhere. Lamest super power ever.

Another effect of radiation? Laziness. My dreams are becoming too easily decipherable. Last night I dreamt I had a boxing match with death. He was eight feet tall and shrouded and absolutely terrifying. He then turned into a man that suspiciously resembled Ryan Seacrest. I couldn't touch him, lest I die, so I boxed with red knitted mittens on my hands. Thanks subconcious. I already knew that I like boxing and knitting and that I am still a little scared of death and definitely very scared of Ryan Seacrest.

relieved

I dreamed that I said the following to my spouse:

"I don't regret the dogs. I sometimes regret the cat. But I really, really regret the rhino."

Dreaming of Cancer

The woman asked if I dreamed about cancer. She does. She is four years younger than I am, was diagnosed with the same stage (2A--the A makes it seem so tender, like the AA in one's first bra size) about a year behind me. She had chemo only four times instead of eight, and she had reconstructive surgery that started when the mastectomy was done. She had short curly hair and said she had terrible night sweats. And she dreamt a lot about cancer.

I never have. I have recurring dreams about failing to reach someone on a telephone. There are troubles with the buttons, I can never get the right numbers punched in. I have dreamed for years about having to put something large and opaque on my eye--like a leaf or a rock. I think this comes from my unconscious being freaked out by the thought of putting contacts on my eyeballs lo these many years. I dream about France and Houston and Eastern Europe. But I never dream about cancer.

Whenever someone says they've dreamed about me, I always ask: What was I wearing? In John Sayles' movie Passion Fish, the main character, who is paraplegic after an accident, dreams of being able to use her legs. I've never asked B, who has MS, if he dreams of walking and running. He probably does. There's an anecdote in Viktor Frankl's book Man's Search For Meaning. He tells of being in Auschwitz and hearing another prisoner cry out in his sleep. He wonders which would be more painful: to let the man continue his nightmare, or to wake the man up so that he could return to reality, in an extermination camp.

I wrote down my dreams for decades. When I was packing up this summer before moving, I threw files of them away. They were boring. I didn't want to re-read them. I didn't want to re-create those images in my head, those pieces of not-reality that would crowd out memories of things I really experienced. I know that Freud called dreams the royal road to the unconscious. I know that I threw out a written record of my unconscious. But I'm tired of analyzing. I've analyzed myself to the tune of $40 and $50 and $80 an hour while sitting on couch after couch with boxes of Kleenex close at hand. Once I even got health insurance to reimburse me for an hour of re-birthing. I have many faults and most of them are the same ones I've always had. I'm lazy and undisciplined and insecure and defensive and self-conscious. Prozac and its brethren got rid of the persistent lump in my throat. And for that I am grateful. Those pills have have also scraped away at my memory and my word-retrieval functions, but that is another story.

deconstruction not required

I have been dreaming about houses again (you can read previous posts on this subject here and here).

In this latest dream, I am in the middle of moving. It's not my choice to move and I didn't choose the new house. I like my old house and my old neighbourhood and I feel quite sad to leave them behind.

The new house is not filthy or scary or rundown, just unfamiliar and not what I have chosen for myself.

In the dream, I am trying to make the best of it, figure out how to set up this new home so that I feel safe, comfortable and happy.

I think I'm feeling a bit at loose ends this days.

"Order + No Order = Still No Order"

I woke up still sobbing from my dream. In the dream I was playing a simple game of softball with friends----Henry, people from CCHS (Colleen, Hayne, Jan), some other professors types, friends from college. They were playing kind of half-assed. I wasn't sure what my position was, or when it was my turn to pitch because people were just moving around. When I asked some people if they knew what they were supposed to do, they said yes and told me what their job was. Others said, who cares? We're just having fun. I got fed up and started shouting, "You can't have it like this! You kinda have order but don't. Order plus no order is still no order! It's mathematical!" And I ran from the game.

I stood on top of a hill overlooking water. I saw my friend Mae talking with some others: my cousin Teresa whom I hadn't seen in a while, people from grad school. She saw me, but I didn't want to see her. I just started crying into my hands, feeling excluded and alone. Mae started walking toward me, and that's when I woke up sobbing, with my shirt soaked through with sweat.

In real life on Friday, I called my friend Mae but she wasn't there, so I called Irene. I told her how useless I've been feeling lately. I have several projects that I'm in the middle of and trying to finish, but during the day I just feel like sleeping. I haven't been sleeping much during the night (except for now, because doc gave me some pills), so during the day, I'm pretty mopey and tired. Irene said it must be hard for a Type A gal like myself to come to terms with the huge potential that for a chunk of time, I have to chill out and rest. I'm the ultimate multitasker and juggle all sorts of stuff. Plus, I take care of my family, so to have to accept someone having to take care of me is a huge challenge.

The dream is an obvious one in which I'm freaking out from having to lose control. It is true--half-assed order, to me, is still no order.

Last night, my friend Jamie made a surprise visit from Seattle. I was one of the MC's at Rhizome Cafe's first anniversary party, and while I was at the mic, Jamie walked in the door, so it was so nice to see him! I really need to see a friend now! He and I talked for a while about my treatment options. He's lost several people in his family to various types of cancer, so he knows a little about the lingo and world of the big C.

I'm worried about the trial treatment. Basically, I have to live six more months with the cancer before surgery since I start off with chemo. The question is, why not do the surgery first? Why not try to cut out that shit before doing chemo, like they usually do? One of the reasons the doc said was because this way, I get the really good chemo, the extra medicine, because it's part of the trial. She also said that this way, any microinvasion would be targeted and hopefully got rid of. So I need to do chemo first so they can measure the size of the cancer as I'm getting the chemo (one of the main things about the trial--a trial isn't the standard treatment; a trial is like an experiment in other words--they're researching something, and I'm part of the research, while receiving treatment).

But it's the lymph node that's most worrisome. Even though my lymph node biopsy came back negative, it's still obviously swollen with something and they want to take it out. I wish they would take it out now and test it rather than wait six months. If the lymph node has cancer, that's bad--that means that it's trying to spread to the rest of my body. So if one of my lymph nodes shows possible invasion now, can they please take that motherfucker out???

I don't like feeling helpless. Jamie asked me if I have any instinct about which route to go (chemo first or surgery first), and I don't. I feel like here, I don't have a preference (other than taking the node out asap), nor do I feel sufficiently informed to have an opinion, so I'm just leaving it to the experts. But of course, I don't feel right about that, especially since I kinda feel all guinea piggish.

No Order.